Sit through four student honor recitals, hand out programs, re-arrange chairs, shepherd wayward parents & families, decipher a succession of crazy accents, spar with a fellow teacher who comes back from her lunch break to find you manning her previous post and insists that your reason for being there is not true and that in fact you are not a teacher (all this eliciting untold rage within you), become disgusted by all the formality, lament how the adjacent simultaneous recital always concludes before yours, shake your head at the handful of student performers showing up with winter gloves on their hands, wish to never hear Bach's "Minuet in G" again, refuse to become entwined in the trash-talking about how many misspellings have appeared in the programs, unexpectedly find yourself up on stage at the end of the 8-hour day unwrapping senior medallions and plaques to hand to people you only vaguely know, act as the stage manager pulling items on and off stage between per...