The G key in the middle register of the main piano I play isn’t sounding.
I won’t know exactly what’s happened until the technician fixes it on Monday.
Which makes me grumpy because it’s an annoying inconvenience to work around this weekend.
I’m not in the mood for small talk and when I’m angry most of my coworkers know to keep their distance anyway.
“I liked how you used dynamics in that last song you played. You’re a beautiful pianist.”
I look up, surprised that anyone would even be talking to me.
I recognize the conference tag he’s wearing.
It’s a guest from out of town traveling through corporate America, whose business it is to teach the employees in those companies how to get along with each other.
I thank him and sheepishly admit that I’ve been a cranky pants all night because I’m working with one note short on my piano.
He laughs and tells me that a long time ago, he was a music major at Berkeley. He would still rather be playing the piano than be on the road all the time. And that he would give anything to have even 44 working keys to my current 87.