Recital

So it's the night of my senior recital. It's stormy outside, with lightning and thunder, and possibly wind but I can't tell because I'm inside the FAC. (In case the last sentence didn't give this away yet, this was my dream from last night.)

The auditorium is relatively packed. I'd say about 50-100 people.

It comes time for the string piece to start. We walk on stage, but all the chairs and stands are out of position. So we move them into position. Except coordinating four people moving chairs into position doesn't work so well. So we move them into position again. And no matter what we do, the chairs are always out of position.

The floor gets scratched up. After 5 minutes or so of moving the chairs, the music department desk workers show up and start doing something to the floor--it looks like they're scraping off the varnish.* Any time we try to move the chairs into position they move them out of the way; but this fact does not occur to me. Rather, I think they're trying to help but they're just doing it wrong. After all, none of us can get the chairs into position.

After 40 minutes of moving the chairs, one of the workers gives the reason for their activity--"All your chair moving has scratched up the floor and we need to repair it now. Don't worry, we'll only charge you the cost of the materials." For some reason, the cost of the materials feels like an exorbitant sum, yet the gesture of only charging me the cost of the materials feels like a favour.

At this point, I begin looking for somewhere else to finish the recital. I walk out to the foyer, where one of the friends of one of the string players is babysitting the children in either/both the art gallery and the conference room. She's in the conference room most of the time, checking up on the majority of the kids in the gallery on occasion, who are running wild, but this fact does not seem to bother anyone.

The audience is getting antsy. I call the quartet together and ask if we should play the piece in the foyer. However, before I can call for a vote, people start walking up to me to shake my hand and say they have to leave. The audience begins evaporating and the recital ends like that.

Then I wake up.

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* I'm assuming this part of the dream was inspired by the time I attempted to lock a certain practicing organist in the auditorium on her birthday by krazy-gluing doorstops to the outside of all the doors to the floor. Not only did that prank not work, but I ended up having to spend my afternoon scraping the glue off of the floor.