Now, I must tell you my story about last night's band practice.
In the summer, we don't have access to the high school we normally practice in, the high school being closed. So we use a church basement. Last night was our third rehearsal there for this summer.
The first week we played there, a filmy grime covered everything and there was a smell of mildew, due no doubt to a recent flood.
The second week, there were massive hepa filters with giant plastic tubes (a foot tall) leading to the windows. They were quite loud. We turned them off so we could hear ourselves.
This week, same as last week, we went in through the basement door (so the drummer, tuba player, etc. don't have to carry their instruments through a series of narrow stairwells, etc.) as usual, shut the hepa filters off, set up, sat down and started playing.
And about 45 minutes later an older gentleman came in and asked "Is Mrs. X here?" (Obviously names changed to protect the not present to defend themselves. And note the clever pseudonyms.)
"No," we said vaguely.
"Is Mr. X here?" he asked.
"No, he's with Mrs. X on vacation," we mumbled.
"Who can I talk to, then?" he asked.
The band president stood up and said "Well, I'm the president. You can talk to me."
And the man said "Nobody is supposed to be in here. You shouldn't be in here. This building has been condemned."
We didn't leave. No, not us. "Oh, we'll be fine," our conductor said. "There are lots of doctors in this band. And we need the practice."
Well, I don't know about you, but when I'm playing in a condemned building, I really think the Clash should be involved. Or the Violent Femmes. Or the Sex Pistols. We played a medley of themes from "South Pacific". However, we did play them quite poorly.