I could not believe who left me a voice message Saturday morning;  it was my flute instructor.   She somehow managed through all the phlem, sniffing and coughing,  to croak out that she was sick.  Really sick – not the I drank too much with all my freaky flute friends Friday night so I’ll just call in sick kind of sick.  She’s just not that kind of girl – at least I don’t think she is.  I mean, she’s in her early 20s and already wears glasses, no make-up and sensible shoes – the comfy kind hospital nurses wear and my 90 year old grandma. 

More reasons to support my she really was sick hypothesis:  she not only practices the flute all day every day (She really does;  She told me so herself.), she knows way too much about the woodwind instrument.  Every week, she ticks off point after point after point about why my $3,000 flute (She’s the one who knew the exact value of the instrument by the way, not me.  My mom bought me a new flute to replace my junky one when I was a junior in high school;  I had no idea.) is not good enough and why I should invest in a $10,000 24kt gold plated one instead.  I all but choked on the gum I should have have swallowed before the lesson began when she suggested it. 

After hearing the message, I wanted to give my flute friend some advice.  If I would have answered the phone Saturday morning instead of snoozing, I would have told her to sit down, prop up her sensible shoe wearing feet, and sip some soup – that’s what I woulda said if I coulda said.  I also would have said good-bye and it wasn’t her fault I would never step in the music store where she teaches again. 

Last weekend, my mom made me get into a scuffle with the music store manager over the phone.  If you didn’t read that most awesome post, click here for the full fledged version.  In a nutshell, I had to cancel my lesson last week.  Music Mike – as I’ll now and forever refer to him – told me if I didn’t use it, I’d lose it.  I was furious and I let him have it, so much so that he eventually hung up on me.  It wasn’t the $16 that upset me, it was the principle.  Music Mike never informed me of the store’s ridiculous use it or lose it in sickness and in vacation policy when I paid in advance for my month of lessons.  Never.

On the last Saturday of my pre-paid lessons, I wanted to confront Music Mike in person.  Before my lesson, I would tell him unless he refunded my money, I would take my business elsewhere.  I would tell him I plan to expose my two boys to music at some point in the future and unless he refunded my money, I would buy their instruments and lessons somewhere else.  I would tell him that I would spout off to anyone and everyone I know not to buy instruments or lessons from his locally owned and operated store.  And I would tell him his no cancellation ever policy bites, especially when you don’t inform your customers of it - that’s what I woulda said if I coulda said. 

When my instructor called to cancel, I added one more question to my list for Music Mike:   why is it all right for my instructor to cancel and not me – that’s what I woulda said, if I coulda said.

I wanted to make Music Mike squirm and I wanted to do it in person;  lesson or not,  I drove to the music store.  I would make a stink so loud and so long he would either:

(a.)    give me my money back for both lessons, or

(b.)    he was going to have to call one of his band geeks employees from the back to kick me out.  (Honestly, I was hoping to get kicked out.  That would have been a better blog story, don’t you agree?)

Either way I would feel satisfied.  I would get to give Music Mike a piece of mind and I figure no one is complete without it, so really I’m doing him a favor.  As it turns out, I never got the chance. 

The store was packed with people Saturday morning.  All the dorks elementary school students and their parents were there buying instruments and lessons and every one of us had to talk to Music Mike.  Apparently, no one else in the store can do anything but him.  It’s a great system they have going on over there, let me tell you.  I waited 30 minutes before I finally got my turn.  The whole time I’m thinking this is the best situation possible.  He will do whatever I want to get me to not make a fuss in front of all these people, and unfortunately I was right.

He took one look at me and said, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Tasha Young’, I replied.

Music Mike mumbled, ‘You need a refund for your flute lessons?’

‘Yup,’ I said with a smile.   ‘Two of them.’

‘Ok,’ he replied.

That’s it.  He asked for the card I paid for the lessons with and refunded me my $36 before I could blink.  I didn’t get to say or do anything I wanted to say or do.  I didn’t even get to see him squirm at all – not one teeny, tiny, itsy-bitsy squirm. 

But I just wanted you to know that’s  what I woulda said if I coulda said and it would have felt good great orgasmic.

I got into a scuffle Saturday morning:  a verbal one.

I blame my mother:  she’s the one making me take flute lessons again after 18 years.   I mean, she knows how I am;  if I have to make a teen-aged twit at the front desk cry before handing the phone over to her superior, I have to make a teen-aged twit cry.  If it weren’t for my mom, I never would have  had to rip the music store manager a new one, either.

You see?  It’s not my fault;  it’s my mom’s.

It all started last Monday when my husband and I decided to take our boys out of town this past weekend.  I obviously knew Monday I wasn’t going to make my Saturday at noon flute lesson, but did I call the music store Monday and cancel?

No.  I hosted a lunch play date at my home, had a carpet picnic, and had the most fun time.

Did I call the music store Tuesday and cancel?

No.  Latham fell down and bit his bottom lip.  There was blood everywhere and I freaked out a little bit – okay, a lot of bit.

Did I call the music store Wednesday and cancel?

No.  I went grocery shopping with a one year old and a two year old stuffed in the cart before doing laundry, cleaning and working out.

Did I call the music store Thursday and cancel?

No.  I got Latham up early from his nap to go to another play date where we had a great time, but then had to deal with him crying for the rest of the day.

Did I call the music store Friday and cancel?

No.  I had to get the boys, my husband and myself packed before leaving for our trip that afternoon.

Did I call the music store Saturday and cancel? 

YES, I did!  I called as soon as the store opened that morning.  Just after the hormonal teen who answered the phone told me there was ABSOLUTELY no way the store would refund my money for the missed session or reschedule it, I accidentally made her cry (she’s just sensitive, I swear – I wasn’t trying to make her cry) and asked to speak to her manager.

The manager informed me the store never reschedules or refunds money for lessons, unless you give them 24 hours notice.  I quickly told him no one had ever informed me of the policy and since this was my first offense, why doesn’t he just reschedule my lesson and in the future I know to call 24 hours in advance.

‘No.’ He said.  ‘The policy is clearly posted on a wall in the store and if it makes you feel any better, it’s not just you.  We don’t make exceptions for anyone.’

‘No, that doesn’t make me feel better.’  I spouted.  ‘What does make me feel better is knowing I have two little boys at home that I will be exposing to music in the future.  What makes me feel better is you will lose hundreds if not thousands of dollars when I buy those instruments and lessons at another music store since you refuse to reschedule a $16 flute lesson - that is what makes me feel better.’ 

I thought I got him.  He’s going to reschedule my lesson.  He’s the manager of a small music store.  He needs the business.

‘Okay.’ He said.

‘Hello?  Hello?  Hello?’  After I realized he hung up, I was furious – furious in a my husband better take me out for a glass of wine right this second kind of way. 

I have to take one last lesson since I’ve already paid for it and you know all about the irritating ’use it or lose it’ policy.  I just hope I don’t say anything else Saturday that makes someone at the store cry.  I certainly could, you know.  But it really wouldn’t be my fault:  it would be my mom’s.