When I tell people I used to work for an art museum, their faces light up. “What was that like?” they ask. “Were you a curator?” Currrrator. Spoken with the same breathless awe usually reserved for astronauts and Master Sommeliers. You know, professions that are unfathomably cool and whose members one rarely meets in real life.
How disappointing for everyone involved that no, I wasn’t a curator. As director of the volunteer program, the only thing I “curated” was a corps of people willing to work for no pay. Value and aesthetics mattered not. My office wasn’t even in the museum proper, but in the basement of the administration building. Just another drone at a non-profit, that was me. Or so people think until I tell them what my job was really like.