My Masterpiece of Mayhem

So I volunteered at the Art Museum today for NHS. It was a lot of fun. I got to meet a lot of wonderful people and see a lot of fantastic art. Nevertheless,

I may never volunteer at any art museum ever again.

This is the story:

The Art Museum is hosting a Spring Salon soon and the volunteers were there to help the contestants get everything set up and ready to go. Hopeful artists from all over brought in one or two pieces of art. They had to fill out a form, we had to record a few facts about the artist and their work, and then we had to label the artwork and put it to the side where someone else would pick it up and carry it to the appropriate room. It was a fairly simple system.

Near the end of our shift we (Sean, Tairsa, and I were working together at a table) got a pair of elderly ladies: one who was very sweet and one who was a psycho. They both had quilted wallhanging-type things, and PsychoLady had a sculpture that was really just a giant ball of sticks. They both had to fill out the forms, and so I was fiddling with a pair of scissors while I waited. The scissors were yanked unceremoniously from my hands after just a minute and I looked up in shock to see PsychoLady setting the scissors down next to her, scolding me, "You're going to do me a favor and stop banging on those scissors."

I was taken aback, but didn't think too much of it. Tairsa looked over a few minutes later to ask what I'd done to get the scissors taken away. I couldn't answer, though, because PsychoLady was suddenly leaning over the table, her arm between us. "That noise is driving me crazy!" She chastised, snatching the tape measurer from Tairsa. Tairsa flinched, then turned her wide eyes toward me as PsychoLady walked away to deal with Sean. We were mouthing back and forth, wondering what could possibly be up with this woman, when PsychoLady returned, holding a long, skinny branch from her sculpture. "Here's a nice quiet stick for you to play with," she said, setting the twig down in front of Tairsa. "Just like my kitty, Pouncer." She started shaking the stick in Tairsa's face, as if hoping that Tairsa would start pawing at it.

(*breathes deeply*)

Don't worry. The crazy left soon after that. Her friend, the sweet one, handed me her tapesty and followed PsychoLady to the payment desk. I carried the quilt to the wall, but was faced with a dilemma.

The room was surrounded with big pieces of cardboard leaning against the walls, to protect the walls from the rough corners and edges of the paintings we'd been dealing with. We'd been leaning paintings and drawings against the cardboard things all day. But how was I supposed to make a wallhanging stand up against a piece of cardboard?

The solution was in the corner. I saw that PsychoLady had simply turned over one of the boards and lain her tapestry on it. This seemed like a good idea, so I found a bit of cardboard that only had one little painting leaning against it. I relocated the little painting and then I started to flip the piece of cardboard, one hand still holding the tapestry.

And then a disaster leaped out from the corner of my eye.

Down at the far end of the cardboard, there was a large, framed painting who's corner extended farther than I'd anticipated. Just far enough to get caught on the cardboard and start to tip with it.

Horror clutching my heart, both hands full, I screamed, "TAIRSA!!"

Tairsa turned toward me and spotted the falling painting. "JESSICA!!"

But screaming never saved a painting.

CRASH!!

The sound echoed through the room and every curator, critic, artist, and staff member in the room looked over, gasping in terror. I froze, slowly putting the cardboard back against the wall.

To my credit, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the painting. Not so much as a scratch on the frame. But about six different staff members converged on my position, waving their arms and shouting.

"What the heck did you think you were doing?"
"That was absolutely positively the worst thing you could have done!"
"Do you have any sense at all?"
"Why on earth-?"
"What were you-?"
"You can't-"
"Don't ever-"
"Just go-"
"Stop-"
"You-"
"Fail-"
"At-"
"Life!"

I just stood, shaking, my hands still tight on the tapestry. My heart was pounding from the crash and being surrounded by wide-eyed, frantic, yelling artists was not doing much for my nerves. I blushed brilliantly and my lip trembled as I blubbered a million apologies. Eventually they took the wallhanging away from me and I sprinted to the bathroom, locking myself in a stall, trying desperately to breathe.




So, basically, I will never volunteer at the Art Museum again, and they would probably never take me back anyway.



Jessica's Score for the Day: -1,000,000,000.