So... you took Miles to a museum to celebrate his improved numbers, and then you got separated from the family and locked in there when it closed, and you're posting from there, hoping this isn't a Night in the Museum scenario?
The basement of a museum "Tracy, why is there a nerf gun on the side?" Dr. Xanthippus sounded grouchy, but Tracy had been working in the museum for long enough now to know that if he was really upset he would be icily quiet. "Where?" She looked around. The basement of the museum was quiet, and if she was perfectly honest, dusty. It didn't seem like quite the right place to be unwrapping a mummy to her, but Dr. Xanthippus had been clear that the upstairs offices weren't the right place either, and there were long steel tables here, so... if it was a bit less dusty it would make sense. She wondered if she should find a duster and clean up, and then remembered that she was supposed to be looking for a nerf gun. She looked around again. "Where, really?" she said. There were cardboard boxes (dusty) piled haphazardly against one wall and on the counter there; there were a couple of skulls (animal, dusty) on a shelf, and some instruments that looked like microscopes to her. There was definitely no nerf gun. "There.... Oh." Dr. Xanthippus frowned and lowered his hand. "I could have sworn... oh well, never mind." He took of his glasses: wide, thick-lensed, and rubbed them on his suit jacket. "Are they dusty?" asked Tracy as innocently as she could manage. "The cleaners don't come in here," said Dr. Xanthippus. "They're not allowed to, because we keep various valuable artefacts down here when they're not on display. Granted, many of the cleaners wouldn't know the difference between a pre-hominid skull and a bowling ball, but that's also a good reason for not letting them accidentally drop one, or try and polish away bloodstains." Tracy looked around again, sure that for a moment she'd heard a chuckle. "Now," said Dr. Xanthippus, "we need a mummy for the Mesopotamia exhibit. Female, preferably, though to be honest I doubt most of the visitors can tell the difference." "Between men and women?" Tracy looked around for what had to be the millionth time, wondering where the mummies were kept. She saw Dr. Xanthippus moving to the far wall, and suddenly, like a magic eye picture coming into focus, she realised the entire wall was actually a door. "When they're mummified and bandaged up, yes," said Dr. Xanthippus. He placed his hand on the edge of the door and green light shone underneath it. There was a loud click, and the door started to swing away from him. Behind it, lights flickered on in the darkness. "Though some of them might have trouble with living men and women too," he said. "Honestly, you'd think people that stupid would be scared of museums in case they got infected with intelligence while they were in there." The door was half-way open now and Tracy could see what looked like an operating theatre: this looked entirely dust free and very expensive. "Wow," she said. "This is where we keep the mummies?" "Sort of," said Dr. Xanthippus. Tracy blinked, her vision blurred for a moment, and then she could see a young man, barely more than a boy she thought, standing to the side of Dr. Xanthippus. He was dressed neatly in ripped black jeans and a white shirt with a skull-and-crossbones motif on the collar and he was holding a pink nerf gun. He lifted it and pointed it at her. "This is where we make the mummies when we need them," said Dr. Xanthippus. He turned and Tracy saw he was holding a dart gun. He and Death fired at the same time, and everything went dark.
Greg - hah. I think... I think this was inspired by my having to return something my boss had borrowed from the Osoyoos Museum. Though I didn't actually get inside, as the curator was outside the museum talking to someone when I arrived.
Close call?
See? You don't need my encouragement. Well, perhaps you need a nudge to tell one, longer tale as opposed to this various vignettes :)
(This is brilliantly done, by the way. Just for the record.)
Museums are all about polish and precision—even historical houses, with everything “exactly” as it was Back in the day, do so with intent, certainly far more than its historical inhabitants had. Such precision—such curation— means that things are chosen for display, and things are chosen for storage, for any number of reasons: Some for conservation, some for research, many because floorspace is finite and precious. These basements and back rooms are also places of precisions, though because they are practical above all else, in order to keep track of everything.
In theory.
Record-keeping and documentation is much better than it used to be, but institutions of memory, as with any memory, can have gaps—idiosyncrasies and peculiarities poorly recorded, if recorded at all. Many of these records often only took the form of knowledge of whoever was a steward of the collection at the time, and whomever that person decided to tell. After that, most of these oddities were kept, on the grounds that “we’ve always done things that way,” and only fragments of the original keeper’s understanding warped as legends are lucky to survive alongside. ====== I’m not sure what weird things are in the basement of this mystery museum, but such spots and the peculiarities of information are always fascinating.
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So... you took Miles to a museum to celebrate his improved numbers, and then you got separated from the family and locked in there when it closed, and you're posting from there, hoping this isn't a Night in the Museum scenario?
The basement of a museum
"Tracy, why is there a nerf gun on the side?" Dr. Xanthippus sounded grouchy, but Tracy had been working in the museum for long enough now to know that if he was really upset he would be icily quiet.
"Where?" She looked around. The basement of the museum was quiet, and if she was perfectly honest, dusty. It didn't seem like quite the right place to be unwrapping a mummy to her, but Dr. Xanthippus had been clear that the upstairs offices weren't the right place either, and there were long steel tables here, so... if it was a bit less dusty it would make sense. She wondered if she should find a duster and clean up, and then remembered that she was supposed to be looking for a nerf gun. She looked around again.
"Where, really?" she said. There were cardboard boxes (dusty) piled haphazardly against one wall and on the counter there; there were a couple of skulls (animal, dusty) on a shelf, and some instruments that looked like microscopes to her. There was definitely no nerf gun.
"There.... Oh." Dr. Xanthippus frowned and lowered his hand. "I could have sworn... oh well, never mind." He took of his glasses: wide, thick-lensed, and rubbed them on his suit jacket.
"Are they dusty?" asked Tracy as innocently as she could manage.
"The cleaners don't come in here," said Dr. Xanthippus. "They're not allowed to, because we keep various valuable artefacts down here when they're not on display. Granted, many of the cleaners wouldn't know the difference between a pre-hominid skull and a bowling ball, but that's also a good reason for not letting them accidentally drop one, or try and polish away bloodstains."
Tracy looked around again, sure that for a moment she'd heard a chuckle.
"Now," said Dr. Xanthippus, "we need a mummy for the Mesopotamia exhibit. Female, preferably, though to be honest I doubt most of the visitors can tell the difference."
"Between men and women?" Tracy looked around for what had to be the millionth time, wondering where the mummies were kept. She saw Dr. Xanthippus moving to the far wall, and suddenly, like a magic eye picture coming into focus, she realised the entire wall was actually a door.
"When they're mummified and bandaged up, yes," said Dr. Xanthippus. He placed his hand on the edge of the door and green light shone underneath it. There was a loud click, and the door started to swing away from him. Behind it, lights flickered on in the darkness. "Though some of them might have trouble with living men and women too," he said. "Honestly, you'd think people that stupid would be scared of museums in case they got infected with intelligence while they were in there."
The door was half-way open now and Tracy could see what looked like an operating theatre: this looked entirely dust free and very expensive.
"Wow," she said. "This is where we keep the mummies?"
"Sort of," said Dr. Xanthippus. Tracy blinked, her vision blurred for a moment, and then she could see a young man, barely more than a boy she thought, standing to the side of Dr. Xanthippus. He was dressed neatly in ripped black jeans and a white shirt with a skull-and-crossbones motif on the collar and he was holding a pink nerf gun. He lifted it and pointed it at her.
"This is where we make the mummies when we need them," said Dr. Xanthippus. He turned and Tracy saw he was holding a dart gun. He and Death fired at the same time, and everything went dark.
Greg - hah. I think... I think this was inspired by my having to return something my boss had borrowed from the Osoyoos Museum. Though I didn't actually get inside, as the curator was outside the museum talking to someone when I arrived.
Close call?
See? You don't need my encouragement. Well, perhaps you need a nudge to tell one, longer tale as opposed to this various vignettes :)
(This is brilliantly done, by the way. Just for the record.)
Museums are all about polish and precision—even historical houses, with everything “exactly” as it was Back in the day, do so with intent, certainly far more than its historical inhabitants had. Such precision—such curation— means that things are chosen for display, and things are chosen for storage, for any number of reasons: Some for conservation, some for research, many because floorspace is finite and precious. These basements and back rooms are also places of precisions, though because they are practical above all else, in order to keep track of everything.
In theory.
Record-keeping and documentation is much better than it used to be, but institutions of memory, as with any memory, can have gaps—idiosyncrasies and peculiarities poorly recorded, if recorded at all. Many of these records often only took the form of knowledge of whoever was a steward of the collection at the time, and whomever that person decided to tell. After that, most of these oddities were kept, on the grounds that “we’ve always done things that way,” and only fragments of the original keeper’s understanding warped as legends are lucky to survive alongside.
======
I’m not sure what weird things are in the basement of this mystery museum, but such spots and the peculiarities of information are always fascinating.
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