Mansplaining at the Museum

So, funny story. Three friends and I were at a museum yesterday, a small, local museum that offers a glimpse into cultures that transcend time and place. We were transfixed by the exhibits in all four of the galleries.

At the time we were there, a museum guide was giving a tour to two women, who mostly sat while the guide droned on in a voice loud enough to be heard in the neighboring gallery. My friends and I had to leave a gallery to go to the one farthest from this person's voice. When we finally had no choice but to be in the same space as this docent, I tried to block out what he was saying. The snippets I caught were of things tangential to the actual exhibit, plus the docent seemed unsure about many of the details beneath the surface of the artistic waters into which his monologue had waded.

It was painful, but afterwards we enjoyed ourselves greatly at this blowhard's expense. My favorite line of the day came from friend Linda who said, "I'm so hungry my stomach is rumbling louder than that guy's voice."

We saw some amazing art; we were transported, as I said, across time and culture. I would visit this museum often if I lived closer. And we learned once again that the volume of the declaimer is proportional to the inanity of the declaimer (seriously, is there no escape from blowhards these days?). And in the center of it all, passed by all who made their way through the museum, the perfect example of the beauty of silent contemplation, a reminder to us all to sometimes, just shut the f. up.

*

her composure
unlike ours
impervious to
the docent's
daily drone