Part 1, Act 2: In Which We Are Considered Special

Bags in hand, we saunter into the exclusive resort shuffle into the Hampton Inn, College Park, MD. The lovely young lady at the front desk is practically orgasmic upon seeing us. By us, of course, I'm referring to the six foot-one inch, blond haired, blue eyed youth (his schlumpy manservant goes unnoticed).

But there is a very special sign being displayed prominently on top of the front desk. It's twin sits on the dresser in our room, along with a generous gift basket.

It seems we are the Guest of the Day. The night manager even trots out from the back room to greet us, and upon seeing me says, "It's about time you got here!" 

Ahhh, yes. We are special. Very special.

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The audition, you ask?

Yes. That went very well too. We were the first ones to arrive, greeted by a friendly faculty member, and whisked off to the practice rooms, whereupon Wolfgang could warm up his fingers. 30 minutes later, whisked down to the lobby, whisked into green room, whisked into concert hall and off to the races. Apologies for the overuse of "W" there, especially without proper alliteration.

The Parents were kept at a distance and not permitted to watch the auditions. They apologized for it. I thanked them profusely for giving me a chance to miss out on my 352nd listening of Liszt's Vomit in G major, or whatever it's called. And Beethoven's Prelude and Weasel. And Bach's Hair on a G-string. 

I don't know. They all run together and every time I try to get the names right and blow it, Wolfgang looks at me like apes descended from me.

One down, three to go. And you can bet your ass I emptied that basket out before I left the hotel. No beer left behind!