Our venue is rented each year by the local Kidney Association to put on a show by a very talented local Elvis impersonator. It is always a hit, and you would be amazed at how excited some of the grandmas — and even great-grandmas — get at the thought of it. You would think the King himself was going to be on our stage.

I was working in the box office the afternoon before last year’s show when an elderly woman and her daughter came in to purchase tickets to both the show and the meet-and-greet beforehand. After they received their tickets and turned away from my window, the mother somehow got tripped up by her cane and took a tumble into one of the retractable stanchions by the door.

I looked out to see my manager at their side with the first aid kit. I called for an ambulance while she kept the mother calm and applied a bandage to a small wound on her temple (caused by the edge of her glasses). While I spoke to emergency services, my boss tried to make her comfortable on the floor of our lobby.

While all of this was happening front-of-house, the band had been on stage setting up for that night’s performance. It turned out that someone must have run down and let “Elvis” know that he had a fan down in the lobby; the next thing we knew, the man himself had left the stage and was sitting on the lobby floor. He sat by the mom’s side, holding her hand in his, and making jokes about her going to such lengths to meet him one-on-one. Soon, she was smiling and laughing, their undignified position on the floor completely forgotten.

When the EMTs arrived, I went out to meet them, but I had to warn them:

Me: “I’m not sure how much help you’ll be now. I think Elvis has already saved the day as far as the patient is concerned.”

They checked her over, and other than a couple of bruises and the cut from her glasses, the mom was fine. She absolutely refused to be taken anywhere for further treatment, declaring that having met “that nice young man”, she certainly wasn’t going to miss the meet-and-greet or the show. She had a fabulous time, and she got special attention from “Elvis” during both, which made her glow.

The Kidney Association continues to do its annual fundraiser with us, and our impersonator friend even flew in for the show this year, taking a couple of days off from a months-long booking in Hawaii to keep his yearly date with our local grandmas. That is one artist who is not willing to let his fans down.

I live in Los Angeles, so there are lots of people here trying to “make it” in the entertainment industry, whatever that means for them. Most people start by trying to find events to network, etc. However some people… take a different approach. 

I was just standing at a crosswalk when a woman with a guitar slung over her shoulder came running up to me. 

Woman: “Hey! Do you know anyone in the music industry?!”

Me: “Uh… no?”

Woman: “Oh. Well, who do you know who does?!”

She stormed off before I could answer. I was completely taken off guard and bewildered, but I guess that’s one way to do it!

I’m the director of a small but relatively dedicated church choir. Most of the members have been part of the church for years, but there are three relative newcomers: the pastor and his wife, who got appointed to our church about two years ago, and a recent transplant from Maine, whom we’ll call Georg for reasons that will become apparent to anyone who hangs out on a certain blogging website.

We’re preparing for Memorial Day Sunday with a special extra rehearsal. Georg has requested that we perform two songs — “Taps” and “Battle Hymn of the Republic” — and I am happy to oblige. We’ve just run through both songs once and are taking a short break before running “Battle Hymn” a second time.

Pastor: “We should sing the version I learned in the schoolyard. ‘Glory, glory, hallelujah! Teacher hit me with a ruler…'”

Alto #1: “‘Hit ‘er in the bean with a rotten tangerine, and she ain’t gonna teach no more…'”

Pastor: “Those aren’t the words I learned!”

Alto #1: “Well, that’s how we sang it when I was in school.”

Soprano #1: “I learned it as…” *Sings* “‘Hit ‘er in the butt with a rotten coconut…'”

Me: “Yeah, my best friend in elementary school taught it to me as either, ‘I hit her back with a big potato sack,’ or, ‘I hit her back with a twenty-ton brick sack.'”

Alto #1: “Well, I’m seventy-six, and when I was a girl, that was how we sang it.”

Pastor: “Yeah, I’m seventy, but we sang the coconut version like [Soprano #1] did.”

Soprano #1: “I’m sixty-one. ‘Hit ‘er in the butt with a rotten coconut.'”

Alto #2: “I’m eighty-three, and I have never heard that before!”

Soprano #2: “I’m sixty-one, too, but I never sang it; my mother would have killed me.”

Pastor’s Wife: “You’re sixty-one?! I thought you were closer to my age! I’m fifty-six.”

Soprano #2: “I thought you were my age! Like [Bass]!”

Bass: *Laughing* “No, I’m sixty-five.”

Soprano #2: “You are not!”

Bass: “I am. I’m sixty-five.”

Tenor: “I’m not saying how old I am, but I’m old enough to have a great-grandbaby on the way.”

Georg has been sitting on the piano bench during this conversation, and the only reason I haven’t started laughing at his expression is that I’ve studied improv. He’s looking from choir member to choir member, and his eyes are about to bug out of his head. I turn to him and speak in a calm, flat tone.

Me: “If it makes a difference to you, I won’t be thirty-four until October.”

Georg: “I’m twenty-two!“

I work in a second-hand store where we set our own prices based on what we think the item is worth, which of course leads to customers trying to negotiate a lower price on some stuff. Sometimes they have a point, and sometimes they’re just stupid, like in this case.

Customer: “Hey, you’ve got $20 on that violin there, but you’re missing the bow. Can you do it a bit better?”

Me: “First of all, if we have a violin missing the bow, that’s considered when we decide the price. Second of all, that’s a ukulele.” 

Customer: “…will you do the violin for $15?”

While living in the DC area, my parents and I would often attend concerts at the Kennedy Center. On one occasion, we went to see the Canadian Brass, a brass quintet that mixed humor into their performances. We couldn’t get three tickets seated together, so I sat a few rows behind my parents.

For one of their songs, one of the Brass was on stage explaining that in medieval times, musicians didn’t sit together in an orchestra pit. Rather, they sat throughout the theatre. As he was explaining this, the other four were wandering up and down the aisles, looking for empty seats. The tuba player found a seat directly behind me and scooted in. He then handed me his sheet music, just as the one on stage said:

Band Member: “So, often, audience members would find themselves seated next to a tuba.”

They then played the song. I was following along with the music as I’ve been playing instruments since I was five.

When the song came to the bottom of the second page, I turned the page for the tuba player. On that page, there was a repeat that needed to return to the previous page, so I turned it back when the song got to that point. I continued to turn the pages as needed until the song ended.

Then, the tuba player stood up, thanked me, and went back to the stage. Once he got there, he said:

Tuba Player: “And wasn’t I lucky that I sat behind a young man who could read music!”