This served as the date for our make-up class. The adult tap dance class I teach on Friday evenings had been canceled previously for one class meeting when I experienced freeway hazards and couldn’t make the start time.
When I arrived at the studio door on November 30 primed and ready for a fun hour of dance, imagine my surprise. Another dance teacher had displaced me. Well, she didn’t have advance knowledge that her presence would displace me. Apparently, our supervisor had made the error of scheduling the other teacher on the same evening in the same space. I called the supervisor. She profusely offered apologies, saying “I’m sorry” eight times over (maybe nine) with amazing speed. Now, it may not have been such an egregious wrong but I drove an hour one way in Bay Area traffic on Bay Area freeway to get to my appointment…nothing was going to redeem this bust of a night. And after listening to the other teacher explain that she had nothing to do with the mix-up using her sickeningly-sweet-saccharine-voice to do it, I replied, “I don’t like your sickeningly-sweet-saccharine-voice.” “I’m from Georgia”, came her response. I didn’t understand why she felt the need to talk geography. But I was prompted to say, “Yes, and the South lost the war”.
The supervisor mentioned she could offer the students, and myself, a make-up to the make-up. Really? No. We were headed into December…busy holiday goings on. The students were not enthusiastic about yet another make-up date at that point. Georgia got what she needed out of the evening. I returned home with nothing but frustration to show for my two hour round trip drive. An evening without 5,6,7,8. Argh.