Flute World

At Geary and 33rd Avenue, a man boards the bus. He enters through the sliding door and sits directly in front of me. Rather than meeting his eyes, my gaze is fixed on what he is carrying. Perhaps it is my love of music, perhaps it is my unfulfilled dream of learning the guitar, or maybe just my years of living in a country where even the people themselves satirically acknowledge the introversion that tends to define them collectively, "it may be hard to shake a Latvian's hand when you meet them because chances are that they will be looking down and will not make eye contact". I do not look in his eyes. I look at what he is carrying and it is a guitar case.

It takes just a moment to realize that his guitar case does not contain a guitar. The zipper is completely broken. Two mismatched strings have been used to tie the case closed but this is not enough to conceal the contents. Protruding at every seam the broken zipper did not seal, the contents can be clearly seen: clothing and blankets. My gaze moves from the guitar case to the man's hands. Dry and calloused, darkened by the sun, bruised, and bloated.  My gaze finally makes it to the homeless man's face. He has been looking in my direction the entire time. Our eyes meet. He nods and whispers a soft, "hello." 

On a bench, in the shade of the trees lining Washington Square in North Beach, a man sits with a small drum between his knees. He pats it gently, rhythmically. At the other end of the bench, we cannot help but turn our heads, drawn in by the beat of the drum. Rai is closest to him and, before we know it, has been invited for an impromptu lesson. The drum is now between Rai's knees and the man is showing him how to slide his thumb along the rim of the drum while tapping with his other hand.

As on the bus, the promise of music had captured my attention, my imagination first. Now, taking in the scene more broadly, I can see a rolling contraption that may contain many of his possessions sitting beside him. Several suitcases and cardboard sheets are fashioned together into one cohesive unit on wheels.

Just up the hill, not far from Coit Tower, a boy stands inside the undeniably upscale interior of a specialty shop. He is holding a flute and, under the shop keeper's guidance, plays Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.  "What do you think of that sound?", she asks the boy, as if she is asking an expert, a lifelong flutist. On the spot, the boy, responds. Rai responds, "I like it. The low notes sounded better."

"Here, try this one. We can call this one number three," she says as she hands him another, gleaming flute. Again, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is played, with a perceptible but inconsequential difference in the sound emitted from the shining instrument.

The sign outside reads: Flute World.  Inside, we are seated on a comfortable couch, facing Rai who is standing in front of us. On the custom music stand in front of him, whose metal desk is in the image of a flute with notes spiraling out of it, is a book of songs for the flute. Behind Rai is a wall of lights and shelves, displaying flute accessories. To either side are lower shelves with flutes displayed as if they are in a museum. For a moment, I feel transported to Vienna. Is that silver flute standing upright, a spotlight on it, the very same one that was played in the first performance of Beethoven's Le Desir ?

As surreal as this may seem, it is all quite plausible. This is a flute shop, after all. Why not display their flutes, then, as if they are national treasures, and why not fill an entire twelve foot high wall with fancy flute cases and backpacks? This is not a general music shop where you walk in, browse the variety of instruments available, pick out the one you want, at the price that you want, and walk it over to the front desk for some conversation and, possibly, purchase.

No, this is not a simple music shop. This is a specialty flute shop where you do not browse. This is not that kind of place. Here, you enter with purpose: I am here for a flute. Here, it is not a matter of if but rather, which one. Here, within minutes, your child is on stage, playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as a parade of flutes is handed to him, one after another. Here, we the parents, sit proudly on a cushy sofa, enjoying the show as the knowledgeable attendant takes care of everything. Here, we do not have to walk down aisles, squinting at product labels, trying to make our own decision. Oh, no, here we are waited on and the decision is made not by us but for us, as it should be. Our job is to sit quietly, proud parents, wanting only the best for our child. 

Here, our only role is to pay whatever price is necessary to put our child on the right track, allowing him to differentiate himself from the rest of the pack competing for the world's dwindling resources. Maybe one day he can play with one of the world's great orchestras? No, better yet, maybe adding

"flute" to his college application will get him into his dream school. Maybe he can play his flute on a park bench one day, just to pass the time before he has to wheel his suitcase to another part of the park to settle in for the night. Or, even more utilitarian, he could just discard the flute and use the flute case for storing his clothing and blankets. But, in that case, we are in the wrong shop. Is there a specialty tuba shop around?

My thoughts are interrupted by the incredible customer service at shop. My imagination has taken me somewhere else but, don't worry, I'm back. Right back on the soft couch in Flute World. The care with which we are attended to, the bespoke approach -- incredible. She has heard something in Rai's rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and wants to help us. "You'll notice that as the amount of silver in the flute increases, the quality of sound improves," the attendant educates us. "The flutes provided by schools for beginners usually have a nickel, silver plated mouthpiece. The first one Rai tried has a solid silver mouthpiece. The next one, a silver mouthpiece and silver head joint. The third, even more silver in the full body."

"Please do not use the word 'beginner' in the same sentence as our son's name ever again," I think. "How dare you!" the inner dialogue continues. "Didn't you hear him play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for the tenth time in a row? And, that was completely improvised -- he's not even looking at the book of flute music in front of him!" We are outraged. "We'll take the full, solid silver flute, please. Solid gold if you have it!" I almost say out loud.

Rai finally addresses the elephant in the room. "How much are the three that I've been playing?" he asks. "They range from $1400 - $1800," the attendant informs us. In shock, I fall backwards, the back of the sofa the only thing keeping me from falling to the floor. I am in complete disbelief.  "Didn't you hear our thoughts?" I think. "Our son is no beginner! Why are you showing us these low end flutes?"

Rai disagrees. "Is there something less expensive?" Undeterred, "he is frugal, isn't he?", the attendant finds another flute. The price: $940.  Rai whispers to us, "Okay, let's go home to think about it. We can come back."

Hearing this whisper, sensing the hesitation, the attendant's instincts kick in. As a salesperson, she knows, it's now or never. If they leave now, they are likely not to return. This feeling is all too familiar to me. When I ran my own painting business back in the day, I had to resort to the very same sales techniques. I would spend a great deal of time walking around each home, counting windows, measuring wall dimensions, checking the quality of the previous coat of paint before providing a very detailed, itemized estimate to each prospective client. I would walk them around their own home, we would touch the walls together. I would hold large color swatches against their trim. In sales, it is essential to have the customer touch and feel the product. A sale cannot be made if the customer cannot imagine being the owner of the item. Over coffee at their dinner table I would share my expertise, clearly outlining the benefits of going with me and the quality of my products. After all that, it was hard for them to say "no". If I sensed hesitation, I knew that I had to close the deal that very moment. Most of the time, given time to "think about it" a potential client would move from an emotional state to a rational state meaning, often, no sale. "My team of painters has an opening two weeks from now. Shall I book you in?"

"Perfect, shall I box this one up for you?" asked the attendant, holding up the "cheaper" flute. 

How can we say "no". She just gave half an hour of her time. She attended to us, and only us, during the entire time. She gave Rai a stage and allowed him to perform. She had him hold a range of flutes. Surely we owe her for all this service. There has to be some reciprocation on our part. We can't just expect her to do her job and then not buy a flute from her, can we? That would be wrong. And, what about Rai's flute dreams, surely they could not be fulfilled on a beginner flute. "Yes, thank you. We'll take it."  

It is hard not to attribute some meaning to this series of events today. The man with the guitar case on the bus, the man with the drum in the park and, in such stark contrast, our experience in Flute World. The universe presented me with the contrasts, paradoxes, and ironies of this musically themed medley of experiences for some reason. Right?  More likely, not.  However, I could not sleep tonight (I'm typing this at 2:00 in the morning and not because of jet lag) because these events make for such a good narrative surrounding the thoughts that have been swirling in my head since we returned to the San Francisco last week. 

Whenever anyone has asked us what we appreciate about life in Latvia and how it compares to the U.S. we, inevitably, share the same few things. In Europe, the government seems to take better care of its people and, as a result, despite economic disparity, the haves and have nots are not as much on display as they are in the America. Certainly there are those with plenty of wealth in Latvia and those who struggle to get by. This is very clear in our own neighborhood in which luxurious mansions share the same block with decaying, wooden homes.

Despite that, however, those with little means rarely end up on the street. Whether it is through government care or family care, the majority are taken care of or there is an affordable way in which they can survive. This may be the difference that is so obvious and so difficult for us to see when we return here. Those who are struggling here seem to have few options as they are completely priced out

of a dignified life.  But the problem, from our perspective runs deeper than that. The notion of the "American Dream" continues to be so ingrained in the ethos of this land. This leads to a sense of entitlement that, in turn, leads to the disparities in wealth and high cost of living. Everyone is led to believe that they deserve all the material things that are presented as normal or expected. Many accrue a disproportionate amount of debt in order to reach this, often, unattainable dream. With this facade of equality built on debt, prices rise, and the general cost of living for just a basic level of existence ends up being out of reach for those most disadvantaged.

Even as many fake a middle class lifestyle, many other middle classers try to fake an upper class lifestyle. And, that brings me back, full circle, to Flute World. We are not $940 flute people. We are not in that income bracket. Yes, we are not in debt and are not struggling but, with so much uncertainty in the future that we and our boys will face, is there not enough for us to prepare and plan for that this kind of purchase should be considered more carefully?

I have presented this day in our lives as somewhat of a comedy but the clarity of my thoughts at -- what is it now? -- 2:30 a.m. tells me that this is a tragic comedy. In our small way, we have acted the very way that humans tend to act: when someone tells us that the hurricane is approaching, rather than shuttering our windows, we run to the nearest store and buy a blindfold and some earplugs. This could be a symptom of our admirable ability to hold on to hope, even in the most dire circumstances but it is also an example of how good we are at burying our heads in the sand.

I recognize the hypocrisy of my words. We are living a very comfortable and privileged life. I am absolutely complicit in all of it and doing nothing to make the changes that are necessary. I may be worst of all of us -- I'm in San Francisco this week, I'll be in Paris next week, and driving from Latvia to Serbia soon after that. Today's events have accentuated the growing guilt that I carry and the general lack of consensus on acting with purpose that I see around me. These thoughts are keeping me up tonight with my heart beating so fast that I cannot fall asleep. Is the world around me going insane? Maybe. More likely, as I am sure I will be reminded once those around me read this post, it is not the world that is going insane, it is just me. Do something, don't just complain, hold on to hope. Come, join us in flute world, the music is sweet here and, if you listen carefully, it can even drown out the sounds of poverty, injustice, war, and climate change just outside our doors.