You Can Never Trust A Bass Player

Celeste Bleeker, Staff Writer

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It was fifth period. My ADHD was kicking in and I was craving caffeine and sugar, or possibly both. I walk into the orchestra room and was greeted by the familiar screeches and moans that indicate that my friends are nearby. I set up my violin with care and begin a friendly conversation with my good friends, Fernando and Demetrius. We are laughing amiably when, out of the blue, the bass player, a mystery to us, waltzes over like he owns the place. In my mind, I call him “Bob” and I play along as he attempts to engage in our conversation. I suspiciously survey the premises. It is possible that “Bob” is planning a surprise attack on the innocent violin players, as he has a wily and slightly crazed look in his eyes.

Coming to the conclusion that he is ready to spring his attack, I prepare to escape. I know that I won’t have time to warn my friends. Sacrifices must be made in dire situations such as this. But, what will he have planned? Possibly he will leap across the barrier between the bass and violin players, thereby ruining our lives by imbalancing the instruments. Or maybe he has hidden a bottle of anti-tuner spray with the malicious intent of spraying all our tuners so that we will never sound in tune again. The thought makes me shudder, but I hide my true feelings, as my plan will never work if he already knows that I know, you know?

I endure for a while longer, but eventually, the awkwardness becomes too great. I shift subtly toward the edge of my seat, but too late I glimpse “Bob” eyeing me in that strange way that bass players do. I see the realization dawn in his eyes as he comprehends that I have deciphered his devious plan (admittedly, I don’t know what he has planned, but I know it means doom for us all). Sensing that all will be lost if I don’t act, I put my plan into immediate action.Without a warning, I dive valiantly from my chair. I soared through the air for a second like a beautiful and graceful swan before jolting into the ground with a spine-shattering crash. I, however, was not daunted by the pain and tumbled and rolled gracefully, fending off dust bunnies, floor polish, and all manners of evil that one is bound to encounter on a music room floor. When I came up, I was out of breath but safe. Taking cover behind my friend, Ada, I wait until “Bob” has returned to his rightful domain.

Keeping one eye on “Bob” and the other on my destination, I tiptoe back warily to find my chums chuckling it up about my “stunt” when, in fact, I was saving my own skin. They may never understand my actions or why I was forced to leave them behind but I’m sure, one day all will be reconciled. In the meantime, I will be crafting escape plans for my next emergency situation and warning my peers and fellow humans to be aware of the dangers of bass players.

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You Can Never Trust A Bass Player