planning for disaster.

I know what you’re wondering.  Where has Jersey BEEN all my life???!

Besides stressing out over graduate classes, teaching, and writing and grading papers, I recently discovered an incredibly important lesson regarding the logistics of Winter Concert disaster PLANNING. Emphasis on the planning for disaster part.  

I received approximately 147 permission slips from my lovely elementary children wishing to participate in the Winter Concert this year.  Horray! I thought to myself  I can actually handle this.

These were all numbers and projections in my head, apparently.  I assumed most children would bring only 1 parent, and perhaps 75% of these children would actually show for the concert in time.  This equals out to about 220 people sitting in the cafeteria in which the concert would take place. 

Fabulous!  I have enough chairs and plenty of space for the instrumentalists to do their thing.  (keep in mind, I’m the general elementary music teacher, there is a separate instrumental teacher). 

I arranged with maintenance for chair set up and sectioned-off areas for performers.  I collaborated with the instrument teacher to produce concert programs and work out logistics with risers, stands, etc.

About… 45824095862 aspects of the program went horrifically wrong.  Do not fret, I will not list all details since they stress me out just thinking about it.

Wrong, wrong wrong.

1. Remember that nice round expected number of 220 folks?  I ended up with nearly 500.

5-0-0.      not only was there standing room only, people were filtered out to the lobby and hallway straining to hear their children perform.  DISASTER.

2. Trusting the instrumental teacher was a mistake. 
1. There were 500 people there.  He printed 150 programs.  Why in the hell he thought 150 would be enough for 220 people, I don’t know.
2. He refused to clear the music stands and chairs from the stage between sets.  Good lord. 
3. 500 people in a tiny crowded cafeteria gets pretty effing HOT. My lovely black pencil skirt and blouse were melted, along with makeup and hair.  Sweaty doesn’t even begin to cover it.  I was running a marathon!
4. We all have technical difficulties.  In this case, the speaker system simply could not be hooked up to my laptop.  Instead, I rigged a microphone to sit next to the laptop speakers. Ghettorific, but I suppose it mostly worked, despite me running back and forth to turn on/off the music.

I’d love to go on and on about this concert, but the absolutely ludicrous part is this:

I actually pulled it off.

How? I don’t know.  The children sang and played beautifully, the parents loved it despite the crowd (understatement), and the principal was astonished and impressed by the turn out.

Quite frankly, I’m astonished.

And in the end, it worked out. But not without me running around like a chicken with her head cut off, sweaty and wilted, cursing inherently at the ruined logistics.

And on the most positive note, the guy I’ve been seeing showed up unexpectedly.

In a suit.

With flowers.

And thought I was beautiful in all my sweaty glamour.

Go figure.