Lunch at the gallery

Ok, so Jims has inspired me with her story of ginormous bald men to tell you what the *real* work world is all about. While she's off in latte land, some of us baristas of the art world are slaving away twice a week to deliver modern Mona Lisas to Kokomo. And let me tell you, the workplace isn't ultimately about serving the customers, or working with grace and efficiency (such things as the Jims spends her time doing). Work in a real man's environment is about sacrifice.

So let me tell you of the T-day lunch hour in the IUK Art Gallery.

11:55 a.m. - Cabby has been working like a dog - lifting up finger after finger at the computer.

::sigh:: Such stress!

12:10 p.m. As her morning project comes to a close, the Cabby begins to eye her lunch quota, (attractively thrown into a Kroger sack 0.2 minutes before leaving the house). She knows that there are luscious dainties waiting inside! Often there was a microwavable Chef Boyardee lasagna bowl (you wouldn't believe the smell of canned sauce after it's been nuked!), another time it was summer sausage and cheese, all comfortably room temperature. But the best of all was when the cabbage absentmindedly packed a bowl of cold tuna that could fill the office with its fragrance... and there we pick up the story.

12:15 Cabby has run down to the cafeteria to get the one critical condiment that she must have with every meal: sweet pickle relish! Ah yes, it goes with everything. Now she relaxes in her chair and unpacks the motley of little baggies and tupperware which make up lunch. She's going to enjoy sinking her teeth into those squished chips...

But what is that sound? A footstep in the art gallery?!

Cabby looks up just in time to see a patron jump with embarrassment and surprise, it is an art lover in her early 50's who has just caught sight of the curator waving her tuna-y fingers over a little warzone of a desk. Was this the right entrance to get into the university gallery?!, thinks the woman. To hide her disgust she suddenly becomes very interested in a painting of Mary Joe’s smirking little brother Billy (complements of the high school exhibit).

Meanwhile, Cabby abashedly hides her pool of tuna and tries to look professional without showing any of the relish in her teeth – a difficult undertaking, you do the math.

And thus begins the curator’s lunch. During the 2 hours that she was on duty before, not a soul was seen in the gallery, not a toenail entered. But now that pickle water and mayonnaise are drying on her fingers, there is an art lover here getting engrossed in the show. Tuna becomes warmer, crackers become soggier, and the minutes tick by while Cabby meditates on the career impact of sack lunches. She also wonders how the art public knew when to suddenly appear at the moment of the curator’s first bite.

It’s all coincidence of course, we shan’t indulge in any base suspicions.