at Percy Page school used to waft through the hallways and drive the teachers nuts. (The housemaster was a gentle man recovering from a heart attack or some other serious health event and this was, undoubtedly, his notion of relaxing and keeping his stress to a minimum. And maybe others, so he thought.)
I remember one PD day returning late for a morning session in the cafeteria and could not believe my ears when I walked in. Zamfir was playing as the rest of the staff sat cornered with the headmaster looking self-satisfied at the front as if he had done everyone a favor.
One of the more cynical types, Chuck, who had a face like one of Sendak’s Wild Things whispered to me as I sat down, “Get out, Davies, while you can. Keep moving. Head for the exit.” Other teachers were restless in their seats until the music finished and the headmaster muttered something about how soothing and uplifting this music was.
Anyway, that was the morning I (and no doubt others there) came to loathe Zamfir for making us a most unwilling, unreceptive audience. As for the headmaster, he left at the end of term and I’ve often imagined what other captive audiences of teachers were held hostage to experience the torture of Zamfir airs.