You have to control the trombones. Talent-less kids honking away, disrupting the flutes. Goosing the majorettes with the stem.
Thirteen stinking halftime minutes to perform three pieces we've practiced for hours. Half these kids cannot march to save their lives. Parents are recording every mistake and of course I get blamed.
Wally and Melissa are competing for #1 on the xylophone, pounding away like it's the end of the world.
State competitions are living hell. Nervous breakdowns among the trumpets, drummers drinking too much Red Bull, saxophones sliding into depression.
One year there will be a complete meltdown and the kids will return to the band bus and systematically destroy it. And I will get blamed.
Alright, line up, you maggots!
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