I was really enjoying my afternoon. The museum had this new exhibit about old timey tools, and I was looking at this big rusty contraption that was probably used to make wagons or something. I was standing there, trying to figure out how it worked, when this lady comes up next to me. She was wearing a brightly colored scarf. I didn’t think anything of it at first. People always stand close in museums, trying to get a good look at stuff.
Then she cleared her throat, pretty loud. I kind of moved my head a little, just to show I heard her, but I kept looking at the machine. She cleared her throat again, even louder this time. I felt a little annoyed because I was really trying to concentrate on the display plaque. I turned my head to look at her fully.
“Excuse me,” she said, and her voice was a little sharp. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice me.”
I blinked. My mind was still on gears and levers. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, figuring she maybe wanted to ask about the exhibit or something. I get that a lot. People just assume I know everything about everything because I stand still and read all the plaques.
“Yes, well,” she huffed. “Can you tell me where the gift shop is? I need to pick up a specific book, and I’ve been wandering around this place for ages. I asked that young man at the front desk, and he just pointed vaguely. Honestly, the service here is just dreadful.”
A wave of confusion washed over me. “The gift shop?” I repeated, my eyebrows probably knitting together. “Oh, I don’t work here. I’m just a visitor, like you.” I even had my little visitor sticker still stuck to my shirt, the one they give you when you buy your ticket. It was kind of a beige color. I gestured towards it with my chin.
She just stared at me. Her mouth actually dropped open a little. “What do you mean you don’t work here?” she asked, and her voice was higher now. “You’re standing right here, looking at the display. You look like you work here! Why aren’t you helping people?”
My jaw tightened. “I just told you,” I said slowly, trying to keep my voice even. “I don’t work for the museum. I bought a ticket. See?” I pointed again at the sticker. “I’m just a regular person trying to enjoy the exhibit.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you work here. You’re trying to get out of helping me. I need that book for my niece’s birthday, and I don’t have all day. Now, are you going to take me to the gift shop or do I need to speak to your manager?”
A knot formed in my stomach. This was ridiculous. I felt a surge of irritation. “Lady, I am not an employee. I have no idea where the gift shop is. I just came in through the main entrance, saw this, and stopped.” I took a step back, hoping she would just move on. My patience was wearing thin, and a faint throbbing started behind my eyes.
But she didn’t move on. She actually stepped forward, blocking my path. “Oh no you don’t! You are not going to just walk away from a customer. This is unacceptable! I will make sure you are fired if you don’t assist me right this instant.” Her face was starting to get a little red, and her voice got even louder. Other people nearby were starting to glance our way.
My muscles began to tense. I just wanted to get away from her. The last thing I wanted was to cause a scene in a quiet museum. “Look,” I said, trying one last time. “I really don’t work here. I can’t help you.” I tried to sidestep her, but she moved with me, still blocking. This was becoming a nightmare.
“You are being incredibly rude!” she practically shrieked. “I just need to find a book! It’s not a big deal! You’re just being lazy! I’m going to report you to someone important. They’ll want to know how you treat people who come here.”
I felt a burning in my chest. This was beyond frustrating. My head started to pound. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my actual ticket stub, the paper one. It had the date printed on it, and it was clearly marked “ADMIT ONE.”
“See this?” I said, holding it out to her. My hand was shaking a little from the anger I felt. “This is my ticket. I bought it at the counter. Employees don’t buy tickets to come to work. I also don’t have a uniform. I don’t have a name tag. I don’t have any keys or a radio or anything that an employee would have. I’m wearing my own clothes. I’m here on my day off.” I took a deep breath. “I am just a person who paid money to look at old tools.”
She looked at the ticket stub in my hand. Her eyes moved from the ticket to my ordinary shirt, then back to my face. The redness in her face slowly started to fade. Her shoulders slumped a little. She still looked a bit confused, but the anger seemed to drain out of her. She stared at the ticket for a long moment, then down at her own feet.
“Oh,” she said, her voice much smaller now. “Oh, I see. Well, I… I guess I owe you an apology then.” She didn’t really meet my eyes. She just stood there for a second, looking embarrassed. I didn’t say anything, just put my ticket back in my pocket. She mumbled something about still needing to find that book, then finally, finally, she turned and walked away. I watched her go, then took a long, shaky breath and went to find a quieter part of the museum.
