The problem with Mike Hotseat isn’t that he’s an astronaut; it’s that he’s so damned smug about it…
Listen, I lived with Mike Hotseat for well over three years. And in that entire time, he never once asked me what I did for a living. And I can’t say for sure, but knowing Mike as I do, I suspect it’s because it didn’t really matter what i did for a living; it was never going to be able to compete with being an astronaut.
Which… fair enough, I suppose. I’m comfortable enough to concede that being a piano teacher isn’t as glamorous as going to the moon. But you know what? People appreciate what I do! I allow Joe and Jane Q. Public to unleash the music inside of their souls! And let me tell you something, that’s not nothing.
Elton John had a piano teacher, once. And then he wrote the song ‘Rocket Man’.
Which makes him kind of a traitor, in my book.
Anyway: I don’t want to linger on stupid old Mike Hotseat, and his contemptible hubris.
No, the story I want to tell you today is about a certain student of mine, a young fellow by the name of Charlie Molasseshands.
I do not know why, but his hands were constantly covered in molasses.
Now, I’d imagine that at this point you’re thinking the exact same thing that I was: Gracious! Why in heavens’ name would this fellow want to play the piano?
I never learned the answer to that question, of course. We had two and a half sessions before Charlies mother decided that this was an unworkable situation and pulled him out once and for all. And she was nice enough to pay to have professionals come in and clean the piano, which is very much a credit to her character. i
In the brief time that I taught Charlie Molasseshands, I’d like to think that I made considerable progress with him. He was never going to be one of the greats, but I think that being able to play ‘Chopsticks’ wasn’t out of the question. Mores’ the tragedy that we’ll never know.
In conclusion: if there is a moral to this story, it is that the life of a piano teacher can most definitely be just as strange and exciting as that of an astronaut.
So there, Mike Hotseat…
Pryorball. 