(Interesting and unusual pseudonyms used - because it's fun.)
Yesterday was my first day of work at a local museum. Basically, it’s a restored 19th Century American farmhouse, school and pastures. It’s hard to describe what I was thinking when I hopped out of the car and walked up the path on my own. First, I wasn’t quite sure what I was getting into – was it a real job, should I try to impress? Or was it just a volunteer thing, nothing to worry about? I wasn’t quite sure – I hadn’t even talked to the director, much less met her. I forced myself not to look back as I heard my mom’s car pulling out of the parking lot. That wouldn’t have been cool.
Halfway to the Visitor’s Center I passed a little old lady and asked her if she was the one I was supposed to talk to.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “You’re probably lookin’ for Agatha, she’s inside.”
My thoughts on other things, my unconscious who-is-this-person-and-how-should-I-act-around-them feelers were reaching out. I immediately, from her soft-spoken country accent, labeled her as a sweet (if somewhat absent-minded) old woman. She walked beside me up the stairs and we stepped inside the Visitor’s Center. Like the farmhouse and school, this building had been built in the 1800’s and it was immediately evident. The rooms are small and square, the walls of plaster, the doors surrounded by thick wooden frames. A ragged rug lies on the floor, old-fashioned chairs and an ancient piano are the only pieces of furniture.
