Monday, January 08, 2007
And I am telling you...the story of how I almost became the next great singing sensation to grace gate A7 at the Baltimore Washington International Airport
On Friday night, I was waiting in line for the last Southwest flight of the evening to Columbus, Ohio. Perhaps because the airport was so deserted (walking into the terminal and seeing only one person in the line that almost ruined my Christmas a few weeks ago inspired me to quote The Great Gatsby: "My God, they used to come here by the hundreds"), or perhaps it was because our gate agent was one of those typical quirky, perky Southwest types (whom I usually either find really refreshing or really annoying, depending on my mood), he decided to make us an offer shortly before we boarded. He would allow one person from the back of the line to move to the front...if we got up and sang a song for everyone over the intercom.
Standing at the back of the A line, I seriously considered it. And then I let the opportunity pass me by. I told myself that it was because I was tired. Because I was already in the A line on a fairly empty flight, and therefore I didn't really need to jump through any hoops to ensure myself a coveted window seat. That it wouldn't matter if I sat in the front of the plane, because I'd still have to wait for my luggage to make it to baggage claim, thanks to all the new liquid restrictions that compel me to check it.
But deep down, I knew this wasn't true. The truth is, I chickened out. And it's all Francesca's fault.
You see, thanks to copious mentions of Dreamgirls on her blog, the only song I could think of to sing was "And I Am Telling You." Without the proper shower rehearsals, I was concerned that the airport, no matter how deserted, was probably not the best place to debut such a challenging song. I worried that I'd forget the words to the small snippet of the song I actually know. I worried that my voice would crack and shake, as it often does when I have to sing on the spot without the luxury of accompaniment or even background noise, or worse, that I'd miss some notes and completely derail. But most of all, I worried that it would be a repeat of my fourth-grade choir audition, for which I practiced singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" every night for weeks as I was running my bath, only to freeze when asked my song choice at the audition, ending up singing a pathetic "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" instead.
So I missed my chance to do something awesome. And then I spent the rest of the weekend polishing my rendition of "And I Am Telling You." The next time I get an opportunity to sing at the airport, you'd better believe I'm going to take it.
On Friday night, I was waiting in line for the last Southwest flight of the evening to Columbus, Ohio. Perhaps because the airport was so deserted (walking into the terminal and seeing only one person in the line that almost ruined my Christmas a few weeks ago inspired me to quote The Great Gatsby: "My God, they used to come here by the hundreds"), or perhaps it was because our gate agent was one of those typical quirky, perky Southwest types (whom I usually either find really refreshing or really annoying, depending on my mood), he decided to make us an offer shortly before we boarded. He would allow one person from the back of the line to move to the front...if we got up and sang a song for everyone over the intercom.
Standing at the back of the A line, I seriously considered it. And then I let the opportunity pass me by. I told myself that it was because I was tired. Because I was already in the A line on a fairly empty flight, and therefore I didn't really need to jump through any hoops to ensure myself a coveted window seat. That it wouldn't matter if I sat in the front of the plane, because I'd still have to wait for my luggage to make it to baggage claim, thanks to all the new liquid restrictions that compel me to check it.
But deep down, I knew this wasn't true. The truth is, I chickened out. And it's all Francesca's fault.
You see, thanks to copious mentions of Dreamgirls on her blog, the only song I could think of to sing was "And I Am Telling You." Without the proper shower rehearsals, I was concerned that the airport, no matter how deserted, was probably not the best place to debut such a challenging song. I worried that I'd forget the words to the small snippet of the song I actually know. I worried that my voice would crack and shake, as it often does when I have to sing on the spot without the luxury of accompaniment or even background noise, or worse, that I'd miss some notes and completely derail. But most of all, I worried that it would be a repeat of my fourth-grade choir audition, for which I practiced singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" every night for weeks as I was running my bath, only to freeze when asked my song choice at the audition, ending up singing a pathetic "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" instead.
So I missed my chance to do something awesome. And then I spent the rest of the weekend polishing my rendition of "And I Am Telling You." The next time I get an opportunity to sing at the airport, you'd better believe I'm going to take it.
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