I had a really busy week last week. There was not a single day that I did not have either a rehearsal or a performance, or some combination of multiples of both. And then, to cap it all off, George took my folder.
Look, I don’t really care about the folder. I mean, I do. It was a nice folder. Most of my black folders for performing are quite old and falling apart, but this one was my newest folder. All shiny and sturdy, and probably easily replaced for $2 at Staples. But yeah, there’s not really any reason to be upset over this.
I was singing with a group called The Green Mountain Monteverdi Ensemble of Vermont. This gloriously redundant name was an immediate attraction to a music nerd like myself, and the music that they were singing was fun. Also, you know, they were paying me. But the point is, we did a lot of interesting music in styles that I don’t often get to sing, and it was a great group of people to sing with. At least I thought it was, until I tried to find my folder.
It’s not like there was anything valuable in the folder. Sure, my music was in there, but it was all stuff I’d been e-mailed and had printed out, so theoretically I could print it out again if I needed it, which I most likely would not ever again. My program for the concert was in there, along with a poster for the shows, and I do like to file those things away for future reminiscing, but it wasn’t like I had lost my wallet, or keys, or children. It was basically just annoying, is all.
Maybe it was the lack of rest or sleep that just made everything more upsetting. Sure, I’ve been gone for weeks at a time on singing gigs before, rehearsing nearly every day, but there are generally no children waking me up at 6 am during those periods. Last week was a week full of driving long distances, taking care of children, working at church, singing, and performing. It was exhausting. The only one constant through those rough and trying times was my folder, which was with me every step of the way.
Okay, that’s ridiculous. Why did I even write that? My folder is just a folder.
A folder that George took.
We finished up the last concert and I went backstage to the room where we had left our stuff, and I put my folder and my water bottle down on the table. I then returned to greet audience members and field job offers due to excellent singing. Obviously this went on for quite some time, and when I returned to the back room, I saw my lonely water bottle sitting on the table, but no folder.
“Hey, did anybody take my folder by accident?” I called out, rushing from singer to singer, flipping open folders in people’s hands in a mad search for the precious. Each person I encountered was holding their own folder. Nobody had stolen mine. I must have left it somewhere else…
When I returned to the site of the concert, there, in the front row, sat a black folder, along with some snacks and a water bottle. Could this be my folder, next to George’s other extraneous items? No. It turned out to be George’s folder. So the next logical step was to locate George, who I was now convinced had taken my folder in some sort of horribly tragic mix-up.
“Oh, he left,” said every person I interviewed in regards to the whereabouts of George.
“But…his folder is still here…” I protested. “How could he have left…”
They tried to call him. Repeatedly, but he did not answer his phone. Where he had gone, none of us knew, but one thing had become very clear. George took my folder.
It would be one thing if this was a person that I was familiar with, or who lived within a sixty mile radius of me, or who I might ever see again, but sadly none of those things were the case. George was gone, my folder was gone, and I had no money to hire a bounty hunter to retrieve them. All I could do was to drive the other two members of my carpool home and complain extensively about the incident for the better part of an hour. Sorry carpool buddies.
As it happens, George (Not his real name, obviously. I don’t want any vigilante justice happening because of me) e-mailed me last night, confirming that he did indeed have my folder. I think he is going to mail it to me. So the story may have a happy ending after all. I know you were concerned. But I’m not celebrating until I have my poor lost black folder back in my happy hands again. Man. I just can’t believe that George took my folder.