The middle school auditorium of Conestoga for my step-brothers band concert, a place of so many public affairs: high school concerts, plays and speeches. I love any place where music is performed. But sometimes, a few places are not for me, even though the music may be great. Conestoga is a place of performances: ones that people pay for and ones that they do not. Just the word "auditorium" presumes that they are going to sit, watch, and be uncomfortable.
As I walk in, an hour early, the stench of old wet plaster immediately offends my nostrils as I notice all the good seats are taken. I'm afraid that I am going to get stuck in the back where I can't see a thing and the stage and everything on it are going to be blurry. I notice the light hum generated by the audience and I'm already getting a headache.
I sit down and slowly sink into the small seat provided by the school. Why isn't the money that my parents share every year to the school system through taxes and fund raisers put to good use to buy decent sized seats for normal people? And whoever thought of covering seats with grain bag material, anyway? It feels almost as good as a pair of favorite woolen underwear on a hot day, poking at my skin. What were they thinking? The annoying whisper of excitement and impatience is getting louder and my headache is gaining force.
As I try to soften myself from the offending chair, I notice the vacant seats are rapidly filling up and no one is sitting by me. I wouldn't mind if they sat next to me, for goodness sake. The overpowering aromas of the vile intruders are worse than the chair or the wet...