Bite me, said the Big Apple, and so we did - pt. dos
Continuing the tales of my New Yorkian adventures, this part is dedicated to the Metropolitan Museum. The student price was 10 dollars, half the full entrance fee, but it was “appreciated” if you paid the full fee so as to ensure that the Met stay open for visitors. This threw me for a loop, as just the number of visitors walking around the entrance hall would probably be able to keep it open for quite some time even if all of them paid the reduced price, not to mention the fact that due to renovation large parts of the museum were actually closed. I don’t know what kind of student would enter the Met thinking “well sure, I guess I could pay 20 bucks to see half of the stuff you would usually get to see for just 10, what the hell”. Students who are bad at math, probably.
Long story short: we paid 10 bucks, got a neat little pin that marked us “paying visitors” and went in.
In a moment of selfprofessed genius, most likely generated by copious amounts of booze and severe delusions of logistic grandeur, some asshat thought it would be a good idea to dig up an entire Egyptian temple, slap a little sticker on it that reads “MINE”, and transport the whole fucking thing to the States. I have to say, I couldn’t agree more. If I had the money, I would claim all kinds of ancient cultural shit from all over the world and transport it to my backyard, starting with the Eiffel Tower. That oughta teach those damn Frenchies…
Anyway, what’s more important is that while I sympathise with the concept of transporting other people’s shit into your own museum, I do NOT get why that would make you want to throw your pocket change into the pond surrounding it, as illustrated below:
How does this work exactly? “Oh look kids! It’s an ancient Egyptian temple! Here’s 5 cents, make a wish and maybe Horus’ll give you that fire truck you wanted for Christmas”. What the fuck is Horus going to do with some tens of dollars in small change?! Or maybe I’m missing the point entirely, and some people just enjoy throwing money into shallow water, at the same time showing the world they have absolutely NO clue as to the workings of luck in general and imaginary deities’ influence on it in specific.
Also, if people keep throwing their petty cash into the water, at some point the museum is going to want to collect at least some of it, in order to keep the general atmosphere from turning from Egyptian to “cursed pirate booty”. I’d hate to be the guy in charge of this, but I guess this is were cheap immigrant labour comes in: “Jorge! JORGE!! Where the fuck’s… Ah! Jorge, since you’re the one responsible for yesterday’s little fuck up, I’m putting you in charge of collecting the money from the temple po—NO ‘BUTS’, Jorge!! Here’s your little net, I’ll be back to check up on you in an hour or so. Now get going or your ass will be shipped back to Mexico faster than you can say ‘illegal alien’. VAMOS!!”
Poor Jorge…
Among various marble titty statues and expressionless faces we found this guy. Isn’t he awesome? Fuck Michelangelo’s David, this guy just took number 1 in the “best marble statues EVAH” listing. I mean, he looks like a guy—let’s call him Hank—who just found out that his wife Johanna is actually a convicted murderer called John, who escaped from prison years ago and had a rudimentary sex-change to escape the law, but who then in an unforeseen personal emotional breakthrough found himself in love with previously mentioned young Hank, and who had hoped that their newfound love for each other would help Hank overcome the initial shock and disgust he would undoubtedly feel when he would reach between the legs of his new-found love—who admittedly sports a few uncanny male-like features—only to find the grossly disfigured remnants of the penis the failed surgery had left John/Johanna with… ON HIS HONEYMOON. Or he could be trying to wrap his mind around string theory, but I’m pretty sure it’s either one or the other.
The third and final part of this little triptych will be up later this week, so come back then if you somehow find yourself craving pointless banter.
