Last week, I was told by one of my critics about the “click-baitgate” scandal that the issue wasn’t about the old guy who made a comment that appeared to be out of line – even though it was proven it wasn’t out of line at all – but it was my reaction to the person who tried to tell me to discipline the offending party.
There was widespread indignation that I had told this person to “take a pill.”
I didn’t insult her, I didn’t berate her. I told her to just leave me alone and let me run my Facebook group my way.
Funny how everyone called me out for saying that, but never called her out for trying to dictate how I run my business.
I guess jackals will always prefer rotting carcasses over a filet mignon, but that’s beside the point.
What I found amusing about this indignation is people seem to have a perception of the craft of Trumpet that it’s some sort of high-browed, pipe-smoking, tennis-playing class of distinguished Montesquieu’s. Saying “take a pill” to someone who was getting on my nerves is “utterly unprofessional” and “completely unacceptable,” said my critic.
This characterization of the craft of Trumpet couldn’t be further from the truth, at least in my experience.
I see the craft more like the guy who wakes up at 5 am, eats breakfast, kisses the wife and kids goodbye, works at the mill until 5, then comes home to a hot meal – cooked by his wife who played long tones while the pasta was cooking.
A few trumpet players wear tuxes and suits as part of their work uniform, but their personna and work ethic is very blue collar.
Blue collar means the language is a little salty at times. Someone just might say something that makes you angry.
Life is too short, and the pond too small, to let thin-skinned fault-finders try to tell you what to think and how to react to things.