(We’re at a museum on a family vacation. We’re at the front desk paying to get in.)
My Mom: *studying the prices* “Four stuniors.”
(She has mashed up “two seniors” — my parents — and “two students” — my brother and me.)
Employee: “How about a family pass?”
Years ago, when I was working in a Victorian-era house that had been converted into a museum, I would frequently be the only staff member present. As it was in a fairly isolated location, there would be days I was the only person for miles.
On one such slow day at the beginning of the season, I was going through cleaning tasks when a whole group of stereotypical biker guys pulled in. Our grounds have a restroom and are open to the public, so they spent some time stretching their legs. I kept an eye on them, but since people often pulled in to explore the grounds without ever entering the house, I didn’t think too much about it.
Then, two of them came in, big, bearded guys in all their Harley Davidson leather. Being in the hospitality industry, I always kept a pleasant face on, but I’m a pretty small female and couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. Biker guys had never come inside before.
They asked some questions about the house, which I answered, and then I went ahead and told them about the tour options. The lead guy smiled and said, “Nah, we’re not into that. But we pull in here every year, so we wanted to give something toward your building fund. Do you have anything like that?”
I gave him a big smile back and said that as a matter of fact, we did take donations. They went outside and collected cash from the rest of their group: when I counted it up on my way to the donation box, it was over $40.
So many tourists would whine about having to pay to enter the museum at all, and yet here were these biker guys paying more than admission just because they liked to visit the grounds on their yearly trip. Biker guys are sweet teddy bears: confirmed!
(I work summers in a historical park — basically a huge outdoor museum. Decades ago, some of the original donors to the park were issued lifetime passes. I work in the ticket booth at the front of the park, and a woman and her kids arrive with one of these lifetime passes. Not only is she much too young to have been issued one of these passes, but the pass is in a man’s name.)
Customer: “This pass gives us free family admission, right?”
Me: “Is the pass holder with you today?”
Customer: “I’m the pass holder.”
Me: “Is this your name on the pass?”
Customer: “No, that’s my father’s name. But he left the pass to me.”
Me: “I’m sorry, but this pass is only valid if the pass holder is here with you.”
Customer: “He died last year.”
Me: “I’m so sorry.”
Customer: “But he left me this pass.”
Me: “I’m afraid they don’t really work that way. If your father has passed away, you won’t be able to use his pass.”
Customer: “But it’s a lifetime pass!”
Me: “Right…”
Customer: “It never expires!”
Me: “It never expired during your father’s lifetime. But since he’s passed away…”
Customer: “He left it to me! I can use it!”
Me: “No, I’m afraid these passes can’t be left to other family members.”
Customer: “But it’s a lifetime pass!”
(I finally had to get my boss to explain that the Lifetime Pass was only valid during her father’s lifetime. The woman refused to pay admission. She left, still angry that we wouldn’t accept her dead father’s Lifetime Pass.)
(After getting out of college, I get a job as a part-time gallery attendant at a museum featuring an artist known for his Silver Clouds. Basically, I watch you while you look at the artwork. We also sit at the front desk and take admission. I’m at the desk, speaking with the director of my department. We have a working relationship, but otherwise, we don’t like each other. She speaks to us as if we’re children who can’t do our jobs. It’s mid-March now; I’ve been dealing with wisdom tooth pain since October and finally, after a plethora of insurance issues, I have a date for surgery set.)
Me: “Hey, [Boss], I finally have a date set to get my wisdom teeth out. It’s March 26th.”
(It just so happens that the museum is doing three days’ worth of free admission March 26, 27, and 28. I’m scheduled to be on the desk taking admission on the 27th.)
Boss: “Oh, that’s good. Thanks for giving me notice beforehand.”
Me: “Sure. Now, I’m under strict orders to be on bed rest for at least five days after the surgery. Do I need to ask the surgeon to send in a doctor’s note?”
Boss: “For one day? Of course not.”
Me: “So, you want me to come in the day after having all four bone-impacted wisdom teeth removed, two of which are in my sinus cavity, and two of which are so close to my bottom nerve the surgeon is so concerned about swelling and numbness that he wants me on bed rest? You want me to come in and take admissions when I’ll barely be able to talk?”
Boss: “Oh, right. You’ll be out for more than one day. I guess that’s fine. Just make sure you send in the note.”
(The doctor’s office sent in the note, and the surgery went just fine. It took a little over an hour, and I swelled like a chipmunk. I couldn’t move my jaw or talk for three days after the surgery, so I guess it was a good thing I didn’t go into work!)
(I work for a museum. We have a number of historic sites; not all of them have staff on site. This phone call is in relation to a site about eight miles from our main building. [Site #1] is my location at the museum.)
Me: “Good afternoon. [Site #1]; how can I help?”
Customer: “Hi! I’ve just been out to [Site #2] and all the flowers are gone.”
Me: “Flowers are gone? I’m sorry, but we don’t have any flower beds at that site.”
Customer: “I know. The path around the place. Someone has picked them all.”
Me: “I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s a public path. They are wildflowers.”
Customer: “My wife and I walk there every day and it’s really upset us! It’s horrible that people think they can just pick them. You need to do something; what are you going to do about it?”
Me: “I’m sorry it has upset you. The best I can do is take down your information and complaint and see if the museum manager can do anything. But I suspect we will just have to wait for them to grow again.”
(He wasn’t too pleased but grumbled his info to me and I took it to my manager. He laughed until noticing I’d taken it as an official complaint, so he now has to contact the man and tell him how they resolved his issue. I’m still not convinced he did.)
