Orlando...part four

The morning of the competition we had an even better breakfast that the day before, highlighted by some of the most perfect bacon I have ever had. Crisp and flavorful, I was tempted to pack up some for later, and if I’d have had access to some fresh tomatoes and soft bread, I’d have done just that. A nice BLT (without the L for me, I prefer my salad in a bowl, not on a sandwich) would have made a great lunch or dinner. I ate bacon until I was embarrassed to get more and then sadly left for the bus, looking back one last, wistful time at the chafing dish which was still nearly full.

Connie, meanwhile, was having a tougher trip than I. She had strained her back a few days before we left, so she was either drugged or in pain for the drive down and the first day at the park. I had suggested that she might feel better not going at all, but she would have none of that. She had looked forward to this trip for quite a while, and was determined to go. I guess she figured that if she could put up with me for over twenty-three years, she could deal with some pain for a couple of days.

Her back was much better that Saturday morning, but the medicine had upset her stomach. Unbeknownst to me, sleeping soundly in my separate bed, she had been up sick a few times in the night and had no interest in food that morning. I felt really bad for her, especially considering how amazing the hotel bacon had been, but she ate nothing and insisted that she wanted to go to the competition. I definitely married a trooper.

The competition was being held at Apopka High School, in the small town of Apopka, about twenty miles from Orlando. The school was beautiful and newly renovated, with an exceptionally nice auditorium where the competition would be held. We were early and went inside to watch some of the other groups perform.

The other groups performed fine, but I wasn’t overly impressed. The music they had chosen was much simpler than what our choirs normally perform, and even then I didn’t think they did them particularly well. One school from some place I can’t remember had two choirs and a group of Handbell performers. I chuckled to myself when I read about the Handbell choir in my program. That’s even lower on the “gonna get a date” scale than tuba players. (No offense meant to either “handbell” performers or “tuba” players. I’m just stating a fact. I can do this because I was a charter member of the AV and Chess clubs, so of these things I know only too well).

I sat there like those parents who sit on the sidelines of kid’s softball and baseball games, ready to root my team on to victory. It was a competition after all. Then, as our confidence swelled, someone read the program notes detailing the biographies of our judges. None of the three were choral judges. They were all “band directors.” What the heck?

We were fairly stunned. We had no idea how this would impact their decisions. Only half the participants in the festival were bands, the other half were choral. It seemed incredibly unrealistic to expect these judges to fairly score our half of the competition.

The Women’s Choir performed first, singing better than I’ve heard them all year. The Ensemble Choir, whose membership included my beautiful and talented daughter, sang thirty minutes later, and the difficulty of their music put them in an entirely different category from the other choirs competing. At 1pm the Men’s Choir finished our section of the competition and maintained a superb level of performance. There was little doubt in my mind that all three choirs had represented Oak Ridge well enough to win the overall school prize. (Not that I was prejudiced).

But I was still concerned about those band judges…

The kids changed clothes quickly and we got back on the bus for the return to Universal. Today we would go to the Movie Studio theme park, my favorite of any of the parks in Orlando. It was nearly 3pm by the time we got to the park, through the gates, retrieved everyone’s tickets and made the plan for dinner.

If I needed a reminder to NEVER go to Orlando during Spring Break season (which I did not), it was loud and clear in the park that day. There was a roiling ocean of people flowing through the wide streets and walkways. Flashing signs warned that lines for the new Rock-It roller coaster was over two hours long, and other big rides had a wait of nearly ninety minutes. The kids were going to have a long afternoon.

The six chaperones watched as the last of the kids disappeared and then agreed that since we had skipped lunch we needed to find some food. We waded into the crowds and found our way to the New York section of the park and Finnegan’s Irish Pub, where we hoped we might find something bland for Connie’s sensitive stomach other than the burgers and hot dogs vended at most of the other shops. Like everything else, there was a wait for a table, but that gave me time to watch the Blues Brothers show taking place in the street outside. I got a few stares when I joined in on singing “Rawhide,” but I didn’t care.

Connie got some potato soup and crackers, which made her feel much better, and I had some delicious Irish Beef Stew. When we finished eating, we looked at our watches and realized that in slightly over an hour we would be meeting the kids to go to Bubba Gump’s for dinner. Our timing was impeccable.

We got in line for the “Twister” experience, which is not a ride, but designed to put you into a scene from the movie. Since it is one of the older attractions in the park, the line was only fifteen minutes, leaving us plenty of time to meet the kids. If you like the movie, don’t mind a little breeze and want to see a cow fly, I highly recommend it.

I thought most of the kids would have eaten something, but they had much more self-control than the adults did and they were ready for Bubba Gump’s. Still stuffed with stew, I wasn’t hungry at all, and neither were the other chaperones. Unfortunately, our meal vouchers would go to waste if they weren’t used, so we all ordered shrimp platters and handed them into the next booth full of teenage boys who were just finishing their own meals. The shrimp and fries were vacuumed up in minutes flat.

Back in the park, we laughed through the Shrek 4D show and rode a bike with ET, the Extraterrestrial. After dark, we got on my favorite movie ride in the park: Jaws! It’s probably the oldest ride in the park, and some of the kids called it “cheesy,” but they are young and therefore prone to moments of complete stupidity. I love Jaws, however, and could easily do it twice in one day. In fact, I have.

At 9pm we gathered to watch the Mardi-Gras parade that runs through the park. The floats are beautiful and elaborate, with costumed workers who throw out a constant hail of beads. I caught quite a few sets of beads and shared them with some of the height challenged kids around me. When I asked one of the workers if I’d get more beads by removing my shirt, he told me that he’d give me a case full if I wouldn’t. I think I’ll try to sell them on EBay.

After the parade, all of the festival participants gathered in a nearby amphitheater for the results of the judging. As each group was introduced, screams and cheers erupted, and the anticipation was rising. Each choir received a “participation” trophy as their score was announced, and we were thrilled when all three of our choirs achieved “superior” ratings.

The overall school award was announced last, and I’m sure that each school felt that they were deserving of the honor. For some it was a form of positive reinforcement. For others, it was merely delusion.

I was more than a little concerned when the announcer said that the difference between the first and second place schools was only 4/10’s of a percentage point. I didn’t think anyone of the groups I had heard was anywhere near that close to our school. Then I remembered who had made the decision: band judges.

Surely, I thought, even these three odd acting, older men who had probably lost most of their hearing over thirty years of deafening blasts from trumpets and the thumping of bass drums could appreciate the difference in quality that should be obvious to even the most tone deaf listener. (Not that I was prejudiced).

The crowd hushed and the festival chairperson opened the envelope with a dramatic flair. The seconds crawled by like hours and after an interminably long clearing of the throat, the overall winner was announced.

It was a long trip back home to Oak Ridge. Orlando was fun and I love the theme parks, but we had all tasted the bitter pill of injustice, and we didn’t like it.

Stupid handbells.

Stupid “band judges.”