An Anonymous Brass Band to Soften the Blow

I got laid off to the sounds of an anonymous brass band in my alleyway. I hung up my Hangout and stepped onto the back porch, and there they were — some combination of trumpets and trombones and other copper and zinc love children — blaring up to the subsidized senior complex on Kenmore.

Serenades should be part of severance packages — if anything to provide a moment of respite, at best some melodramatic perspective. It’s hard to seethe to an underscore of “This Little Light of Mine.” I tried. I felt very silly.

I think I’m a cinematic person, at least aspirationally. I think most people are — meaning we have a proclivity for real-life ‘movie moments.’ I love crying on the train, staring out the window and unironically listening to soft indie folk. Especially when it’s raining. I also love a grand romantic gesture. Especially on train platforms, especially when it’s raining.

Of course, sometimes these moments are at least slightly fabricated. We make meaning through making these moments. Stories are embellished to be retold, and I have reason to believe that my subconscious saves my tears for the CTA.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with this. There are reasons why people flock to the movies — again, perhaps for a moment of respite, maybe some perspective. Mostly because the stories on screen are often seemingly more exciting than the lives we lead between our morning and evening commutes.

But sometimes you get lucky, and you lose a job you love but you beat out Zooey Deschanel for the starring role in the indie flick based on your life, because there’s a brass band in your alleyway. And you will re-watch this scene again and again in your head, and you will feel more silly than sad.

The world certainly feels like a film these days — one that is strange and scary to be in. I hope we at least get an outro track, and I hope it’s funky. I’d like to dance my way down.