San Francisco

I was in San Francisco from last Saturday to Wednesday. I had never been further west than Kansas before, but I had an audition with the San Francisco Symphony. I wasn't sure whether I would write about this or not--I usually don't make audition trips very public--but so long as everyone swears not to tell any of my current employers that I occasionally look at other jobs (okay, thanks everyone!) I'll write about how it all went down.

It all started going down(hill) on Friday night. J's brother Tim was arriving to fix our broken-down Gaxmobile, and J and I were going to my church's holiday staff party. My departing flight was very early Saturday morning and we needed to put James to bed, so I knew we'd have a good excuse to leave at a reasonable hour. Sometimes professional social events give me chills. And then, I realized, the chills I was feeling were unusually strong. And I felt a bit achy. But no, I couldn't be sick.

We dropped off James at our friend Laura's house (soon to be Dr. Laura) and drove over to the party. It was very cold and windy out. That, obviously, was why I was feeling so chilly and why my teeth were chattering so much. We went inside and socialized politely. And I felt terrible. J told me I looked chalk-white, and though I made it through the party and had a reasonably good time, I was definitely aware that I was sick by the time we got home. Naturally, I hadn't packed yet, so I threw some clothes and snacks in a suitcase while J dug through the medicine cabinet. I went to bed early and a full-blown fever came on.

In defense of my wife, she was dutifully wary about letting me go across the country while running a high fever. She took my temperature several times and made sure I was semi-rational in the morning. (It was 4 AM, though, so I'm not sure how she had any point of reference to evaluate me.) I slept at least a little bit, and then dragged my luggage through the snow and into the car, shivering and trying to stay lucid. I actually don't remember anything about the trip to my connection in Philly...apparently they let me through security and I found my way onto the right plane.

At 6:30 when I got to Philly I had a little fruit and got on board the San Francisco flight, having caught a few more hours sleep and medicated up. Some coffee helped, and I alternated between reading Ovid and dozing for the very long 7 hour trip to the West Coast. I was in an interesting row of people...the gentleman in the aisle seat was doing some sort of engineering work in Hebrew, the woman in the middle was a Stanford grad student reading in Chinese, and I was writing out scansion marks. I hope I didn't get any of them sick. One small advantage of being under the weather was having no appetite whatsoever over the course of the flight, in which $6 would basically buy you a bag of chips.

I'm not great at travel planning. I had made arrangements to stay at a hostel in downtown San Francisco that night, but had no idea where it was or how I was getting there once the plane landed. I'm not sure what I would have done without an iPhone. I found my way somehow to a public train, and got my first (and only) glimpse of the West Coast. It was very nice. I was more worried about keeping my stomach together with all of the hurky-jerky motion on the train, at the time.

I got to the hostel around 3:30 PST (7:30 civilized time) and checked in. I'd decided to stay at a hostel because the flight to San Francisco cost about twice as much as most audition trips usually run. (I had already passed through a taped round, which was how we justified it) I figured it would be cheaper than a hotel, and it actually wasn't too bad. The rooms were like college dorms (I was on a top bunk) and we had to wash our own dishes at breakfast. But there were clean sheets and towels, and wireless internet that sometimes worked, and everyone was very pleasant.

My two roomates while I was there were Adam, who was from Perth, and Jack, who was from somewhere in the American South. Adam was completing some sort of 8 month long tour of the world before starting a job with the company in Perth where he had interned in college. Jack worked a record store, but was, in his own words, "capable of great things."

Great things...terrible, but great.

They were both pleasant and quiet and reasonably hygienic. (I still contend that spraying manly smelling must all over yourself is neither attractive nor a substitute for regular deodorant.) I was tired enough on the first night that I passed out at 6:00 their time and didn't even do the usual night-before-the-audition nervous vomiting.

Not great...just terrible.

Sunday morning was the day of the preliminary round, and I was scheduled to go at 4 PM. (And to show up at the hall at 2:30) I found some decent coffee and laid around reading Edward Gibbon's Impossibly Exact Record of the Every Minute Detail of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. (I wanted to bring a book I wouldn't finish right away) I took a shower, got dressed, and got ready to go to the hall. Having spent so much money on the plane ticket, I decided that I needed to save some money on the day of the audition. So, instead of calling a cab, I made up my mind to walk the 1.1 miles to the hall.

This was stupid. This was stupid for several reasons. The first reason was that I did not have my backpack-style gig bag. Walking with a gig bag is pretty easy. Walking with hardshell cases is not. The second reason why walking was stupid was because I had three hardshell cases, and only two arms. I needed five trumpets for the audition, according to the rep list, and three hardshell cases get heavy in a hurry. And the third reason why walking to the hall was stupid was because I was very sick with the flu. I didn't feel so bad lounging around in my pajamas in the morning. I felt like death by the time I'd lugged five trumpets in three cases through downtown San Francisco to the hall.

Once I arrived, I was met by the personnel manager. I politely declined to shake her hand, explaining that I was under the weather. (Given how sweaty and washed out I was at that point, I'm sure she wasn't offended.) She showed me to a warm up room, gave me the rep list for the preliminary round, and told me that since the audition was running a little ahead, I ought to expect to play around 3:50 instead of 4. I thanked her. It's very helpful to know when you're going to play, because you want to time your warm-up so that you've warmed up enough to be comfortable, but you haven't been playing so long that you're starting to get fatigued.

It was about 2:45. I listened to recordings on the preliminary round rep list for about a half an hour, and decided I'd warm up around 3:20. That would be perfect. At 3:20 I got my instrument out and buzzed a little on my mouthpiece. At 3:23, the door opened and the personnel manager told me I needed to be ready to play in 5 minutes.

"I thought I'd be going at 3:50...I think I may need a little bit of time to warm up!"
"Okay, well, they're on the candidate before you."
I accelerated my warming up, and at 3:25 the audition proctor opened the door.
"The committee is waiting for you."

I won't go into detail on how the actual audition went.

 I really don't have an excuse. Charlie Geyer told me multiple times to practice playing audition excerpts as the first notes out of the case, preparing for just such a circumstance. I might be able to plead violent illness and exhaustion, but I'm pretty sure he would have a story about Herseth preparing for big Mahler weeks by rolling about in dirty linen from the sick ward just in case he had to ever play the Posthorn with a cold.

I didn't stay to hear the results announced. I just went outside and, giving up on the "save money by walking scheme" called a cab for a ride home. (I'm just bummed I didn't get to shake the personnel manager's hand...)

So, that was the audition. I got Chinese food and a beer that night, but that was about the extent of my moping. It was Sunday evening, and I wouldn't be leaving until Tuesday. What to do with two days in a beautiful tourist paradise?

Mostly, I missed J. Once the audition was over I became the world's most attentive husband. I wrote her a nice long letter, bought souvenirs for her and James, planned out some date nights for us for the next few months, and texted with her a lot. (She was having a trying time herself trying to take care of James alone while the Gaxmobile repairs got on about as well as you'd expect for that vehicle.)

I went to a big mall to buy Ghirardelli chocolates to bring home and trotted around with my Gibbon under arm, scowling and the music and looking indignant at the price tags. (I was channeling Carl Frederickson.) I read a lot and tried not to spend any more money than I absolutely had to. The fever turned into a really nasty cold, but I got a lot better over the course of the next few days. I heard a lovely rendition of "Stand By Me" by homeless man who stood outside the hostel window from 6 PM to 1 AM on Monday night, and I read all about the Bills' new coach. All in all, it was a lonely but restful few days.

And then I came home. I looked like a mountain man--I hadn't brought a razor--and I did not come back having won a high-profile six-figure dream job. But by the time I got home I was VERY happy to see my wife and my little boy, and happy I am to be with them now.

Special thanks to:
Tim, for fixing our PT Cruiser and looking after James and J while I was gone.
Pax & Kylie, for donating garage space to the repair effort, and for giving James and J a place to visit, and for filling in at CPC in my stead
Mom, for bringing lots of steak to fill our freezer
and Ghirardelli Chocolatiers, for being really good at what you do.