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Polyester and Pepperoni

Yesterday I met with the head of an opera company to see if they could find use of my piano skills. The guy was really slimey. It's hard to describe exactly, but he just came across as a disgusting person. The type you picture slobbering pizza all over his polyester suit coat while trying to sell you a car. This area and the concept of opera so don't go together, but when you see the scary head of this organization it all becomes clear. It's like white trash trying to put on a high class dinner, but they can't figure out where to place the spam fork.

We walked into the paper bomb that is his office, he reclined in his desk chair, threw his feet up on one of the piles of papers on his desk and proceeded to tell me why he is God's gift to the universe. I tried to ignore the hay dangling from the bottom of his size 12 hiking boots. In the process of giving me the disertation on all things him, he deftly trashed every other person which he passed by in the story. A feat worthy of some sort of award, I'm sure.

After I was asked to sight-read some impossibly difficult score - and butchering it appropriately - the director/god-of-the-pizza-stain said they often cast their opera roles cross-gendered. So Juliet may be a guy or whatever (his non-opera example, not mine). I'm not so disturbed with them being adaptive to their resources, but the fact that he seemed so pleased with this gender bending, concerned me greatly. It was at this point I felt the need to slowly back out of the room and not overly excite the plump, crazy man behind the desk.