The F.A.T.

Take a Free Audio Tour with me. Permanent stories and inspirations on display. NOTE: This does not reflect any of my past or present employers, as I have chosen to keep all parties anonymous. These are my own opinions.

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Come on, I can touch that area.

An older gentleman wanting to put his wife’s admission sticker on her breast. As there is consent involved, I’m okay with it, but please get a room.

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Appropriate Museum Office Gear for the Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall. All you have to do is call...Maintenance because it’s f*cking cold all the damn time! 

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When you’re on auto pilot mode en route to the bathroom, and don’t wanna talk to anybody on the way after half the morning doing so

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Please Don’t Touch Me

Yes, even visitor services folk have been subject to harassment from time to time, myself included. Whether it’s physical or verbal, let me iterate that IT IS NOT OKAY. Restaurant wait staff don’t deserve to be felt up when Mr. Moneybags wants to impress his 23 year-old significant other for another lobster dinner; they already feel enough abuse, sometimes from their bosses or other internal folk. 

During the last half-hour of my coat check shift I was assigned to hand out assisted listening devices to the septuagenarian crowd of the upper west side for a public program featuring an old white guy who wrote a book about one of the country’s founding fathers that will most likely be found on the coffee table of an old rich couple who’ll use it for Sunday mornings. I was counting down the minutes until my shift ended when an older gentleman came over to my post to inquire about said device. Instead of requesting one upfront, he took my ID and flipped it over to find my name in the darkened theater. Quickly turned off by his gusto, I snatched it out of his hand and quickly said “Please don't touch me.”

Luckily, he didn’t react or say anything that would garner a reaction, and thankfully the room was too bustling to take notice. Instead, he had a shit-eating grin on his face and proclaimed, “I need something.”

“An assisted listening device?”

To his surprise, he was stunned when I happened to have read his mind.

“How’d you know?!”

If you were to look at him, it wasn’t hard to decipher his request.

I reached into the charging station, pulled out a device, turned it on, and explained to him its different functions. He then proceeded to question my skills as an aspiring medium, asking about the different types of stocks he’s invested in and what their eventual outcomes would be. I politely told him I had no idea and couldn’t perform my services to predict any outcome. 

Maybe I was a little too harsh on him - he didn’t have a visceral reaction, thank G-d - and maybe I overreacted, but no one in the service industry deserves to have any unwanted contact with anyone that looks like they have an undeserving sense of power. Boundaries are meant to be set and observed at all times. You shouldn’t succumb to their advances. And if the situation escalates, make sure security is around you. They’re your best friends.

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When the visitor is insistent that the website is wrong, and you both check it at the same time and you still come out on top.

“You should tell them to fix it.”

Fix yourself first, ma’am.

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"Sure thing. Tell me everything that you hate about what I can’t control.”

Good thing they can’t see us...or can they?

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When a senior cracks a joke about their age and how they should pay the kid’s price...

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Don’t You Hate It When...

Visitors assume that they’re right and you’re wrong? Even when you have the museum’s website at your fingertips they’re still not convinced. It’s frustrating, even when you show them the proof that a gallery is closed or an exhibit is not there anymore. These are mostly within the demographic of 60-80 year-old visitors, or just visitors of a certain age, but any person of any age can come in with their pre-conceived knowledge of something that is clearly outdated once you research it and tell it to their faces. 

Their response: “You should tell them to fix the website so that you won’t confuse people.”

Our response: “Thank you for your concern, we will let them know.”

Our second response: “Thanks, but the website is updated every day to reflect changes going on throughout the museum. I suggest checking it constantly for the most current information so you can better plan your visit.”

Our dream response: “Maybe you should learn how to use the internet and fully understand that stuff changes constantly, from the moment you decide to visit until you step in the door.”

Some people tend to check everything at coat check, but more than once do they rarely leave their pride at the door. They bring it with them like it’s a dog accessory, and it’s very annoying. Oftentimes we would even have to turn our monitor around - which, by the way, tend to be very heavy and practically bolted to the ground - and give them a tutorial like a genius at the Apple store. When you prove your point and you’re still met with “That’s not what it said before,” or “I’m sorry, but that’s still incorrect,” no matter how much work you put into doing it, your victory is sweet and the naysayers will continue to be bitter.

Chalk another one up for technology!

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Anatomy of a Visitor

A visitor can stand for many things: going on vacation to a different country, hanging out at an amusement park, going to the DMV because you have to, etc. A museum is no different, as it combines all the elements where people have different experiences from visiting different places, cultures, societies, customs, and tribes. There is no one singular profile of a visitor because there’s way too many traits they share, so let’s get all science class and get into groups:

Group 1: The Positive Folk

Let’s face it: both the world and the customer service industry would be a lot better if we encountered more pleasant people, but rarely is that the case for any one day working in a museum or any other people-facing setting. These are the folks that are excited to come into your institution and get jazzed about what to see. They exude an energetic vibe that can sometimes be infectious. Some traits include:

1. huge grins and starts in their eyes for days

2. usually sporting tourist chic ex. an NYC sweatshirt or from their hometown

3. eagerly pointing at the exhibits on the map

4. playfully fight over who gets to pay for everyone in their party

5. make really cheesy jokes at their own amusement

6. jokingly proclaim that the obvious adults or seniors in the group are 5 years old to pay a lower admission

7. their spouse or friend responding in genuine laughter to their humor

8. when the seniors joke about being seniors

9. expressing general enthusiasm about being in your museum

Group 2: The Negative Folk

For fans of reality TV shows and anything on Bravo, drama is a crucial ingredient for stirring the pot on how juicy we want to live our lives. For us VS peeps, bad visitors can range from the self-entitled to the downright mean-spirited and nasty. Most of the time you can brush it off, but sometimes there is one person that can say one horrible thing and, whether you notice it or not, can really put a damper on your day. Thankfully, you never get to see them again nor go home with them. That said, put your guards up for:

1. those who complain about the prices

2. those who question the exhibits of your institution

3. those who insist on giving a donation instead of paying full price (even when it’s not PWYW)

4. those who are pissed off that an exhibit they wanted to see is closed or not there anymore

5. those who are hell-bent in telling you that you’re wrong and the website is right (especially when they think you’re new to the job)

6. those who dismiss everything you’re telling them and proclaim they’re big and you’re small, they’re right and you’re wrong, and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

While you have a duty to wanting to kill them with force instead of with kindness, it’s always important to consult your manager. That’s what they’re here for. As a VSA, you can curate a welcoming experience for them on their first encounter; the only thing they can curate is their attitude towards it.

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Caller: I see you have a toy train exhibition. Me: Yes, that's correct. Caller: I have a five-year old with me. Do kids like trains? Me: Uhh, Yes.  Caller: (Pause) You sound skeptical. Me: I'm not skeptical. All kids like trains, especially toy ones.

When people question the interests of their kids, and whether or not something that is marketed towards children will be good for them in the long run.

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Hi, can you give me the phone number for another museum? I can't seem find it on your website.

Someone who doesn’t know how to use the internet...or common sense.

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The Holiday Party

If there were ever a time to really know your coworkers, it’s always at the good ol’ holiday party and the museum world is no exception. While most companies and organizations have their celebration before the actual holiday (or when it’s the early and appropriate enough to play Christmas music after thanksgiving) my museum has begun a tradition of having their party a week after the new year. Is it weird? Yes. Is it ill-timed? A little bit, but that’s usually the only time  they can book an event. Plus, it helps when your social calendar is not filled to the brim with parties before the 25th so that you have more time to prepare to get sloppy yet sophisticated. 

I’ve only been to a couple of parties out of all the museums I’ve worked at, and each one has a theme that sticks true to their culture and staff. I’ve been to a couple where they range from big dance parties and photo booths with props galore (Remember Nicole from a couple of stories ago? Girlfriend can do the worm like nobody’s business) to casual affairs with your standard open bar, bevy of food options, a raffle with proceeds going to a good cause - along with an activities committee that I’m sure rigged it due to favoritism because I wouldn’t mind an iPad or a $50 gift card, thank you very much - and the occasional drunken make-out session with an older gentleman that has no problem expressing how much he enjoys your photos from a couple of summers ago at Fire Island. 

Remember how easy it was to pick out who was friends with whom when you roamed around your high school’s cafeteria during lunch period? It’s not that far off from the staff at your regular cultural institution: The finance people will sit and knock back cold ones with the IT people, the education ladies will usually gab with the ladies in special events, and the higher-ups, usually ranging from the CFO, the VP, and even the EVP and the CEO are in their corner away from the pandemonium. 

That said, in both my experience and own personal bias, visitor services is by far the only department that I know that can get outdance, outdrink, and outlast all the others, who usually leave after in order to brave the fever of both the cold  and dancing variety. Even the store and security staff know how to bust a move. When all three departments combine, not even Captain Planet can douse that fire. 

Of course like every other work party, boundaries are set, lines are drawn, whether they’re physical or not, and being on your best behavior is code for “HR is watching.” But in an environment where colleagues usually stick to their kind, it’s the ultimate icebreaker. In my experiences as a social floater, I hang with everybody. No doubt I always have my VS crew to fall back on, but I love to work the room and mingle with people from other departments. Consider it a marketing tactic to make yourself known throughout the museum, especially for  people you want to schmooze up to and gain a rapport with whenever a position in their department opens up. Whatever you need to do to muster up the liquid courage to introduce yourself, the holiday party is like speed dating without the commitment and awkwardness.

The festivities are also a great way to get to know your colleagues without having to meet them. Alcohol has a way of allowing everyone to let go of all their inhibitions and prohibitions.  

Case in point: there was someone by the name of Serena who worked in the AV department and I would see regularly whenever there was something wrong with the digital admissions sign, which would happen quite often. A tall, auburn-haired, loose-sweater wearing, woman of Asian descent, she seemed demure during museum hours but all that changed during the holiday party. The letters “OB” may also be grouped together with “GYN” but there’s barely any healthy benefits when you have an open bar, but Serena wasted no time in taking advantage of that. 

One year we had our holiday party - before the actual holidays - at this 20′s themed bar right by the museum whose aesthetics echoed the prohibition era. All of a sudden I see Serena climb on top of the stage where a cover band was performing earlier and thought she was making an announcement so I was trying to get my friends to quiet down so I can hear what she had to say. Girlfriend stood in the center of the stage, extending both her arms with her hands making peace signs, swaying to the sounds of whatever music or noises she had in her head. It didn’t matter that my friends continued talking because we were getting a show, and it wasn’t long until a couple of other colleagues were trying to get her down when they saw her almost take a nosedive into embarrassment. She thanked them by making out with someone whom she had a major crush on from another department. 

After a year and another holiday party had passed she was shortly let go from the museum. I hadn’t figured it out until I spoke to one of her colleagues whom I had grown close with since I started. Apparently she became too big for her britches and was labeled as difficult to work with - she even told my colleague that a monkey could do his job better than him. I thought that it was her inability to hold her liquor, whether it was in her hand or in her stomach, that impacted her ousting, but apparently she wasn’t a team player from what I heard. 

What is all comes down to is the fact that the museum holiday party is a play on a high school cafeteria. Does education dare to mingle with finance? What would happen if a store associate chalks it up with the general counsel? Would minds explode if someone from the president’s office, or the president themself, engages in meaningful conversation with a newly hired visitor services associate? The answer is: we’re all not gonna die and the world will keep on spinning. But while it’s important to get together with family during the holidays, no matter how much you love it or loathe it, the museum is a given family that you surround yourself with for 35 hours a week; this annual gathering celebration is a subtle reminder of that.

Also, if you’re the more “Bah Humbug” type, consider it a family reunion.

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Joke with Expensive Waste

Wherever you work draws in a specific kind of crowd: sports bars, you get bros; themed diners in Times Square, possibly actors; gentleman’s club, the rich, powerful, sketchy, pervy, and ultimately, the lonely. 

If you’re at a gentlemen’s club, you get the rich and the lonely kind of like a club or a bar, except with more tourists, overpriced cover charges, and a cesspool of school children who are just now discovering what it means to have an inside voice.

I worked at a place where the museum’s main theme and mission is history, so history buffs within the baby boomer to senior citizen demographic are usually our bread-and-butter crowd. It’s in a fancy yet eloquent neighborhood where people have money to burn, show it off, and are not afraid to let you know it. 

Working at any cultural institution is a social experiment on how well you interact with people of a certain age. For something as simple as taking admission or giving them directions to the bathroom there are many invisible barriers that can determine the interactions visitors have with security, the store, and visitor services. 

1. Clothes: how expensive one’s mink stole is compared to the VSA’s thrift store sweater

2. Vocabulary: when they use big and expensive words that have never been part of your lexicon to describe something as simple as the cafe. 

3. Culture: they might be hesitant to realize that people live - and can actually do things - in other places other than Manhattan

They have a tendency to think that you’ve been working there a long time  whenever they’re asking a question about a past exhibition when you’ve really worked there for only two weeks. The expectation for everyone to know everything about the museum is incredibly high in their eyes, so it’s astonishing for them to see that sometimes that’s not the case at all. 

While it is customer service, there is a generational gap that comes into play as well. I’ve engaged in conversations where visitors have talked down to me, insisted that they know more than you about the museum, and convince you that if they’re a member of the Met they should be able to get into your museum for free. If there’s anything I’ve learned about buffering them and their comments, it’s that the website has all the info you need to know, and when it in doubt, start a race between their phone and your register computer to bring up the website, and no matter what, there is always certain protocol we have to follow to treat every visitor as a straight-up equal, member or not. 

When I started out working in museums, I was the Three C’s: calm, cool, and collected. Eventually they’ve evolved into crass, cunty, and still collected. I realized that while everyone is equal, you have every right to stand up for yourself when you’re dealing with a rude visitor. There’s a different between protecting and provoking. You can protect yourself from harm by being firm and just in how you handle them, or you can engage in an argument where word will most likely travel up to the director’s office and the future of your job will be hanging by a thread as thin as the lanyard that holds together museum IDs. 

In retrospect, if you work in visitor services, security, the gift shop or in any other kind of front-of-house capacity, you will more than likely attract some crazies and seniors making jokes like they’re your uncle. Remember that they’re at your museum to have a good time; no matter how much you want to tell them to fuck off every time they jokingly say they’re five years old so they can pay the kids price, the last thing they need is a with a snide remark at the point of admission.

And if you wanna tell them to fuck off, at least do it with your eyes and a fake-ass smile.

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Chagrin and Bear It, Part Deux

You ever hate it when you’re feeling your best and then it’s shot to shit when you least expect it, in front of a ton of people who were quietly getting their work done in peace?

While Nicole and I were shooting the shit, I heard “MATTHEW!” coming through the doors into the office, which overlooked one of the public gallery spaces. My supervisor, Rita, her heels stomping on the carpeted floor (thank God) over to my cubicle, and starts to berate me publicly with the accounting, legal, and retail departments getting a front seat view on how to not treat your employees. 

What’s worse was that her boss, Treacey, the manager of visitor services - and mother of a past coworker I worked with in the past, who was really young but really sweet - was standing right by her side without saying anything. 

My nerves shot up like a goddamn geyser. There is nothing that makes me numb more than being verbally massacred in front of people. It’s the kind of embarrassment that no one wants to be a part of, or to even watch it. I looked at Nicole who shared in my grief with the fact that she also has to work with Rita. Once I experienced that, it made me realize that there are a lot of unhinged people who work in all industries; the museum world is no exception. 

Once Rita ended her tirade, her and Treacey both went back to her office and demanded that I be in there at 1:00 for a meeting. This is it, I thought, this is it. I’m gonna get fired. It proved to me that no matter the institution, there’s always going to be problems that are not always going to be fixed. In theory, it just sucks the life out of you when the upper-level big wigs are still high from the success of the museum’s grand reopening.

I went into my manager Treacey’s office that afternoon, with Rita by her side. At that point I was breathing heavily, and they noticed. 

“Breathe it all out.” Rita said.

I couldn’t tell if she actually felt for me or if she just wanted to see me defend myself. And I did. I tried to be as neutral as possible but also thinly veil it with frustration to get my point across. But in the end, while they both nodded to what I said, in which it was all an honest mistake by trying to match the educators with their school groups. Turns out the cheat sheet I saw on Tony’s desk was outdated according to both managers. Their stress levels were at an all time high, and it showed. 

“Just...” Treacey started with her hands in prayer mode and looking up at the sky. “...please don’t do anything...that would sabotage...what we do here.” She masked her snark with a gentle smile and matching tone of voice, a tad bit warmer than Rita’s. 

I made a mistake and didn’t kill anybody. My mistake didn’t deserve to have Rita unload her stress onto me, and for Treacey to watch from the sidelines like she’s watching a rodeo added another layer of shame on my part. While I didn’t think of it at the time, I could’ve only imagined what everybody else who was present thought of that act of tyranny. Would they have tolerated it? Did they think I deserved it? Did witnessing this change their attitude and perspective about working at the museum? Are all museums like this? 

Most importantly, do they even care?

The exchange gave birth to the divide between front of house and back of house, or FOH and BOH because, choices. There was a line clearly drawn in the sand, and my objective throughout my time there was to smooth out that line between the other departments. I wanted to be more than just line facilitating and giving information about the exhibits, and I know that every one of my colleagues felt the same way. We all had different skills to bring to the table and wanted to show them off, but it’s hard enough when you’re trying to gain the respect of others when you’re classified as the department that just sells tickets and directs visitors to the nearest bathroom.

What’s even worse is when you’re treated like shit by the managers just as much as you are by the visitors. There were days that I woke up with a knot in my stomach knowing I had to work for an institution I loved but for someone I loathed working for. I wouldn’t even wish that on my worst enemy. Actually, you know what? Fuck it, I totally would, just to see what torture looks like.

Working for that department was hell on heels during that period of time. While working with the Ph.D-candidate teaching fellows there were a couple of them who have lashed out at me for not doing my job correctly when I was responsible for the entire operation of the department, or that’s what it felt like. I was willing enough to devote my time into literally getting Groups up and running but you need more than just strings and percussion to make an orchestra, and a very solid conductor to lead it. What we had was just enough to be a cover band on the bar mitzvah circuit. 

There were only a couple of the teaching fellows that were very nice to me throughout the entire process and sympathized that I couldn’t run this ship alone, even though it felt like I was going down with it. There was barely any organization in that department and a clear lack of direction stemming from the top that was being filtered down to the bottom as if it were their fault, which I believe it wasn’t. If the amount of work you have to do clearly outnumbers the people who are doing the work, then expect your employees to crash and burn because nothing solves problems and getting shit done than when you have a team of people to help you out. You expect Woodstock but then end up with Fyre Festival.

There were days where I felt like I wanted to quit and just go out with middle fingers blazing. I got off on the illusion on Irish exiting while everybody was yelling at me, having them watch me walk out of the building and not give a fuck anymore, their stress levels tipping the scales and watching them explode. There was no way in hell I wanted to do that if I were to get the Groups Services Assistant position, and even if I had to suffer the abuse of power in the hands of my bosses, I was willing to run the gauntlet to get that job. 

The constant lack of direction and unnecessary barking from my managers continued until a month later when I was called into Treacey’s office again with Rita by her side. I was expecting to get a verbal backlash until...   

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HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Hi friends,

I wanted to take this opportunity to wish you all a very happy new year and thank you for being patient with me (I’m saying this like I HAVE an audience). I realized that 2020 is gonna be the year that I’m going to bring the FAT to the forefront. I want to share everything that I’ve written over the past 3 years to everyone who has worked in museums, or in any kind of customer service industry to show that those workers matter and do what they do out of the kindness of our hearts. We are in the industry to make your lives better, so please make our lives better in return. Get excited for new things to come!

Until then, happy new year, and please, 2019, kindly exit through the gift shop.

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Chagrin and Bear It - Part 1

According to a study done by the Washington Post, the number one fear that people have, which is followed only by heights, bugs, and drowning, is public speaking. For actors and theater geeks, it's their life's work and an easy A in public speaking class, but for others it's a whole different ball game. I remember taking said public speaking class in undergrad and in one of the first classes everybody had to pair up and give a speech in front of the class on their partner's life so far. It was okay until one student completely froze and then ran out of the room. Apparently, the statistics that my professor shared with us were very real. 

One of my biggest pet peeves is people who publicly ridicule others. It's a sign of totalitarianism, abuse of power, and overall, unnecessary laziness. There’s a reason why the words ‘boss’ and ‘leader’ are similar yet different. There are many things that are filed under embarrassment, and it’s worse if you’re on the receiving end of it. Basically, no one wins.

If you think that announcing in front of a bunch of people how incompetent a colleague is by highlighting a mistake - no matter how big or small - congratulations, you're an asshole. 

If you think that being a leader consists of pointing out your coworkers' flaws for the whole world to see and not provide an ounce of constructive criticism; congratulations, you're not a leader, but still an asshole. 

I worked at a 20th century modern and contemporary art museum where their VS department had just given birth to a Group Services department after it moved into a big brand-spanking new building. Everything had an "all hands on deck" approach as we were slowly figuring out everything. I was one of their first full-time VSA's (Full-time in Visitor Services? Count me the fuck in!), so helping out in group services was a no-brainer. Plus, I had grown close with the coordinator of the department, whom we'll call Tony. Tony and I, along with another VSA, Nicole, were responsible for coordinating all the group, corporate and private tours from booking to day of arrival and everything in between. It was really an excuse for me to not have to do my regular VS duties during the day and be a part of something bigger in the process. While it was a lot of fun, we were under so much pressure from the head of the education department, and it showed in how our own bosses treated us. 

After riding the high of being part of something new, one day out of the blue, Tony came up to me while I was having lunch and told me he just got fired, after 3 and a half months on the job. Both my spirits and my appetite went to shit as I was anticipating what was about to happen to Groups’ future, and if I were to still play a part in it. 

I was eager to take on the reins after Tony was sacked. The only reason I stayed on the team was because of a newly created Groups Services Assistant position that the staff posted on the website while they went searching for another coordinator thing I had going was for an eventual promotion which was for Groups Services Assistant. I was already full-time, but how could I say no to a Monday through Friday schedule? I had a pretty scattered schedule at that point, so consistency was something I’d dreamed of. Plus, I had a pretty good handle on what I was already good at, and was about to learn all the hard stuff until Tony untimely departure. 

My bosses were under intense pressure from the education, development, and special events departments - we were in charge of handling not just school groups, but also corporate and private tours. When you work in a museum that has 400+ employees, and scheduling groups on many different scales for many different departments, there is no doubt you will be overworked, and a THREE-PERSON TEAM is not enough to get the job done efficiently and effectively. No matter how smooth things went, which was rare, our accomplishments got overlooked by the increasing demand to constantly improve our operations, which, I get that what happens when you’re navigating a new work space, but when it’s only been two months since we’ve reopened and all front of house staff had official job training TWO WEEKS before the grand re-opening, there are bound to be mistakes, and boy did we do a lot of them, and boy, was that a run-on sentence.

A couple of weeks after Tony’s unofficial exit, I volunteered to help out with assigning school groups with their educators, in which I’ve only done once before by looking over his shoulder but quickly got it and was confident in it moving forward. I used a cheat sheet next to Tony’s desk as a reference. 

Even though my right-hand man wasn’t there anymore, I still had my other VS colleague, Nicole, to depend on. She’s a hard-hitting, fast-talking Jersey girl, who took no shit, but also gave a shit when you needed help. Basically, the qualities of a leader. She came in one morning lamenting all the changes that were going on in the department and why it sucked. While we were chatting, I was tightening loose ends to assignments that were ongoing by checking emails. While it took forever to load, my confidence in helping out the team in a bigger capacity made me excited for the day to come.

That is, until Tracy walked in.

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Please Don’t Feed the Art

From an early age we were told to do the right thing, obey the law, mind your p’s and q’s, and keep your fingers out of your nose. I’ve followed every one of them to this day - except the last one - as well as one very specific rule that has been ingrained in our brains that our parents, teachers, and babysitters have told us on multiple occasions:

DON’T. TOUCH. ANYTHING.

Case in point:

In an episode of The Real Housewives of New York City, the Manhattan marauders travel to the Berkshires where they take a tour of Ventfort Hall Mansion, a house that was built for Sarah Morgan (JP’s sister) which has been in the family for generations following. Sonja Morgan, one of said housewives, takes the opportunity to go into every room of the now-museum and pick it apart like it’s her own (she was married into the family, her former spouse being the son of the co-founder of Morgan Stanley, and the great grandson of J.P. Morgan). At one point, another housewife, Dorinda, was looking at some old notes that were displayed on a very fancy table where Sonja made note of the tradition that the family traditionally always wrote to each other. She touches them lightly, and is gently reminded by the tour guide to not do such a thing. Later that night, Sonja drunkenly reminds - SCREAMS - at Dorinda with these immortal words: 

“You do not TOUCH the FUCKING MORGAN LETTERS!”

If museums and galleries had more security guards like Ms. Morgan protecting their collections, then more fear will be instilled into the visitors like second-graders at recess. 

One of the most concrete rules whenever you enter a museum to not touch any of the art. Pretty cliche, but it’s very true. There have been many instances where I’ve seen adults touch the art more than their children, and I worked at a children’s museum once where they allow it all day every day.

At another museum I worked at (because I’ve definitely been around the block), I was told that even the cleanest of hands give way to oils that could otherwise stain certain pieces of art when touched. Novice museum visitors won’t understand it as much as New York City subway riders, but the message still holds true. Also, like a college roommate or a pesky younger sibling, you just don’t want to have your shit touched. It’s pretty straight-forward, no gimmicks. With under little to no adult supervision, one very wealthy socialite’s Tiffany-inspired vase could turn into a curious 5 year-old’s jigsaw puzzle. 

Even if you don’t like where you work - museum or otherwise - you still have a duty to protect their property, respect the space, and treat your fellow colleagues with more dignity than someone who enjoys SantaCon. It’s obvious that people are naturally inquisitive and like to explore it by reaching out and touching, but 9 times out of 10 lines can be crossed at the expense of one’s curiosity. What’s even more confusing for the visitor are the rules that are set for the type of museum they’re visiting. When you go to a traditional art museum, the interaction is blocked between your eyes and the art with stanchions, partitions, and hawk-like security guards. When it comes to other types of art, how can you justify what the indicators are of not touching something when they’re not so obvious to begin with? Safest bet is to assume that they’re not allowed be touched, so, unless there’s a sign or people doing it in front of the security guard, just don’t touch. Period. Consent consists between two adults so why can’t it be applied between visitor and art? You can look, but you can’t touch.

The same goes for exotic dancers. To quote the poetic genius of Missy Elliott:

“Ain’t no shame, ladies do your thang. Just make sure you ahead of the game.”