During my freshman year, our marching band and jazz band had
the opportunity to perform at the Holiday Bowl in San Diego. We participated in
the music festival and during the half-time show (with Diana Ross and Tina
Turner—which was a surprise). In addition to the performances and parade, we
had structured free time, as well as planned meals around San Diego at places
like the Hard Rock Café.
At one of the dinners, my friends Ruby, Sherry, Melissa,
Sarah, and I got the brilliant idea to relocate the salt shakers to the women’s
bathroom in the form of a smiley face. After lots of strange looks from women
entering the bathroom and lots of giggling from us, we made our way back to the
tour bus. A short time later, our band director strode grimly with the restaurant
manager by his side towards the bus. We looked at each other slightly nervous,
but we figured we technically didn’t do anything wrong, so we had nothing to
worry about.
However, our nervousness increased as Mr. Barton ordered us
off the shuttle bus and to gather in a circle around him and the restaurant
manager. Mr. Barton looked at all of us disappointedly, and started speaking, “The
manager tells me that five of the restaurants salt shakers have disappeared. I
don’t think I need to tell you how disappointed in you and embarrassed for you
I am. We will stand here until those who are responsible return the salt
shakers.”
In unison, Sherry, Melissa, Sarah, and I looked at each
other in panic. We had been caught. The one time (okay probably not the only
time, but still…) we decided to do something stupid, we were caught. However,
we knew what we had to do. As one, we turned around and walked back to the restaurant,
our heads hanging in shame, thus missing the stunned looks on the faces of our
fellow band members. We trooped into the bathroom and soon returned with the salt
shakers in question. As we handed the salt shakers back to the manager, he was
the only one able to maintain a straight face. His coworkers had smirks on
their faces, and Mr. Barton’s hand covered his mouth as he tried to maintain a
stern composure. We quickly scurried back to the bus where we were greeted by
the sound of laughter. No one expected us to be culprits and found it amusing that we were caught in our rare act of
mischief.
On the ride back to our hotel, we penitently made up songs
expressing our remorse for our deeds to the primary song “Nephi’s Courage.” I
can’t remember the words to that song, but I do remember the words to another
one of our creations, “I Hope I Marry a Missionary.” Interestingly enough, this
song made it into a girls’ camp songbook
compiled by a girl in my ward three or so years later. I hadn’t realized that
it had spread that far, but here are the words:
Sung to the tune of “I Hope I Become a Missionary”, another Primary
song:
I hope I marry a missionary
When I have grown a year or two
I hope by then I will be ready
To cook and clean and raise little missionaries too.
(I think there was a second verse, but as this was composed
almost fourteen years ago (December 1999), I find it impressive that I even
remember the first verse.)
