“So there’s the twenty-yard line marker!” bellows the band director.

“Yes,” I say. I don’t have time for this right now, or ever. “Right there. On the twenty-yard line.”

“Where was it during rehearsal?”

“Stacked up with all the others, I assume.”

The fact that I am walking in the opposite direction doesn’t dissuade him. “You understand how important that is for us? The kids have to know where they are on the field.”

“Look, I told you I was sorry. At least we found it, right?”

And I am sorry. I pity the guy.

He thinks I actually care.