It was the night of the high school band's annual fundraiser at the "fancy hotel" in our town. I don't know the official name of the event; I just call it the Annual Dance for Rich Parents. I'd dropped her off with her trombone, let her know that Mom would probably be picking her up because I was exhausted, then drove home and went to sleep.
She came downstairs the following morning:
Kid: OMG, Dad, last night was so eventful!
Me: What happened?
Kid: The dance was great, and we were having a blast in the band until the third set.
Me: Because…
Kid: Because literally a third of the band was missing. We couldn't find them anywhere! They weren't getting food, they weren't in the bathrooms or hallways, they were just… gone!
Me: …
Kid: And then we noticed the flashing lights outside.
Me: Whaa?
Kid: The fire department came because they were all stuck in the elevator. Like, 9 of them. Until the end of the third set.
Me: Wait—how did you get through the set with a third of the band missing?
Kid: Well, I played the sax part by ear, and we all just faked it.
Me: Hold on—you play the sax now, too?
Kid: No, I played it on my trombone. It was terrifying.
Me: I hope there's video.
It turns out that she very well could have played the... um... slide saxophone: YouTube.
