How to Lose the Trade

The phone rang, and I answered.
“Hello. Do you play piano for banquets?”
Yes, for two free meals and fifty dollars I allow myself to be cor­rupted--temporarily. How many times do I have to play ‘Bill Bailey?”
“Maybe eight or ten.”
“Make that three free meals and sixty dollars."

“Hello, is this the Mr. Williams that plays the organ?”
“Speaking.” Sounds like a wedding.
“Well, my boy friend and I are getting married June 24, and I wondered if you would play for the wedding.”
“Sorry, I don’t do weddings. Once in a while a reception, if there’s plenty of booze.”

“Hello, is this the Williams that teaches organ lessons?”
“Yes, but I don’t teach them much anymore. I’m tied up doing brain surgery.
“Oh. Well, I got me this here organ--fella give me a pretty good deal--always wanted to learn to play one, y’know.”
“I see. Why don’t you get an instruction manual with the lettered cardboard strips that fit over the keys and the colored adhesive plates that you stick on the pedals and teach yourself?”
“Oh, I don’t want to learn to read music. I just want to learn to play by ear.”
“I see..”
“Yeah, I always pick out a few tunes after work, y’know--?”
“From your ear?”

“Hello there! Is this the fella tunes pyannas?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, what d’ya charge?”
“Twenty dollars.”
“Can ya tune mine?”
“I think so. Pianos are a lot alike.”
“Well, when can y’do it?”
“Where do you live?”
“North Webster.”
“Oh. Hmm, I’m afraid I’d have to charge another fifteen for that
trip. That’s an hour each way from here.
“What! Thirty-five dollars? Shucks, I only paid me fifty for the whole pyanna. G’bye.”
“Toodleoo.”

“Mr. Williams, I have a boy who will be almost four and one-half this April, and he just loves music. Now, tell me honestly, am I just being silly to think of getting him started on the piano this year? I mean, what is the average age--I know they start them at six or seven sometimes, don’t they——I mean, I started from Mrs. Briggs--Alice Briggs—­do you know her--over on Henry Street--I started with her myself when I was only six--or was it seven?”
“It was six.”
“I beg pardon?”
“You should."
“What?”

“Mr. Williams, I wonder if five is too young to start my little Freddy on the organ?”
“Well, madam, yes—-that is, if little Freddy falls off the bench and breaks his little neck on the pedals.”

“Mr. Edward Williams?”
“I have a daughter who will be starting third grade this year, and we bought a lovely spinet a month ago. You do give piano lessons, don’t you?”
“Well, I’ve cut down pretty much because of my fulltime work.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Teaching at the University.”
“Oh really? How marvelous! Music?”
“No, sex education and Communist theory.”

“Hello?"
“Hi there.”
“Are you the Mister Williams who advertised for piano lessons ?“
“The same. But that was last fall. I’m not taking any more pupils because of the demands of my regular work. You see, I--.”
“Well, our Louise is just a genius at the piano and she simply hates her present teacher and demands to take from you. She just loves the way you play.”
“Well, that’s very flattering, but--.”
“I tell you Mister Williams, she just won’t think about anyone but you."
“Well, I appreciate how she feels, but—-.”
“Perhaps you know her--Louise Del Mario? She was runner-up to Miss Indiana in the beauty pageant last year?"
“Shall we say this Saturday afternoon at two? My wife goes shopping.”