A Day in the Museum

My time in Santa Fe is winding down and I'm feeling a bit of pressure to be sure  I've seen all that  I wanted to see and have visited the museums and sites on my checklist.  The reality is -  it doesn't matter.  I've seen what I've seen, visited the museums I chose to visit and have barely eaten out.

The reason I've only eaten out six times in four weeks is pretty simple.  The restaurants here all sound amazing, with the proper industry buzz words applied to their ads and websites. Organic.  Local.  Authentic New Mexican Cuisine.  Farm to Table.  The enticement is there to frequent many places, especially because so may boast vegetarian and vegan selections.  What's the rub?  Dollars.  These cantinas are insanely priced; even at lunchtime.  I am not used to paying $16.00 for a lunch plate.  Especially one that lacks the pricey protein component, a/k/a meat!

Yes, this is a tourist town, and I expect joints that are strategically located to profit from their geographic fortune.  But it seems like most places are capitalizing on the heavy tourism that is essential to Santa Fe's economy.  My lovely casita has a kitchenette; two burner stove, microwave, dishwasher and a mini-fridge.  A trip to Trader Joe's or the local food co-op and I'm ready to eat in the comfort of 'home'.  Instead of spending my money in restaurants, I've spent it on a few souvenirs and cultural experiences.

Yesterday, in my quest to complete my museum visits, I checked out the New Mexico Museum of Art.  This museum was great.  Art, photography, film, and a few sculpture courtyards.  My last couple of things to see were the West Sculpture Garden and the St. Francis Auditorium.  The auditorium was formerly a church.  Beautiful.  The entrance to see the final few pieces of art was through the auditorium, then a big heavy old wooden door with a lock on the inside that triggered my intuition.  Would this antique slide lock somehow sidle over and lock me out?  I checked to be sure it was in the utmost open position, went outside, closed the door and checked the latch.  I'd be OK.

There was a gentleman in the courtyard and I have no idea if he saw or sensed my paranoia.  As is the usual way here in Santa Fe, I passed him in the courtyard and said hello and he succinctly ignored me.  He went inside, I snapped a few photos, climbed the steps, tried the door and!?  Son-of-a gun! I am locked out.  The door will not budge.  I knock a few times, but this door is thick and if no one is in the auditorium I know my little knuckle tapping will not be heard.  No worries, right?  I have a cell phone and can call the museum and ask them to send the security guard at the admission desk on a mini search and rescue mission.  What I get instead is phone tree hell.  No matter what combination of prompts I press none produce a human being to help me.  I am standing on these steps, it is chilly and I am not wearing a coat.  I know I won't die out here, but I am plotting my escape.

The wall isn't too high and if I use one of  the art installations as a ladder I could propel myself over the compound fortification. Or I could call the non-emergency police number and have them contact the museum.  Having once lived in a city where the not 911 line can take up to an hour for a person to answer, this option holds no hope.  (thanks Colorado Springs)  I could call upon my quasi-photographic memory and dial up a shop that I saw on my way over and implore them to send the rescue rangers.  I finally decide to peek my head through the wrought iron gate that separates me from the general population.  There are not confined people in the parking lot across the way. I don't call out to the dad and kid on the other side of the street, I opt to wait for someone who is on a stroll to pass by and plead my case to end my incarceration.  Luckily in a few short moments a woman walks by and at first, of course, ignores me when I shout out "Excuse Me!!".  But when I say hey - I need your help, she stops and does as I ask.  Please go inside and tell the guard that there is a panicky woman trapped in the west sculpture courtyard.

A few short moments later and I am sprung!  I am grateful to the random stranger on the sidewalk and a little pissed at the tourist who trapped me.  I ask the guard if the slide lock seems to have wafted over and was slightly impeding the door, or if it was a full-on slide bolt action that kept me from reentering the museum.  He said it was the latter and my ire is now a seething WTF??  I ask my savior if he has seen the snarky trickster.  I describe him in full detail and the guard tells me he thinks the guy has left the premises.  Good thing!

A trip to the bathroom and the water fountain calms me down a bit.  What happened to my water bottle?  I must have dropped it along the route of my wayward travels.  I'm out of sorts.  Breathe.  No worries about the water bottle - it was disposable as the public supply in this town is nasty -  forcing me to abandon my morals and buy the bottled variety.  Breathe.  You are safe.  Breathe.  Oh I know, a little trek to the gift shop might clear my head along with my wallet.

I'm looking at books and hear the cashier thanking someone for their purchase.  I turn around and it is him!  Same camera around his neck, same not friendly demeanor to the gift shop employee.  What to do...  What to say...  Should I confront this prankster and tell him not funny dude.  Should I passive aggressively make a statement to the cashier about karma, and locks, and the universe...  In the end I decide to let it go.  There is no concrete evidence it was him.  I know I won't feel good about myself if the comments in my head make their way past my lips.  Instead I just watch my nemesis exit the gift shop.  I watch him go on his merry way, through the lobby and out the doors into the glorious sunshine of the day.

I take a few more deep breaths and think to myself - next time instead of going to a dangerous museum, I'll spend the damn money and take my chances at a café.

Time to Write,

Jane