WashingTina Takes Class at The Washington School of Ballet
January 27, 2011 1 Comment
Tuesday night I took the train to Bethesda and instead of making my way to Joy of Motion, I walked further south for a get together at BD’s Mongolian Grill. Local blogger WashingTina was in attendance and had a funny story to share about taking a beginner class at The Washington School of Ballet. Check out an excerpt of her story below and click here for the full story. Have you taken class at The Washington School of Ballet? What was your experience?
Excerpt of WashingTina: Pointe of Contention
The instructor came in and greeted everyone in the class by name. Everyone but me. Clearly I had found my way into a class of not-so-beginning beginners. “Let’s pick up where we left off last week, with blah, blah, blah something French,” the instructor said. And with that we all spread out across the studio floor to get our ballet on. I stood as close to the back as I could, trying to blend in as we went through the five positions (hey! I remembered something!). Then it was time for barre work, which was great. I found my space at the barre and we went through more of the motions. The woman standing next to me even told me that I had great turn-out (she was wearing a near-tutu, so I was pretty sure she was an expert). About 20 minutes later, it was time for the hell I had forgotten. The part of the class where everyone runs across the room doing various ballet things (that’s the technical French term for it, I’m sure) while everyone else watches.
I hung back and watched the others do their graceful moves, studying their feet so I’d be ready to join in eventually. Then there was nobody left in my corner of the room and the teacher finally noticed me. “Are you new? I’m so sorry! I didn’t know we had a new student today! What’s your name?” Grrrreat . . . now the whole class of beautifully appointed dancers was starting at me. I wanted to hang myself from the barre. After I told my name, the instructor insisted that he and I do the moves across the room together. While everyone watched. I’m pretty sure the shade of red that I turned doesn’t actually occur in nature. And I was so bad, he made me do it three more times back and forth, back and forth, while everyone else stood there, probably wishing I had hung myself from the barre. This kind of awful dancing was cute when you are three, but in your 30s, it’s just tragic. The instructor was patient and easygoing, but the pressure was too much for me. I didn’t care how much I wanted a tutu, I wasn’t going through this kind of humiliation every week.