"I was huddled up on one of the chairs a few rows back from the stage, agonizing over the complexity of my eight second solo. As with any performance, a certain amount of sound testing needed to be done. As I reviewed the music in my head over and over infinitum, I tried to ignore the loud conversation taking place between the drama members up on stage and the sounds techs at the back of the room.
It had been mainly female voices coming from behind me, so my interest was piqued when a definitively male figure advanced up the center aisle to the scattered microphones lining the front of the stage. The man wore a trench coat, an Aussie outback hat, and sleek sunglasses, all of which were black. The little bit of skin that could be seen below the rim of his glasses revealed a sprinkling of freckles. The music stopped in my head. I waited.
He began adjusting the microphone stands and rearranging the monitors with deft hands that obviously had performed these tasks a hundred times before. The whole room was quiet as if we were all waiting for him to ease an FBI badge out of his pocket and pin someone to the ground. He finished his arrangement with a final neat coiling of a microphone cord, and slipped back down the aisle. The world began rotating again."