No hair of the dog, and definitely no more dog.
8:18 p.m.
The space we performed in was the school’s cafeteria. Risers were set up behind a “stage” of black boxes. A crew of singers ended up pulling staples out of them so that the dancers and choir members wouldn’t hurt themselves when they were on it. The risers weren’t capacious enough and it was a seriously tight fit. The technical stuff was a nightmare, and one techie in particular was incredibly rude to our fearless leader, who ended up telling her off. She was insisting that we had to be off the risers and the stage by 7:30, and he insisted that the concert was not going to start until 8:15. She said that they were going to open the doors at 7:30 and he said that they were going to open the doors when he said they should, and that was final. I mean, who is there for whom?
The actual concert wasn’t a disaster. We performed well enough. People once more told me that my solo was beautiful, which was gratifying to hear. The lighting guy kept getting the wrong cues, the sound guy got the levels wrong for a while, and the bass was consistently too loud. But, hey, we got our standing ovation, and that’s what we came for. I also met some former students, which was nice.
After loading all the gear back on the bus, we returned to the motel where we were to party in a banquet hall under the reception area. It was BYOB as nothing had been arranged. I was starving, so I went to the dépanneur at the gas station next door and bought myself an egg salad sandwich and a carton of chocolate milk. I really dislike egg salad, but it was the only food that wasn’t meat. Little Princess and I had stuffed a half-full micky of Southern Comfort in my knapsack before leaving yesterday, and since we hadn’t had a chance to buy any more potables (and since this was Ontario, not Quebec which has much more liberal laws about the sale of alcohol), that was it for our contribution to the party. We shared it, and then for the rest of the evening I had “tastes” of what other people were drinking. This included a strawberry-wine spritzer (made with real strawberry pulp, so it was both good and bad for you at the same time), Goldschlagger, and a few other things, the contents of which I was totally ignorant.
At 3:15 a.m. we were told to go to bed, and one choir member and I practically had to carry her brother to his room and tuck him in. I was verily reeling myself, which is a very strange sensation for me, considering I drink very rarely and very little. That might actually account for my strong reaction. Anyway, this morning the light was coming through the curtain and I got up and started flicking a wall switch (which was actually for a ceiling light in our room which was burnt out) and my daughter, with whom I shared a bed said, “Mom, what are you doing?” I, totally unaware of the time and thinking that it was still night, answered, “I’m trying to turn off the porch light so it doesn’t shine in the window.” She said, “It’s 8 a.m. Do you think you’re going to turn off the sun?” I crawled back into bed, but was unable to sleep much more.
At this point, the egg salad and the booze of the night before were fighting for control of my body. I had a terrific headache, my stomach felt totally barfy and my bowels were telling me something unfit for polite company. I did not barf. Instead I drank copious amounts of water, downed a couple of painkillers, emptied my bowels as needed, and eventually got dressed and found some breakfast (toast and tea) and conversation with some choir members of my own generation. I figured I’d been influenced enough by hanging around with those kids. I even got a walk in with some of the ladies before we had to get back on the bus for the trip home.
I guess that’s it for my tale. I knew there was a reason why I didn’t drink, I just needed reminding.
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