My family went to visit a museum devoted to the American Civil War. One of their features is a 360-degree movie reenactment of Union soldiers heading to and experiencing their first battle. The movie is entitled, “Seeing the Elephant,” after a contemporary metaphor that war, like an elephant, is something you have to see to really understand; in other words it is beyond description.

After the lights came back on, my five-year-old cried loudly, “But there was no elephant!”

Several other patrons hid their smiles and kindly agreed with her that, yes, the lack of elephants was certainly disappointing.

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(I, along with another new staff member, have just begun a job at the museum of a well-known institute of technology in Massachusetts that has numbered buildings. The manager is showing us how to use the POS system on the cash register, which we will need to sell admission tickets to museum visitors.)

Manager: *showing basic features* “…and when you’re ready to process the payment, you hit the ‘payment’ button. It’s a cash register, not rocket science.”

Me: “What building is rocket science in?”

Manager: *without missing a beat* “Building 17.”

Other New Hire: “How about brain surgery?”

Manager: “Neuroscience is Building 46.”

Me: “Nanotechnology?”

(This went on for a few more rounds and the manager knew the campus like the back of his hand. Working at a place that genuinely had rocket science took the old saying to a whole new level!)

(I work at a historic site. We have been a museum for over 50 years and the site itself is several hundred years old. It was originally a home and ironworks that produced materials from the early railroads. The ironworks itself burned down in the early 1900s. Sitting at the front desk, I receive this call.)

Me: “Good morning. This is [Museum]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. I have been looking at your website for a while and you seem to be what I need.”

Me: “Wonderful! Do you have questions about tours or programs?”

Customer: “No. I need some iron products created immediately, and I can pick them up from your ironworks early next week.”

Me: “Ma’am, we–”

(She interrupts me to describe these iron plates she needs, and each time I try to interject she gets louder and louder. Finally, after about seven minutes…)

Me: “Ma’am, we are a historic site. The ironworks itself burned down over 100 years ago.”

Customer: “So, the plates won’t be ready next week?”

Me: “They will not be ready ever.”

(Our website says, “historic site,” and, “museum,” all across the page.)

(I work in a museum section that has a lot of children come through, so we have colouring and other activities. They’re usually related to museum content: native animals and the like. I am a woman and an arachnologist.)

Patron: *holding a colouring sheet* “Do you have anything for my girls to colour in?”

(I look behind her. There’s two girls and two boys. The girls look a little older, but not by much.)

Me: “The girls are allowed to colour in, too, if they want. We don’t mind.”

Patron: “No, like, colouring that the girls can do.”

Me: “I don’t understand what you mean. Are you worried about the pencils? The chairs?”

Patron: “I need something girl-ish, for the girls to colour in. This has a spider on it. Spiders are for boys.”

Me: *very long pause* “Ma’am. Spiders are for everyone.”

(I am organizing the line for the next tour of one of our historic homes. Only the house itself is by tour; the gardens are free for guest to explore on their own. It has been unexpectedly busy, so the previous tour has filled up, and we’ve had a constant waiting line for about an hour.)

Me: “All right, everyone! Thank you so much for waiting. We should be stepping inside in just a moment.”

Guest: *coming from the garden* “Can we go in with that tour?” *pointing to the previous, full tour just finishing its orientation*

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but that tour is full. If you’d like to join the line for the next tour, it should be starting in just a moment.”

Guest: *annoyed* “Well, since we were in the garden, don’t we count as being in line?”

Me: “Uh… No, ma’am. You do have to be in line, to be in line.”

Guest: “Well! You should have told us that twenty minutes ago!”

(I thought for sure she was going to throw a fit, but the guest in the front of the line started giggling and that seemed to take the wind out of her sails. The kicker is, our tours go in every ten minutes. While she was “waiting” in the gardens for twenty minutes, two other tours would have gone in without her.)

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Not In Line And Out Of Line