It was fun,
And it was not fun.
Let me tell you about state jazz yesterday:
I was up at 5:25
And at the school at 6:37.
I was the first one there.
We packed up the drum set
All the food and other equipment
And then we got on the fancy coach bus.
After a fun ride of 2 hours and 15 minutes,
We arrived and were sent to our tiny homeroom,
And the band we were sharing with,
Was not kind enough to consolidate all their stuff.
After roaming around for a few minutes, checking out some other bands,
A bullet wearing a maroon shirt hit me.
It was Olive Tree.
We hung out for a bit, and then it was back to homeroom.
Back in minuscule land,
I fought my way through the other band's stuff,
Until I finally was able to get to my trumpet case and backpack.
I grabbed my music and mouthpiece, and as I stood up,
I heard a familiar voice call my name,
But it sure wasn't a voice I had expected to hear!
I turned towards the door,
And there stood my grandmother, on crutches,
because of her recent knee surgery.
I was so surprised!
My grandfather and cousin were out in the hallway too.
I began walking them back down the hallway to find my parents,
Who apparently didn't know anything about this either,
And hoping I would run into Mrs Barry 'cause I was probably going to be late,
For the music review.
Well lo and behold, Mrs Barry knew all about it.
Not wanting to disappoint us if she couldn't come,
My grandmother didn't want any of the family to know the probable plan.
But she had no idea of what the details for the day were.
So she looked up the school's phone number, and left a message for Mrs Barry.
Who called her back as soon as she didn't have a class.
She thought it would be a good surprise.
So needless to say,
She was OK about my being slightly late.
Personally, I think Mrs Barry and my grandmother would get along quite well.
After music review we went to our warm-up room,
Which was insanely hot.
And then to our performance room,
Which was relatively cold.
We got through the performance feeling pretty good,
Even though we were missing a clarinetist,
A 1st alto sax,
And I had a mini crisis during my first solo.
And then we got the scores.
Lower than districts,
Even though we played so much better.
And the soloists scores?
Well one judge clearly hated our solos.
You get rated on a scale of 1-3.
He gave everybody a 3 except one person.
No one deserved that in our band,
And it hurt, let me tell you.
Needless to say,
We were a subdued, disappointed group on the bus ride home.
I have never seen my band director that depressed.
Who is normally driving everybody insane,
Barely spoke at all.
It was my last middle school state jazz,
And I wasn't planning on ending it like that.