Are you ready?
OK, say you are hanging around a museam or an art gallery or something.
You with me so far?
Now, suddenly you have a question. Possibly you want to know where the bathroom is. Or perhaps your question is somewhat more esoteric, such as a desire to know what type of glass is protecting the works of art.
You see a security guard, but you are hesitant to ask them for fear of bothering them.
What should you do?
ANSWER: Ask them. YOu will not be bothering them. They want you to ask them a question. It relieves the monotony.
You can trust me on this.
So yeah, I'm a security guard at the art gallery. The best part of the job is that when you are in uniform, NOBODY gives you guff. It doesn't matter where you are, or how lost you are. As long as you look like you know where you're going. Nobody challenges you.
Another great part of the job is the kids. The little ones who can't read the badge on my uniform don't even notice me, and most of the kids just treat me like any adult. But the ones who are causing trouble FEAR ME. I don't even have to say a word. They see the outfit and shut up instantly. These two boys were roughousing, which is needless to say frowned upon in general, and coming uncomfortably close to a priceless Emily Carr watercolor(Two actually)so I started walking towards them to tell them to chill the fuck out. One of them saw me coming and immediately stopped. The other kept at it, not noticing, and then was all "What's wrong, man?" and then he saw me and got the biggest "Oh shit!" look on his face I have ever seen. I shot them both a smile and they walked off into the next room in a rather subdued manner. I know it's not quite scaring off a Sea King by GLARING AT IT but I'm still feeling pretty awesome.
Also, I've noticed there are two varieties of visitors to the Art Galleries; Old Ladies, and kids on a field trip. There's the occasionaly Old Man, but he is the exception to the rule and is typically dragged along by an Old Lady. It should be noted that there is a subset of old Ladies, and that is Old Ladies With Notebooks. For reasons I cannot fathom a non-insignificant percentage of Old Ladies bring spiral notebooks, sit down in front of painting and jot little notes down. Why is a mystery to me.
The downside to this job? OW MY FUCKING ANKLES. Standing for eight hours, breaks notwithstanding, on hard floors in dress shoes with flat feet is unfun.
Also, Apparently someone likes my writing! I win fourth-best battle in the history of EB fanfiction and fifteenth-best EB Fanfiction story. I don't honestly know how much this means, but it's surely not a BAD THING.