The background: I run a non-profit educational musical theatre workshop called Upstage! The programs director and myself don’t even get PAID yet. We’re running on a shoestring budget, but we put on DAMN good shows, the parents love us, and we’re making a name for ourselves. We teach children ages 4-18 to act, dance and sing. We rent space from a local church, including a classroom which we share with another renter (which happens to be a church itself). In our classroom, we store our sets, stuff we need to teach, and our piano. Our piano is a 1923 Vose and Sons “grand” upright. It’s old, it’s wonderful, and we love it. We just got it this year.
The rant:
Dear fuckwads:
This piano is not yours. From the week we got it until this week, you have managed to do HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS OF DAMAGE to it. First, you broke three keytops. You never told anyone about it, just left the keys lying around on top of the piano. You keep using my stool and drag it around the room, adjusting it at its top height, then settling your rather large ass on it in such a way that it now wobbles and is unsteady. You didn’t even care that you had freakin’ GUM on your shoes and rubbed that all over the base of the stool. THANKS. You also eat shit at the piano, and I find wrappers and crumbs all over the keyboard. I’m allergic to peanuts, so your reeses pieces wrappers do not inspire confidence. I should not have to clean off my keyboard every time I have to play it. Not to mention THAT THIS PIANO IS NOT YOURS TO FUCK WITH ANYWAY.
This week took the cake though. We had purposefully turned the piano to face the wall so you wouldn’t be able to fuck with it. We’d put our stool up there, along with some props and my “soon to be fixed” pedal bars. This piano is old, and on old, antique casters. It cannot be turned without a dolly. Still, YOU TURNED IT. Not only that, but you snapped off one of the casters and LEFT IT LYING AT THE OTHER END OF THE GODFORSAKEN ROOM. When my stagehand tried to lift the piano and have me slip the dolly underneath, we realized it was going to TIP. YOU LEFT ME WITH A BROKEN PIANO. ON FUCKING OPENING NIGHT, JACKASSES! GAAAAARGH! We managed to find the broken piece and try to rest the piano on it and hope it remains steady enough for the fucking show.
Now I have just spoken to my piano technician. To replace the caster, we will have to replace all four. This will be a $400 job, fucknuggets. We can’t do it ourselves. It requires special casters, a special cradle dolly to tip the piano back… And, JOY! He has to order the casters to make the repair. Which means I have to spend the week, WHILE WE HAVE PERFORMANCES, with a broken piano.
You have also managed to let your fucking little hellions (the kids who use this room) to handle and misplace BOTH OF MY BROKEN PEDAL BARS. I CANNOT REPLACE THOSE. They, you know, don’t MAKE THEM FOR PIANOS FROM 1923 ANYMORE. Thanks, jerkfaces. I plan to charge you for those too.
My piano is also going out of tune because you fuck with it on a regular basis. THIS IS NOT A TOY. KEEP YOUR PAWS OFF MY PIANO, or I will find you all and stomp gleefully on your testicles.
GAAAAAH!
Love,
Me.
Note: We have complained to the church we rent from every time we’ve had incidents like that. THEY HAVE DONE NOTHING. So now, we are preparing an invoice. This has GOT TO STOP. We are currently looking for another space. There is NO WAY IN HELL we are staying there. We’ve had stuff STOLEN (including a 4ft stepladder, our radio system for the stage manager and lighting guy, and a toolbox!) and NOTHING has been done about it. I HAVE HAD IT!