*WANTED*
Mature and responsible adult to transport cranky, difficult, and defiant patient to occasional doctor's appointments. Driver's License and endless patience required. Must be immune to public embarassment and all expletives in the English language. The ideal candidate will be able to communicate doctor's questions and instructions calmly and clearly to hysterical and irrational patient, then ascertain the patient's answers and convey back them back all while maintaining a pleasant countenance in order to prevent the doctor from questioning said patient's mental stability. Ability to wrestle full-grown adult to the ground without incurring injuries on either participant's part a plus.
Salary: Unlimited Appreciation
Benefits: Chocolate Chip Cookies
Opportunities for Advancement: Do a good job with my husband, and I will let you start taking my Mom too.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The Great Nun Brawl of '84
Sixth grade was drawing to a close. I twelve years old and nearing the height of my unfortunate seven-year awkward phase. My music teacher, Miss Jones, was energetic, optimistic, and just delusional enough to think that mounting a full scale cabaret-style show of Broadway's greatest hits with a cast of fifth and sixth graders was a good idea.
I was featured in several numbers, one of which was "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" from The Sound of Music. There were seven of us cast as nuns: Tamara, the tallest and the best singer, stood in the middle with Debbie, Holly, and Jill on her right and Rachel A., me, and Rachel B. were on her left. We had all practiced our little hearts out. We had learned that song forward and backward. We had it down: the phrasing, the inflections, the facial expressions. We were going to rock the Vestal Hills Cafetorium, and we were going to rock it hard.
We were all amped up on preteen energy. (Remember, these were the good old days when we kids had to work up a highly respectable spaz without any help from Red Bull, Sour Patch Kids, or 5 Hour Energy drinks.) The lights were hot and the audience was huge. The music started and we began to sing:
She climbs a tree and scrapes her knee
Her dress has got a tear
She waltzes on her way to mass
And whistles on the stair
And underneath her wimple
She has curlers in her hair
I've even heard her singing in the Abbey!
(I didn't look that up. To this day I still know all the words to this song.)
On we sang, growing more confident as the song progressed. By the time we got to the transition, we were on fire.
"I'd like to say a word on her behalf," sang Tamara.
"Yes, Sister Margaretta?" We asked, looking appropriately interested, self-righteous, and holy.
"Maria makes me laugh. Ha ha ha ha!" Tamara did a funny little giggle she had rehearsed a thousand times. Here was where we took a breath before launching into the chorus. As we inhaled, the audience burst into hysterical laughter.
From my current perspective, I can see how a group of twelve year old girls dressed as nuns and taking themselves way too seriously could be hilarious. But at the time, it was very unexpected. Nothing in our hours of rehearsal had prepared us for this. People were rolling in the aisles, clutching at their aching sides, and wiping away tears. We were taken aback, and unsure of how to respond. Our confidence was shaken. We tried to sing but were overtaken by nervous giggles.
There has been some debate as to what happened next, but I was right there in the middle of it and I can tell you: It was Rachel B.'s fault. Had she not begun to snort with laughter, I would not have been forced to apply my left elbow sharply to her solar plexus. I was only trying to get her focus on the performance, but she took some degree of offense at having the wind knocked out of her and elbowed me back. A minor struggle ensued, which eventually sucked Rachel A. in who, like myself, believed that the best way to to regain our bearings was to throw elbows. ( And maybe punches, kicks, and everything short of full-body slams.) Our fixed smiles transformed into grimaces as we doled out violence in a misguided attempt to restore order.
This, naturally, did nothing to calm the audience down. Debbie, Holly, and Jill didn't fare much better. They were laughing uncontrollably, occasionally pausing to spurt out random lyrics. "How do you... HAHAHAHAHA...catch a cloud and - ow! How *snort* problem like Maria ... HAHAHAHAHAHA! A CLOWN!!!!"
Tamara, a natural born superstar, simply carried on as if nothing had happened. She didn't break character or even break a sweat.
The next day in school, Miss Jones simply said, "My, the audience really went bananas, didn't they?"
I swear she avoided eye contact with me for the rest of grade school. Really, can you blame her?
I was featured in several numbers, one of which was "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" from The Sound of Music. There were seven of us cast as nuns: Tamara, the tallest and the best singer, stood in the middle with Debbie, Holly, and Jill on her right and Rachel A., me, and Rachel B. were on her left. We had all practiced our little hearts out. We had learned that song forward and backward. We had it down: the phrasing, the inflections, the facial expressions. We were going to rock the Vestal Hills Cafetorium, and we were going to rock it hard.
We were all amped up on preteen energy. (Remember, these were the good old days when we kids had to work up a highly respectable spaz without any help from Red Bull, Sour Patch Kids, or 5 Hour Energy drinks.) The lights were hot and the audience was huge. The music started and we began to sing:
She climbs a tree and scrapes her knee
Her dress has got a tear
She waltzes on her way to mass
And whistles on the stair
And underneath her wimple
She has curlers in her hair
I've even heard her singing in the Abbey!
(I didn't look that up. To this day I still know all the words to this song.)
On we sang, growing more confident as the song progressed. By the time we got to the transition, we were on fire.
"I'd like to say a word on her behalf," sang Tamara.
"Yes, Sister Margaretta?" We asked, looking appropriately interested, self-righteous, and holy.
"Maria makes me laugh. Ha ha ha ha!" Tamara did a funny little giggle she had rehearsed a thousand times. Here was where we took a breath before launching into the chorus. As we inhaled, the audience burst into hysterical laughter.
From my current perspective, I can see how a group of twelve year old girls dressed as nuns and taking themselves way too seriously could be hilarious. But at the time, it was very unexpected. Nothing in our hours of rehearsal had prepared us for this. People were rolling in the aisles, clutching at their aching sides, and wiping away tears. We were taken aback, and unsure of how to respond. Our confidence was shaken. We tried to sing but were overtaken by nervous giggles.
There has been some debate as to what happened next, but I was right there in the middle of it and I can tell you: It was Rachel B.'s fault. Had she not begun to snort with laughter, I would not have been forced to apply my left elbow sharply to her solar plexus. I was only trying to get her focus on the performance, but she took some degree of offense at having the wind knocked out of her and elbowed me back. A minor struggle ensued, which eventually sucked Rachel A. in who, like myself, believed that the best way to to regain our bearings was to throw elbows. ( And maybe punches, kicks, and everything short of full-body slams.) Our fixed smiles transformed into grimaces as we doled out violence in a misguided attempt to restore order.
This, naturally, did nothing to calm the audience down. Debbie, Holly, and Jill didn't fare much better. They were laughing uncontrollably, occasionally pausing to spurt out random lyrics. "How do you... HAHAHAHAHA...catch a cloud and - ow! How *snort* problem like Maria ... HAHAHAHAHAHA! A CLOWN!!!!"
Tamara, a natural born superstar, simply carried on as if nothing had happened. She didn't break character or even break a sweat.
The next day in school, Miss Jones simply said, "My, the audience really went bananas, didn't they?"
I swear she avoided eye contact with me for the rest of grade school. Really, can you blame her?
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