This summer, I've been practicing late at night, because I can. And because I'm really productive at that hour.
Recently someone asked me if I ever got creeped out being alone in a dark empty church in the middle of the night. The answer is generally no, I don't.
Earlier this week, I was practicing late, and I thought I heard strange noises. And then I thought I was imagining them. And then I heard them again. And then I didn't hear anything for a while.
And then someone banged on the window on the other side of the room.
I didn't really know what to do until I saw this person had a flashlight. I then assumed (correctly) that this person was employed by a law enforcement agency and, much to the chagrin of my former organ teachers, had noticed some glaring violations in my pedal technique.
So I slide off the organ bench and open a door to talk to the nice law enforcement officer, he asks:
"Are you the pastor?"
"No," I say, "I'm the organist."
(This is true!)
Then he let me go with a warning. Apparently, I had used well over the legal limit of paralell sixths in my improvisation.
(not true)
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