In ninth grade or thereabouts, my parents sprung for a very nice flute, open hole, solid silver head. We found it in the paper and bought it from a guy, who I believe was a professional musician. His wife was pregnant and he needed the extra money, so he offered to throw in this piccolo for just a little more. I liked the idea of piccolo in theory—because it’s one of those instruments that if you’re playing it, everyone knows. But in reality, I was not someone who felt comfortable standing out musically. I coveted the respect and accolades that came with the higher range first chair parts, but I chickened out on the high notes when I realized everyone could hear them. I dreamed of playing cool 12-bar improvisational solos on my saxophone in jazz band, but mostly I froze up and played uninspired riffs I had memorized in advance.
So, I bought the piccolo, and I tried to buy the self-image; unfortunately the personality I needed to rock out as a piccolo player was not something I could buy.
But if you have the personality, I have the piccolo—for just 4 days, 19 hours, and 41minutes more. If you think it’s got your name on it you can check it out on eBay