Strangest Oboe Story Ever Told

So I'm a schlemiel. I wasn't always, but somehow at some point in my late adolescence (still in progress), I became one.
That's probably why I often found myself playing on splintered reeds, never had more than two reeds at once except right after Christmas, and very often being down to only one marginally serviceable reed. (The latter sometimes happened when the only other reed I had would break in rehearsal. Which is also how I found out how loud I could say the F-word in college band rehearsal and get away with it. The bastard things cost $10 a pop, so their sudden demise warrants a big loud F-bomb.)

To my horror, one night, less than an hour before band rehearsal, I found my reeds dessicated, splintery, and (oh the humanity!) totally incapable of producing any sound.
Driven mad with desperation, somehow it didn't occur to me that I could just fake along (as I oftentimes did). With nothing to lose, I whipped out my can of cooking spray, and thoroughly smothered each reed in it. Then I wiped them off with a paper towel.
Lo and behold, this desperate kitchen maneuver was a miracle! My reeds once again made sound, and I didn't get any oral splinters either. I was good to go.
I bought new reeds right after, but that fluke with the cooking spray saved me that night. I don't recommend ever letting your reeds get to that point, but if you have a bout of schlemiel-ness that lands you in this predicament, this really works.

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