A rare opportunity for an evening out presented itself to Fr Pickwick when he heard that the Tallis Scholars would be nearby, a mere two-and-a-half hour jaunt away in Princeton. The Pickwicks excitedly began planning for a date. Mrs Pickwick inveigled an innocent teenager into babysitting, picked out her outfit (after choosing nine others the bedroom floor could wear for the evening), and did her hair four times. Fr Pickwick ordered the tickets, planned the route, and picked up their Favorite Hieromonk.
The Pickwicks, accompanied by everyone’s FHM, set off—a few minutes behind schedule, inexplicably, as there were no tiny blessed shoes to locate. Mrs Pickwick would like to take a moment to reassert that this delay was indeed absolutely inexplicable and defend herself against the possible charge that it had anything to do with her hair. But, no matter! Fr Pickwick built in Plenty of Extra Time against traffic, weather, and bobby pin calamities.
After almost no other delays (just a bottle of water here and some quick ibuprofen there and a super fast errand for the shop since we were in the area and a little rain and wow it gets dark early these days doesn’t it and where did you say that great restaurant is again oh the other side of town I see no worries) the Pickwicks plus one found themselves happily seated and ready to order at the Chennai Chimney, a classy place with a fancy menu and a lot of really tasty and exotic looking entrees: the sort of place one could easily spend a couple of hours sipping wine and wondering not only how to pronounce Tandoori Pomfret but what on earth it might be. The menu described it as “Tandoori Pomfret: Fresh marinated Tandoor Pomfret in a spicy sauce and cooked on skewer in tandoor” Which sounds delicious if not exactly enlightening, should one happen not to be previously acquainted with any other Pomfrets.
Unfortunately, our hungry and curious trio did not have hours. After glancing through the menu, and then at the clock, they realized they had about 20 minutes. This information caused Mrs Pickwick to become extremely anxious. However, she had been anxious about being late to the concert since the previous day so this was no great change. She usually begins to be anxious about being late as soon as she finds out she has to be anywhere. In fact, she is currently anxious about being late for things no one has even planned yet. It caused their monastic comrade to check the time again and announce: “I don’t want to seem anxious about being late to the concert. But. I am anxious about being late to the concert.” It caused Fr Pickwick to calmly order his wine. Nothing to fret about everyone! Fr P is never late.
After his increasingly nervous companions convinced Fr Pickwick to forgo his planned three-course meal and just get a few quick appetizers and bread to fend off actual starvation, they waited. And waited. And waited, in that peculiar “running late in a restaurant, but not the sort of person to demand anything from the poor server” sort of way that causes one to grimace painfully every time the waiter sidles by with another order, shift awkwardly about in one’s seat and then pretend that wasn’t a desperate bid for their attention, but while they’re here anyway, finally just ask if maybe they happen to know, just as an estimate, perhaps… how much longer??
Hot plates of delectable unpronounceables eventually arrived, to everyone’s relief. Well, Fr P excepted. He was still regaling his jittery table company with the time he was “absolutely the Last Person on the plane and they closed the cabin door behind him, or the time he insisted they had time for a sandwich before TSA on the way to Serbia and they sure did after all, didn’t they? Who wants to wait around in a seat for ages waiting for everyone else to arrive, anyway? Or, don’t forget—there was the time he literally tossed Mrs P her bag as she boarded the already moving train to Albany!” This did not appear to assuage his friends’ distress, as Mrs Pickwick would prefer to board a plane with the preceding flight if she could, and a moderately tense FHM continued to check the clock uneasily and seem rather anxious.
With only a few minutes before the concert, the audience to be gulped down their assorted samosas and pakodas and Mrs P only remarked once in between bites that they had not been served the bread. She would usually regard this as a near-catastrophe but today escaping Chennai for the mere price of pita seemed like quite a deal.
Our stalwart and now very nearly satiated set emerged from the Chimney into the wet, wet, wet street. A quick consultation with the tickets established it was to be held in McCarter Theatre Center. The FHM assured everyone that this was a short walk down the street and across campus, Fr Pickwick assured everyone there was Still Plenty of Time, and Mrs Pickwick assured everyone that it wasn’t raining hard, really. With a whole ten minutes before show time, what could go wrong? The tension dissipated as our friends jogged briskly along, rather unsuccessfully sharing one small umbrella, and their dear FHM even pointed out various bits of interesting Princeton culture and architecture, albeit in the drizzly dark.
As the jovial bunch entered the theater, they congratulated themselves on arriving in such a fantastically timely manner: “7:58! What timing! I can’t believe we made it! What did I tell you? Of course we are on time!” The usher glanced warily at these latest attendees. Something about the cassock-clad, soggy group seemed… unusual.
“Which concert are you here to see, this evening? Oh, the Tallis Scholars are in Richardson.”
“Where is that?” Mrs Pickwick looked hopefully down the hallway.
“It’s back across campus, practically across the street from the Chimney!” cried the FHM.
Reader, they ran.
Back out into the pouring rain they dashed, abandoning any attempts to bother using the umbrella, leaping puddles and frantically following the speeding monk as he called succinct directions over his shoulder: “We essentially came in two legs of a triangle to get here, so as long as I remember correctly we should be able to cut diagonally across campus to make the shortest path, which is always a straight line between, well… you can’t miss it. Just look for a semi-circular brick edifice with large arches characteristic to the new romanesque style during the revivalist movement of the late nineteenth century!”
Gasping for breath and desperately trying to find a dry patch of cloth anywhere for several pairs of wet, foggy glasses, the drenched early music enthusiasts nearly threw their tickets at the second usher they managed to astonish in one evening, and raced up the stairs to find their seats. Which appeared to have been saved, just for them.
The dauntless threesome darted into their seats to thunderous applause. The entire house cheered their unbelievable entrance. Coincidentally, the Tallis Scholars also walked onto the stage at this very moment. And Fr Pickwick, who is never late, brushed the rain off his top hat as the opening pitch rang through the hall. He fished his tuning fork out of his pocket and whispered: “A432.”
“Ah, of course. The only tuning for Allegri’s, Miserere Mei!”