Annoying the elderly

Catholic churches in Freiburg are often left unlocked during the day. When I practice at St. Petrus Canisius, it isn't unusual for people to come in and out of the sanctuary to pray, collect holy water, or listen. Today was my day to annoy the elderly.

My first complainant, missing a few teeth and not having shaved in a few days, quietly shuffled up behind me on a cane. "What are you doing?" he said. "Are you practicing? It's too loud." ("Too loud?" I thought, "but this is the quiet part!"). "When I stand in the back of the church," he continued, "it's too loud. It hurts my ears. It's painful. I was walking past outside, and I heard it. You're going to ruin your hearing, sitting here playing that loud. How many decibels ya got there, anyway? You play here all the time? No? You a student? That's good. This thing is too loud--and it was too expensive too. I tell ya what, they should have gotten a smaller organ, a nice quiet one, and sent all the money they wasted on this one to that good lady in India, what was her name? Yeah, Mother Theresa. Yeah, what a waste. OK, you keep practicing, but play quietly or your hearing's gonna be shot. Have a good day."

Complainant number two, hunched over her walker, her white hair in a tight bun, arrived behind me a few minutes later. "This is a house of God, not a practice room," she said angrily. "A house for prayer, not for recreation. I can't pray here. Why do they allow this? Things have really changed, and not for the better. It's shameful." As a representative of Young People These Days, I told her I could stop playing for a while if she liked. She just looked at me disdainfully--"a house of prayer, I say"--and left me terrified to touch the keys until she had disappeared into the back of the church.

As soon as complainant two had opened up some space, complainant number three occupied it, looking somewhat more sprightly in his bright red cardigan. "Are you the pastor?" he asked. "No, of course you aren't, you're a woman. Well, where's the pastor?" ("Uh oh," I thought, "he's with complainant number two--I'm gonna get in trouble now--they're going to go complain about disrespectful noise in a house of God.") I told him I didn't know, but that someone in the office could probably help him. He sighed. "No, no, I don't need to bother the pastor. {sigh} What is it with this place? I have absolutely no affinity for it. It's impersonal. All stone, cold and hard. Unfriendly. {sigh} There's no warmth. I prefer smaller churches." He started to walk away, then turned back to me. "I'm not asking for decoration, you know," he said, coming up to the organ again; "I just want the building to speak to me, to be inviting. {sigh} Well, maybe I'll go see in the office about the pastor. {sigh} You keep practicing now. Have a nice day."

What a far cry from the two applauding novices who hovered perkily behind me in their black and white robes while I practiced three weeks ago.

With the afternoon before me and the promise of spending at least an hour with my fellow Tenoress at choir practice tonight, I figure there are abundant opportunities to annoy more people before I hit the sack.