THAT WAY

I was walking back home this morning and saw a line snaking outside the Guggenheim. Ah, well, I thought, I wonder what's going on in there. It's been about a month since my last visit so let's just see, shall we? Kandinsky! That's what was going on. And bonus surprise! I didn't smell a single western European tourist during my entire hour there. That was God reminding me that he loves me.

I did, however, come dangerously close to going ape shit on the bag checker at the entrance of the museum. He saw my card and barked at me that the membership line was THAT way.

"Are you sure? I've always gone to the counter right behind you to check in."

THAT WAY, MISS. MEMBERSHIP IS THAT WAY.

Startled at the volume of his voice, I thought, "Man, why are you yelling? I'm right here."

He shook his head vigorously, closed his eyes dramatically, and kept screaming MEMBERSHIP IS THAT WAY. And when I didn't do anything but stand there like a moron trying to figure out why he was screaming this information at me, he whipped out a finger and frantically motioned THAT WAY pointing across the lobby and repeated MEMBERSHIP IS THAT WAY, MISS.

THAT WAY. THAT WAY. THAT WAY.

And then it finally clicked. This here in front of me was a disabled gentleman doing his job (is disabled the PC term these days? I don't think it is. Is it handicapped? I wish I knew) and I was detecting hostility where there really wasn't any. I finally nodded my head and made my way THAT WAY. I have such a thick skull sometimes. Bless his heart. I really was on the verge of putting him in his place if he screamed at me one. more. time.