I was at the museum, just trying to look at some old paintings. I like a lot of art, and the quiet atmosphere was good for me. I was standing in front of a particularly large canvas, admiring the brushstrokes, when I heard someone clear their throat behind me. I turned around and there was this woman. She looked a little annoyed, which I didn’t understand at all. I was just standing there, looking at the art like everyone else.
She said, “Excuse me, where do you keep the little statues? The ones that are like, small. Not the big ones.”
I blinked. “The little statues?” I asked. I genuinely had no idea what she was talking about. I hadn’t seen any display of small statues. I was looking at paintings, not sculptures, and certainly not miniature ones.
“Yes, the little statues. I’m looking for a gift for my nephew. He likes those. The ones that fit in your hand.” Her voice was getting a little louder, and I could feel a slight tension in my shoulders. Why was she asking me? I was a visitor, just like her. I hadn’t worked there. I didn’t have a uniform. I was wearing my own clothes, a simple t-shirt and jeans. She was wearing a brightly colored scarf.
“I… I’m not sure,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “I’m just visiting. I don’t work here.”
She stared at me for a second, her expression changing from annoyance to a sort of bewildered disbelief. “What do you mean you don’t work here? You’re standing right here. You’re in the uniform.”
I looked down at my t-shirt. It was plain gray. No logo. No name tag. “This is my shirt,” I said, a little more firmly this time. My hands were starting to feel a little clammy.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Everyone wears these gray shirts. Now, where are the little statues?” She gestured vaguely towards another part of the museum. I felt a prickle of heat crawl up my neck. I was starting to feel trapped.
“I really don’t know,” I repeated, taking a small step back. “I haven’t seen them. Maybe you can ask someone at the information desk?” I pointed towards the entrance area, hoping she would just go away.
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to get rid of me? Because I have a right to be helped. You’re supposed to help people find things. That’s your job.” She took a step towards me, and I instinctively took another step back. I just wanted to get away from her. My muscles were starting to feel tight, like I was ready to run.
“I’m not employed here,” I said, my voice a little shaky now. “I am also a customer, I am also visitor. Please, just go ask someone who works here.” I was really starting to feel that headache coming on. The buzzing of the crowd seemed to get louder.
Her face contorted with something like outrage. “A customer? You’re lying. You’re just lazy. You don’t want to do your job. I’m going to report you. I’m going to tell them you were rude to me. You’re going to get fired.” She was practically yelling now, and people nearby were starting to turn and look. I felt a wave of shame wash over me, followed quickly by a surge of anger. I wanted to shout at her, to tell her to leave me alone, but I was too flustered.
“You can’t report me!” I managed to say. “Because I don’t work here! Look at me! I have a backpack, I have a ticket stub in my pocket. I’m not wearing a badge!” My voice was rising too, and I hated that. I hated that she was making me behave like this.
“That’s a fake badge!” she shrieked. “I know a fake badge when I see one. You’re clearly trying to pull a fast one. I need those statues. My nephew’s birthday is tomorrow, and you’re messing with me. I’m going to find your manager. I want to see them fire you right now. This is unacceptable customer service!” She was really working herself into a frenzy, and I just felt a desperate need to escape. I turned quickly, intending to walk away, to find a quiet corner, to just disappear.
But she grabbed my arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “Oh no, you don’t! You’re not getting away with this. You’re going to help me find the statues, or I’m going to make sure you lose your job here. I pay taxes, you know. This museum is funded by people like me. We deserve good service, not some unhelpful employee who tries to ignore us.”
I tried to pull my arm away, but she held on. “Let go of me!” I demanded. “I’m not an employee! Why are you doing this?” My vision started to blur at the edges. I felt like I was suffocating. I saw a museum guard in the distance, but he was on the other side of a large hall, and by the time he could get to us, I knew I would have already lost my mind.
“You’re going to help me, or I’m going to call the police,” she threatened, her voice laced with a venom I hadn’t expected. “You’re interfering with my ability to shop. You’re obstructing my access to merchandise. This is a crime!”
Suddenly, she let go of my arm. She took a step back, looking around wildly. Her eyes landed on the approaching security guard. She seemed to panic for a moment, her bravado draining away. Then, she turned and bolted. She ran, not in the direction of the information desk, but deeper into the museum, disappearing around a corner. I stood there, stunned, my heart pounding in my chest. The security guard was now approaching, looking confused.
