My Trip to the Art Museum

14 Jul

You ever been to an art museum? Aren’t they fun despite the fact that they’re completely lacking in ball-pits and slides? I feel that surrounding yourself with culture is a great way to spend an afternoon. I went to the Kimball Art Museum with my girlfriend, Katie, last week. It was a lot of fun. I learned a lot of cool things. I saw a lot of post-renaissance penises (penii?).

We pull up to the museum, Katie and I. It’s a lovely facility. There is a sculpture sitting prominently in front of the building. It looks like it would make a kickass TV stand. I ask Katie to remind me to ask how much for the TV stand when we get inside. She looks at me, then back down to her phone. I grab her boob.

Since it was Wednesday, our tickets were free. Students get in free on Wednesdays. The room we walk into is large and rectangular, the walls and floor made from marble.

“Look at these floors, dear!” I say. She’s exchanging numbers with the guy at the ticket booth. She must of asked him about the TV stand.

We go upstairs to look at the exhibit. Katie wants to see the paintings first. I agree to this because I want to see if the Kimball has put up my submission I sent them a couple of weeks ago. I’m looking for this:

Kyle, 2009

Does this frighten you? Is it too real?

I look everywhere for my painting. It’s nowhere to be found. I assume it’s part of its own exhibit separate from the rest and approach an art guard/museum security to ask about its whereabouts. I hate these people, the guards. None of them are physically imposing, so I know that if I REALLY wanted to, I could lick whatever piece of art I wanted for as long as I wanted. More than that, though, they are CONSTANTLY staring at me. Constantly. I realize that it’s not particularly couth to eat a meatball sub while perusing fine art, but sue me. I’m hungry and the museum doesn’t have a food court.

“Excuse me, sir?” I tap him on the shoulder. He says nothing. So rude.

“SIR! Please do not touch the exhibits!” Yells an old lady in a blue blazer from a cross the room. I had tapped the shoulder of a statue of Hephaestus. Katie‘s talking to that guy about the TV stand again. “Now,” the art guard said, exasperated. The ten foot walk had obviously winded her. I think of licking the statue and running, but decide to play it straight. “How may I help you?” she asks.

“My painting, miss.” I’m trying to be as “artist” as possible, looking up to the sky at all times, talking quietly and gesturing a lot with my hands. I accidentally touch my sandwich to her face because I’ve craned my neck back so far that I can’t quite see where she is. “Where is my painting?”

“Who are you?” She asks, cleaning tomato basil sauce from her glasses.

“I’m Kyle Irion. You may also call me ‘Iron Kyle,’ or ‘Wolverine,’ if you like.” I wink at her, but since I’m looking at the ceiling, it just appears that I have something in my eye. She asks me if I need help. I ask her if she’ll hold my meatball sandwich. I was done with it and didn’t want to carry it around anymore. “I submitted a painting. I’d like to see it.”

“What’s the problem, babe?” Katie walks up to the woman guard and I.

“This troglodyte won’t tell me where my painting is.” I don’t know what this word means. I heard Carlton use it once. Katie stands in silence, arms crossed.

“You don’t have a painting here.” Katie says.

“No, remember that one I–”

“Why is she holding your sandwich?”

“We’re not even supposed to allow these. I could lose my job.” The old meddler says.

“OK, listen, you old bag. If you had a problem with my sandwich, you should of said something like twenty minutes ago before I wiped my hands off on that wall over there.”

“What wall? Where?!”

“That one.” I point.

“Th… that’s a statue! You wiped your hands on a statue!”

“I meant to say statue.” I reach over and get my sandwich back. I want it again.

“Kyle! God!” Katie says, with love, and walks away.

I run after her. “I hate this museum. Suck town.” I throw my meatball on the ground next to me. “Let’s bail.”

We immediately were forced to break into a run when real securities guards started chasing us.

I love the museum. We made it to the car safely and escaped without a scratch. Except for Katie, she ran into a tree and got scratched. To atone for my inadvertent vandalism, I threw $6 and a SuperCuts Club Hair card out of the window as we drove off. With your eighth haircut, you get a free shampoo. That’s pretty sweet. Once again, I love the museum.

The End.

4 Responses to “My Trip to the Art Museum”

  1. marlene at 3:11 am #

    i choose to leave this anonymously. i have met you once. we played cards together. i need to tell you that i have spent the last hour reading your blogs. i am nearly obsessed with how you write. have you ever read catch-22? well, you remind me of joseph heller in style. so, keep writing, please. i, for one, am a fan.

  2. marlene at 3:12 am #

    ps my name is not marlene at all.

  3. Joel at 1:58 pm #

    that was a very fight club style entrance for marlene…

  4. the real marlene at 1:14 am #


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