Document this

If someone, somewhere were to make a documentary about what it's like to have my job, today would have been the day to film. Not a usual day "sitting at my desk, making files" day (crap movie that), but one containing all of essential detail- the feel of being a ground-level plebe in a world-class museum. The oh-so highs, and the fatiguing "I'm gonna cry" lows.
Today, we bought a truckload of art. "We" perhaps gives the wrong impression; my boss (curator extraordinaire) talked a very wealthy and charitable woman into buying a truckload of art for us. This, following my exhausting Monday of wrangling extra tables and carts to show it all. Cleaning and rearranging an over packed room. Draping piles of what I can only imagine is refuse lumber (also living in the room) with packing blankets of a hue I deemed to best complement the surrounding art.
First, the drama. This meeting, sell-a-thon if you will permit, has been in the plans for weeks. A dealer drove across the country to bring the art to us. I broke my little feet trying to get it all ready. My curator-boss sweated over his pitch. Things were fever pitch. Then at about 1/2 hour to go time, the potential donor calls to (potentially) call it off. Dealer is pissed (he's waiting to take away the non-purchased goods back to his gallery across many a state line). Boss is pissed (went into a hyper tantrum of sorts). My feet are pissed (again, tantrum). Then half way through my lunch the meeting is back on, and ASAP.
Now, It's probably not wise to post what I'm about to post about a woman who could cut a check for my yearly salary without batting an eyelash. I'm too tired to be wise. She comes into a room of art, chomping on a bagel. You know that's a big no-no, don't you? All I can imagine is my boss was too keyed up to suggest that they wait until she'd finished her lunch. Still, food and art are a big, huge, heaping NO NO (if you walk away with nothing else, remember this!). Then, 5 minutes into the pitch she gets a cell phone call. Her purse is set on art. Food is set very near art. Pen comes out to jot a note, and swerves within centimeters of bead-worked leather from the century before last. . .
Luckily that was just a rough start. Eventually the phone was put away, boss-man got down to business, and art was promised to be purchased. All in all our lady donor was very gracious, and very very generous (to the tune of a digit followed by five 0?s). That's the happy ending, although the Registrars who have to catalog it all and find space in storage would probably disagree.
Okay, back to the documentary. I see (in my little director-of-photography-wanting-to-be mind) shots from the various carts I've had to wheel all over the museum in the past few days. Shots of the inside of the freight elevator (now a familiar friend of mine). Shots of secret faces made between boss-man and myself when donor lady is not looking (cell phone rings- bad face; art is agreed to be purchased- eyes wide hell-yeah! face). All of this is accompanied by the high pitch whine of a vacuum that was on somewhere in the museum. I heard it all day, but I never saw it. It added to the tension in such as way as I'm not sure that I didn't imagine it. Now the sound is gone. The carts are put away. Boss-man is happy at home with his family. I'm here spilling it all to you. And the art is ours.