Me, You & Edith: Montreal Edition
Three final year horn players rent a car and drive six hours to Montreal to audition for grad school. It is February. In Quebec. Something the girls have failed to take into account when packing their suitcases in balmy Southern Ontario. It’s not a big deal. They were only going for two days anyway. It’s not like they couldn’t deal with a little snow.
We arrive midafternoon in Dorval, where we were meant to stay the night at a friend of a friend of Edith’s family. After a few hours, the snow is approaches blizzard level, so we decide that it would be prudent to stay in the city at a this friend of a friend’s daughter’s place so as to maximize the amount of warm up available pre-audition. We bundle back into the car and head to the city without incident despite the heavy snow.
Until we have to park the car.
There are no driveways in Montreal, just road parking, a sport in which Montrealers take great pride. If a spot is too small it is only because you are not trying hard enough. Normally Miss Mussel takes pride in her parallel parking skills but here, in the land of ice, snow and seriously steep inclines, she was well out of her league.
We arrive in the apartment to discover that there are no spare beds, only a living room with the original parquet floor. Despite her sleeping bag and Thermarest, Miss Mussel’s hip bones pinged her out of fitful sleep with disturbing regularity. A scalding shower was the only salve.
Alas, it was not in the cards.
Our hosts had neglected to mention the previous evening that their shower wasn’t working. Not a problem. Miss Mussel had a snazzy set of performance clothes at the ready. The lack of shower was unfortunate but could be overlooked. Razor sharp pleats can make anyone look smart.
No iron. Hippies. Should have guessed as much.
Host mildly put off by Miss Mussel’s incredulity re: dearth of small appliances normally deemed necessary for civilised living.
The choice between yesterday’s driving clothes and horrifically wrinkled performance togs was fraught with cons. A quick survey of companions revealed that a) they had thought to bring clothes that did not need ironing and b) agreed with Miss Mussel that yesterday’s outfit was the only real choice.
Troops are gathered post Muesli and we march off to the car. It is early and the sidewalk plough has not yet reached this neighbourhood. We take to the road and arrive at our car with relative ease.
The road plough has been by and the car is now encased by a crusty layer of frozen snow. We are stuck and up to our knees in winter wonder trying to dig out our chariot. Time is ticking away and progress is negligable. The neighbour takes pity on us and lends a shovel but not a hand. We manage to free the car and a few minutes spent with the RPMs in the danger zone mean we are able to gain enough purchase to proceed forwards up the hill rather than sliding back down it while still in drive.
Feeling triumphant, Miss Mussel sits down on the piano bench to collect her thoughts. The practice room has a mirror and she notices that day-old gel and snow fall result in hair oily enough to interest the Saudis. Also, her re-wear jeans are sporting a unfortunate ketchup stain thanks to a refueling stop the day before.
Demoralized, Miss Mussel decides to get warmed up. The room is dead. The sound stops before it even leaves the instrument. Everything seems difficult. Fingers are slow. Brain is fuzzy.
Miss Mussel takes a break and looks around the room. The sound tiles are poor substitutes for bathroom stalls but musicians are a resourceful lot. Graffiti abounds.
Anna hearts Kevin.
Etienne and Caroline 4EVAH
Go eat a bag of soggy dicks.
There is a tap on the door. No time to be disgusted.
This way to the audition room, please.
