Out of Words, Out of Songs, Out of Ideas
I got a real surprise today when I got the recording studio at my school.
No lie, when I first saw it, I actually said, "What the fuck?!" I was just lucky that there weren't any teachers around, otherwise I would've heard, "Language, Camille" and have to drop 25 cents in the swear jar.
I shouldn't have worried about a teacher overhearing me. I should've been worried about Zoe overhearing me.
I never got along with Zoe. Zoe is one of those people who refuses to take responsibility, gives pathetic excuses, and either ignores consequences or downplays them. Worse, she talks down to you like you're stupid. "Noticed the piano, huh?" she said.
I nodded quickly. "Why the hell are all the keys the same color?"
Zoe did the thing where she talked down to me like I was stupid. "The school district was worried that people would think the regular piano keys are racist, so they painted them to match the wood casing."
I couldn't believe what she said. In the name of racial harmony, they painted all the keys of the piano the same color. If it didn't actually happen, I would have thought it was a joke.
I should never put it past the school to do something like this. I remember we had twins in my fourth-grade class named Benjamin and Daniel. They went by Ben and Dan. We also had a Chinese kid in our class (James) that had a learning disability. Alphabetically, he came right before Ben and Dan.
I didn't play with Ben, Dan, or James that often. I only really remember their names because of this one thing that happened.
One day, when the teacher was taking attendance, he called James's name, but James didn't hear him. Frustratedly, he moved on to the next two people, Ben and Dan. He said, "Ben, Dan"
"Ben, Dan" sounds like the Chinese phrase for "idiot". When James heard the teacher say this, he ran out of the classroom in tears.
They had to put Ben and Dan in separate classes over this. I don't know what happened to them after that. All I do know is that people are far more willing to bend over backward to avoid stepping on toes than you think. "Do they not have a little voice in their head that says this might be a bad idea?" I squealed.
Zoe shook her head. "I understand that you're upset. I get that. Things are a little messy right now. But sometimes, things have to look a little worse before they look amazing," she said in her trademark condescending tone.
I need my visual signposts. Making all the keys on the piano the same color just takes them away. And I'm far from the only person that thinks that. The reason pianos have different colored keys so the person playing them can tell the difference between the natural and semitone pitches. "Zoe, this isn't a little messy;" I said way louder than I should have, "this piano is now unusable."
Dorothy walked in. "What's all the hubbub?" she asked.
I pointed to the piano. "The school thinks it can combat racism by painting the keys on the piano the same color." All they've managed to combat is the musician's ability to consistently play the right notes.
Dororthy looked at the piano. She looked at me. She looked at the piano again, and then she looked back at me. "You know, Camille" she said, "You can't come down from a high you were never on."
I nodded, even though I had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Sometimes, people say something insightful. Other times, it sounds insightful, but it falls apart the minute you try and parse it. "You can't come down from a high you were never on" falls into the latter.
I guess it could mean that you could never come back to reality if you never left reality in the first place, but I'm not fully sure. The more I think about it, the more I realize that it's one of those phrases that sounds deep and meaningful, but when you really look at it, it's just painfully confusing. "I get that, Dorothy, but can you explain to me what that's supposed to mean?"
I think she tried to say, "for everything, there is a season. There is a time for everything, and now is not the time for that." Basically, she tried to respond to a thought terminating cliché with another thought terminating cliché. But try as she might, she just could not get the words out. She wound up saying, "For everything, there is a season, a season is time of growth"
That sentence made so little sense that I burst out laughing. "Excuse me, what? Care to explain what this is supposed to mean, because I think I just had an aneurysm trying to decipher this."
Dorothy repeated what she said. "Everything has seasoning, but if you special the time, it is a growth."
"You're not making any sense"
By now, she started to get frustrated. "I said, for every season, a season is time of growth."
"That made even less sense than before," I said. I wanted to say "I've listened to drunk people who were far more coherent than that," but kept it shut. And for good reason. When she tried to speak again, nothing came out. No sound. Radio silence.
All of a sudden, it hit me. She wasn't dodging the question or being evasive or anything like that. She was actually having a stroke!
It spooked me. One minute, somebody's brain works fine. The next, it just comes to a grinding halt.
It could have been much worse. Even though she couldn't talk, at least her face wasn't drooping. Now was still a good time to call an ambulance, as time wasted is brain wasted.
I called 911, and they put me on hold. The hold music was "Staying Alive" by the Bee Gees. In the time I was on hold, Dorothy downed an entire bottle of water and began frantically signing to anyone who was watching. This might sound weird, but I felt a huge wave of relief watching her sign. She signed with both arms, the ASL equivalent to speaking with both sides of your mouth. Zoe looked at her and said, "I'm sorry, I don't speak Helen Keller." Dorothy got all pissed off, gave Zoe the finger, and stormed off to that corner of the room with the bead curtains.
Once I finally got off hold, 911 put me through to this guy whose last job was probably working as a bellhop in a second-rate Torquay hotel. "Hello? Hello, 911. How are you today?"
"Uh," I responded, "my friend Dorothy is having a stroke, how do you think I am?"
He blinked in confusion hard enough that I could feel it on the other end of the phone. "¿Que?" he said.
Growing ever more frustrated, I repeated, "Dorothy is having a stroke!"
I thought he'd understand the second time. But no, he did not. "¿Que?" he said again after a long pause.
I grew frustrated. It was almost like he couldn't remember what his job was, let alone the nature of my emergency. "Dorothy. Stroke." I reiterated in an annoyed fashion.
"OK, I see," he replied. He seemed to finally understand what I had said. "You friend Dorothy having a stroke."
"Yes!" I said. Finally, we were getting somewhere.
Or so I thought. I couldn't believe the next words out of the guy's mouth. "We no have time for you wild goose chase"
"What?!" I said, completely taken aback.
"We no have time. We no believe you. Very, very sorry. Goodbye!"
I went behind the bead curtains and sat down across from Dorothy. "Well, that was a bust." I said.
"Why didn't you bring your guitar?" Dorothy signed.
"My amp still isn't working" I answered.
The amp broke in the first place because some moron plugged it into a car battery. If you plug a guitar amp into a car battery, it will explode. I took it to the repair shop to get it fixed. They said it was ready for pickup, but it was exactly the same as it was when I went to pick it up as it was when I brought it in.
"I thought you had it fixed."
"So did I." I showed Dorothy a picture of the amp before I took it in and after. She looked at it and laughed.
"So Dorothy," I asked, "what did you mean when you said you can't come down from a high you were never on?"
Dorothy nodded. Those were the last words she said before she had a stroke, and it seemed she couldn't hear them without crying. She steeled herself and signed, "It means that if you don't know what you're expecting, it doesn't make sense to get upset when your expectations aren't met."
Good, I thought, we're getting somewhere. That said, she still can't talk. "I might call 911 again" I said.
Dorothy nodded. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."
The good news was, I didn't wind up on hold. The bad news was, I wound up dealing with Manuel The 911 Operator again. "Hello, 911, how are you, is nice day"
"OK, no" I said, "Not nice day. Dorothy can't talk."
"Dorothy have stroke. Now, Dorothy no talk."
Not only did he recognize me from before, he still didn't believe me. "Oh, it's you," he said in a very annoyed tone, "We no believe you. How many times? Where are you ears, you great, big, halfwit?? We no have time, listen?"
For a brief moment, the line went dead. The operator picked up again. "Now you understand! So bye bye, please, bye bye." Nice. Then they hung up on me again.
I came here to record a song. Not only did that not get done, I had to fend off political correctness gone mad, deal with a 911 operator who knows nothing, and witness a close acquaintance lose her voice because part of her brain stopped working.
I can't believe I snuck out of geography class for this.
