"Should I stay or should I go?" Yeah, that's the title of an old Clash tune (which still seems to be on continuous rotation on the local radio stations) -- have you ever asked yourself that when you're tuning a piano? Hey, if the lady of the house answers the door and says "omigod we've all got the flu could you please come back next week", no problem. Sometimes a similar scene plays out if the wall in the next room is being ripped out for remodeling, or the maids/cleaning service are running around the house vacuuming thoroughly and loudly. Too often I've "gone for it" and continued to work, foam ear plugs in and ETD assisting. It's nice to maintain one's schedule, but noise, fumes, plaster dust etc. make for extra stress. Yesterday the first appointment started out with the sunny dispositioned Yankee Brahmin/Master of the Universe type husband ushering me into his multimillion dollar home, eager to have me tune their U1 for the occasion of his son's piano recital. Oh yeah, the piano teacher had convinced him it would be a good idea if the students' recital was at Mr. Master of the Universe's home. So I get to work, and then his wife rambles in, howling at him as to why he had ever agreed to this recital thing, that he had no right to impose this on her and their son, and assorted other topics at high volume and hurricane force. They settled into a couple chairs a few feet away from the piano for ten minutes of high drama until she stalks off, seeming ready either to pack her bags or go get her gun, as he is calling out to her "Eunice! Come back! Don't walk away from me while we're discussing this!" (while he sits 4 feet away from the piano). By this point the middle section of the piano is roughed in to A440 while the rest of the piano is about 4 beats sharp. I was sorely tempted to announce that I thought it would be best if I came back some other time (like in 10 or so years from now) to finish the job, but I didn't. Eventually they moved their "discussion" to some far part of the estate, with occasional outbursts from the wife echoing my way. Well I tore through that one as quickly as possible (and I'm always otherwise obsessive about getting things dead on); husband and wife appeared to have "worked things out" at least long enough to put a smile on as I headed out the door. Yikes! Talk about stress! It certainly made me value my good natured spouse (and thankful for the sanity of most of my customers)! Patrick Draine
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