After playing a really good concert, like the one I played tonight with the Frederick Symphony Orchestra (www.fredericksymphony.org), I come home feeling quite elated, almost adrenalized, and I am pretty sure I could leap tall buildings in half a bound. Tonight's concert had all the makings of such a wonderful homecoming: our concert went really well and the orchestra was just really on. Our concertmaster played a wonderful violin concerto and we finished everything with what I thought was a rousing rendition of Tchaikovsky's Francesca de Remini. The crowd went wild. My friend and fellow bass player Dave and I shared a forearm bump in celebration. I packed up my bass and met up with Sue and her dad, Stan, and his fiancee, Ginny, who had come to see the show. We started out of the hall toward the exit, and that's when it all went south, very quickly.
I climbed the final step in the seating area and started toward the doors at the back of the hall, and just before I got there, a distinguished-looking woman of about 65 or so (possibly give or take a few years) said, 'Excuse me!' She had a look in her eye that made me vaguely uncomfortable, and I jokingly said to her, 'Oh boy, am I in trouble?'
'Well, I just had to ask the question' she said. 'I couldn't help but notice that your concert dress was a significant departure from the rest, and is very unconventional.'
I waited for her to finish her thought, and then realized that was all she was going to say. So, I replied that my black dress pants and black button-down shirt were what I usually wore, since that's how I'm most comfortable.
'Comfortable?!? After 52 years as a professional singer, I can tell you that you don't do this sort of thing because it's comfortable, you do it because you're professional.'
I was still a little confused, and then it became clear that she was asking me why I wasn't wearing a tux 'like the rest of the gentlemen.' I became aware of a pointedness in her gaze that was obviously meant to send me into paroxysms of guilt and shame for not respecting my craft enough even to dress for the part, and while my first reaction was shock, my upbringing kicked in and I made some joke about how well, I guess that's just what we do as cocky bass-players. She sniffed rather haughtily and informed me that I was 'getting away with murder.'
With that, this extremely pleasant interaction was over and I was released in all my shamefulness to exit the building. What I really wanted to say to her was that my concert dress was exactly in line with what the rest of the women in the orchestra were wearing, and that if she had just read her program, she would likely have been cured of her confusion, since my name is listed, with the word 'Principal' after it, in the bass section. Since I had played the concert in the principal seat, it wasn't that much of a stretch to figure out that I am, in fact, a woman (despite all my clever and diabolical attempts to hide it?), and that women don't traditionally wear tuxes to concerts.
So, I've made a decision regarding my next interaction with this lovely person, which I'm almost certain will occur at our season finale concert in June. I'm going to wear the tux she wants so badly for me to wear, and then if she confronts me again to congratulate me on my assimilation, I'm going to say, 'Thank you. By the way, last time we spoke, I didn't catch your name. I'm Amanda. Nice to meet you. Is this [and I'll point to my tux here] more what you had in mind?' Let's see if her 52 years as a professional singer allow her to take that little nugget in stride, or if she chokes on something that I hope will taste just a little like the humiliation I felt but was unwilling to revisit upon her because my Grandma Burge taught me better than that.
