Done Adulting Vol. 1 Ch. 95

“Are you excited for the museum,” Amanda asked.

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to do this for a while. Why didn’t Mom come?”

“She didn’t say,” Amanda said. The two of them were on their way to Woods Park again, this time headed to the art museum. Jamie was looking forward to seeing styles of art he’d never seen before, a brand-new experience. The museum sat on a hill, and at the foot of the hill was a lake lined with a promenade. People were paddling in rented boats, and at the far end of the lake was a restaurant. The museum itself impressed Jamie. It was, naturally, huge, and its granite contrasted nicely with the glass that reflected the sun above.

Once inside, they stopped at the information desk to get a map. “Excuse me,” a docent said, “We require all littles to be in a stroller unless they’re in the littles wing.”

“O,” Amanda responded, “He’s fine. He’s not regressed.”

“Sorry, it’s our policy.”

“Whatever,” Amanda muttered. She wasn’t in a great mood. “Do you mind, Jamie?”

“No, I guess not,” he said, though he really did. He knew it would be hard enough to see art made by giants from his standing height and that much harder from a stroller. Fortunately, they’d brought the stroller with them, but they hadn’t planned on Jamie needing to be in it the entire time. Amanda helped him in. They took the elevator to the top floor, planning to work their way back down.

“Anything you want to see first?”

“Nope.”

“You can get out whenever you want. Who cares about their stupid policy,” Amanda said.

The museum was divided by era, with the top floor containing local artifacts and works from Itali and San Siena pre-history. A few items were at floor level, large pottery and sculpture, but there were display cases over his head even standing. He was a little embarrassed to ask.

“Can you pick me up?”

“Yeah,” Amanda smiled. “Up ya go.” She hefted him to her hip.

Jamie noticed their ancient art followed the same progression as on Earth, from stone to pottery to bronze to iron. They moved around the top floor, looking at the pottery and small artifacts that had been pulled from the ground, washed up on the beach, or been found in the harbor and river.

“Excuse me, miss. I’m sorry. It’s our policy for littles to be in strollers when they’re not in the littles wing,” a docent interrupted. To her credit, she sounded apologetic.

“O, we were just on our way there now,” Amanda told her. She headed toward the elevator with Jamie back on his feet.

“What’s in the littles wing,” he asked.

“No idea. But we’re seen most of this floor; let’s just go to the next.”

The classical period, or what Jamie would call the classical period, suggested San Siena especially and Itali overall was an active trading and seafaring power, just as he expected of an island nation. Sculptures of giants standing and sitting and reclining in marble and oxidized bronze, most likely to survive all those thousands of years, showed a glimpse into the past. Jamie wordlessly held his arms up, and Amanda put him on her left hip. He scrutinized a row of busts. Amanda dutifully walked from one end of the row and back.

“Hmm,” Jamie said.

“What?”

“Were Italis were ancestor worshippers?”

“Yeah, kind of. How did you know?”

“Look at the ones from the first half of the millennium. They’re all beautiful and named for gods.”

“Yeah?”

“And look at the ones from the second half.”

“What am I looking for?”

“They’re ugly. The people, I mean, some of the busts are ugly. And they have names. At some point, they switched from making images of gods to making images of actual people.”

“Huh.”

They worked their way through the floor counterclockwise, avoiding docents and ignoring dirty looks from some of other patrons. They’d somehow found themselves walking through the galleries in the opposite direction as most everyone else, moving backward in time through the periods displayed on that floor.

“Ooo,” Amanda said, “You’ll like this.” In the center of the next gallery was a long rectangular display case.

“Is that a …”

“Yep.” Jamie had never seen a mummy before except on a screen. It was a little disconcerting to think this person’s remains were on display, but he reminded himself it’s impossible to wrong a dead person. The casket was opened and the lid held up so they could see the mummy itself. It’s size intimidated Jamie. he’d thought Boris Karloff’s size made for an menacing mummy; Boris seemed cute by comparison.

Jamie admired the images and early writing on the outside of the casket. They walked the perimeter of the room and looked at other funerary artifacts from the period. Jamie observed that the people whose graves the goods had come from must have been rich but not wealthy. Their relatives could afford to bury weapons and semi-precious jewelry with them, but not precious metals or stones.

“I want to check something,” Jamie said. Amanda put him down, and he walked over to the mummy again. He knelt and then laid down on the floor.

“What you are you doing?”

“Come look.” Amanda, somewhat embarrassed, got down on the floor on the other side.

“Look at the inside.” The inside of the sarcophagus’s lid was vibrantly embellished with pictures and writing.

“I never knew that was there.”

“They’re directions to the afterlife probably. Or prayers; maybe incantations to protect against evil spirits. That’s what’s in the mummy sarcophagi back home.”

“Yeah?”

“That, or just something to read while he hangs out in there.”

“I’m sorry,” said a docent who snuck up on them, “He’s in the way down there.”

Amanda’s eyes flitted back and forth; she couldn’t see the docent and was disinclined to make the effort to response face to face. She didn’t want to do anything to even suggest she was acknowledging the person. Grudgingly, she pointed out, “I’m also in the way.”

“Yes, looking at the art.”

“So is he. I wouldn’t have known there was something on the lid if he hadn’t pointed it out,” Amanda shot back, losing a little more of her patience.

“He should really be in a stroller. It’s policy.”

Amanda got to her feet. “Fine,” she spit out with a sigh, exercising some restraint in not colorizing the word further. She shot the docent a nasty look but smiled sweetly to Jamie as she held out her hand to help him up. She lifted him into the stroller, and they went into the next gallery, and the next, with the docent following and failing in their effort to be subtle about it. Both Amanda and Jamie wondered why anyone, especially someone liking getting paid so little, cared enough to be so rude. The other docent hadn’t followed them around. This one was on a power trip maybe, or maybe the docent didn’t like littles.

“What do you want to do, Jamie,” Amanda asked since the docent wasn’t leaving them alone.

“Go to the next floor, I guess.”

Amanda sighed. She felt bad for him. This was an experience he’d been looking especially forward to, and she was happy to see him excited for it; now it was tainted. She was getting angrier with the museum and its stupid policy. Young children were allowed to walk around. Why not littles, and especially unregressed ones? Still, she swallowed her feelings for Jamie’s benefit. She knew he wouldn’t like a scene and that venting her anger – and bad mood – on a lowly paid docent wouldn’t solve the problem anyway.

Once on the next floor, Jamie got back out of the stroller and rode Amanda’s hip. They were looking at paintings now, and Jamie could see the differences between the styles he knew of and the styles he had never seen. The less the art strove for realism, the more the differences stood out. But they didn’t get far into the galleries.

“I’m sorry. Our policy requires all littles to be in a stroller,” a white-haired docent said as he approached them.

Amanda snapped at the older gentleman before she could stop herself. “Well, he can’t see from down there, can he?”

“It’s policy, Miss, not my decision. I just …”

“Who’s is it? We’ll go talk to him.”

“You could talk to the manager.”

“Is the manager some poorly paid bureaucrat who got stuck working on a weekend? Is he gonna tell me its policy?”

‘I …”

“Don’t answer.” She turned back to Jamie, who was embarrassed by the people looking at them. “What do you want to do?” The docent rolled his eyes, and Jamie saw it.

“What’s in the littles wing,” he politely asked the docent.

“Things to make art with. Isn’t that more fun than looking,” the docent said, bending over to get closer to Jamie and talking to him in a higher pitch than he had just used with Amanda.

“No,” Jamie stated plainly, “I want to see the art from where I live now.”

When he realized Jamie wasn’t regressed, the man straightened up. “Well, you could buy a book in the gift shop.”

“Excuse me,” Amanda said incredulously, “This is a public attraction! We pay for it. How can he be excluded from it?”

“He’s not excluded from it. He just needs to be in a stroller.”

“Where he can’t see it!”

“Manda?”

“What’s the point if he can’t see it?”

“Manda?”

The man was getting flustered. He was just a docent. “I …”

“Don’t have a clue.”

“Manda?” She sighed and turned back to Jamie.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Let’s just leave,” he said sadly.

Amanda sighed. His disappointment hurt her; it also a reminder she’d lost her temper and made a scene, which didn’t do anything to make Jamie feel better. He hated being the center of attention. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She paid no attention to the docent, turned on her heels, and with Jamie on her hip and the stroller in one hand they walked back toward the entrance. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s not your fault. We got to see a lot.”

“But not everything. We’ve only been here, like, an hour.” Jamie was disappointed; Amanda was as well but also increasingly angry even as she tried not to be with every step she took toward the the information desk.

“I want the museum director’s card.”

“I’m not sure we have one back here,” the woman behind the deck replied, caught off guard by an irritated young woman and the blushing little she was holding.

“Then his phone number and email address.”

“I’m not sure I have those on hand either.”

“Find it! Or the number for anyone who’s not an ineffectual, nametag-wearing minion!”

The woman behind the counter fished around nervously and handed Amanda three cards for different executives, none of them the director. Amanda pocketed them and left without a word. Later, she’d play it over in her head and regret having vented her feelings at someone who didn’t do anything to deserve it. She’d started the day in a bad mood, but what really triggered her at the museum was that it concerned Jamie. Too often special things were tainted by the subtle and not-so-subtle misperceptions society had about littles, most she hadn’t known of, even in herself, until she had Jamie.

Back outside it was a nice day out, and the sun and cool air helped calm Amanda down. “We’ll file a complaint or something.” Jamie knew bureaucracy and didn’t expect that to do much.

“What are they afraid I’m gonna do?”

“I don’t know. Touch stuff, throw a fit, break stuff, make noise. Bullshit … Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“We got time to kill. Might as well get some lunch.” They followed the sidewalk down the hill and around the lake to the boathouse restaurant. “I’d say we could rent a paddle boat, but we need two bigs. We’d flip over.”

“That’s okay.”

Jamie liked the restaurant. The building itself was made of stone with a timber roof, and the outside had a large, wrap-around deck extending into the lake with tables and chaise lounges and two outdoor bars. Sizeable ducks floated in the water while a few braver ones waddled on the deck and patio, feeling entitled to handouts. The breeze when they were walking had felt good, but it felt chilly now in the shadow of the building. “Inside or out,” Amanda asked.

“In.” Amanda lifted the stroller over the threshold, and the two of them walked to an empty table; it wasn’t quite the lunch hour yet, and the place was still mostly empty. They were approached by a server quickly.

“What would the two of you like to drink?”

“I think just water for both of us,” Amanda told the server, who nodded and walked off. “We’ll figure out a way for you to see the whole museum. If you still want to.”

He did still want to. “It’s not the art’s fault,” he said.

“You’re being very calm about this.” On the inside, Jamie was less calm and more irritated, and a little hurt.

The sound of someone being quietly chastised caught their attention. Someone who looked like a manager was saying something to their waitress. The man approached them all smiles.

“Hi! I’m so sorry, but we have a section specifically for families,” he said.

Amanda pursed her lips, and her eyes went blank for a minute. Her breathing was audible, and her eyebrows started to climb her forehead the way they did whenever she got her dander up. Seeing it, Jamie felt sorry for this hapless man who didn’t know he was walking into someone’s already bad day. “The sign said seat yourself,” she replied firmly.

“Yes, and that’s my fault. See the sign right behind it? I should’ve realized it was hard to see.”

“I’ve eaten here dozens of times, and the place was never divided like that before.”

“O, well, since we took over the concession from the previous operator, it’s our policy. Do you mind moving?”

“No.”

“Thanks for being understanding.”

“I mean no, we’re not moving.”

The manager was taken aback. No one ever said no. They just went with the flow, as eager to avoid confrontation as he was. He hadn’t rehearsed this part. “But the section over there is just the same, and there’s no wait.”

Part of Jamie wanted to tell Amanda it was no big deal, but the part of him that was already fed up with policies made just for littles didn’t want to budge. That the policy was also for children didn’t make any difference. It wasn’t an upscale restaurant; he couldn’t recall a single restaurant he’d ever been in having a section for families.

“That’s not the point,” Amanda told the manager. “We’re sitting here. We’re not disrupting anything. We just want lunch.”

“I’m sorry. It’s our policy.”

“So don’t enforce it.”

That had never occurred to the manager. Just ignore what his bosses told him to do? He could get fired for that. “I’m afraid I have to.”

“We’d like menus please,” Amanda replied.

“I’m sorry, Miss. I can’t serve you here.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I’m sorry, Miss, I can’t serve you here, but if you’ll follow me …”

“We’re going to eat here.”

“I …”

Amanda was done paying attention to him. “Jamie, you hungry?”

“Yes,” he said, wondering where this was going. Amanda’s forceful response to the museum staff and now to this person were making Jamie feel righteous and stoking his indignation; he didn’t notice or care if he was the center of attention again.

Amanda pulled the diaper bag from under the stroller. “Do you mind drinking it room temperature,” she asked, pulling out a bottle and setting it on the table.

“Miss, I’m going to have to insist you leave.”

“After he’s eaten,” she said, twisting the cap off the bottle.

“Miss …”

Amanda turned back to him and shot a death ray from her eyes. “Either serve us or leave us alone or call the police. Just call your boss first and tell him his restaurant is going to be on the news tonight.”

The manager knew that would reflect poorly on the restaurant, but more importantly would reflect poorly on him. What would his boss think of his inability to handle this situation without resorting to the police? What would his boss even want? Was it so important to the owners they’d be alright with that sort of attention? No one had even told him what to do if someone flatly refused to move or otherwise caused a disturbance.

Amanda turned back to Jamie. “Jamie, do you want it with the nipple on or off?”

He didn’t really want the bottle at all, and when he normally had formula during the day, which was uncommon except for nap time, it was just in a sippy cup. But to spite the manager, the docents, the museum director, the restaurant owner, the people who gave him dirty looks and the people who were giving him those looks now, he said, “On.” Amanda smiled approvingly.

Exasperated and unsure of what to do, the manager walked away but not out of eyesight. He stood in a near corner with his arms folded and glared at them.

“C’mere, baby,” Amanda said as she lifted him into her lap. He settled back against her, and she held the bottle for him with her other hand around his waist, smiling at him and patting his tummy. “Take your time.”

Jamie relaxed and did just that. The formula and Amanda’s familiar lap and her soft hands made him feel better. Jamie’s familiar weight and the smell of his soft hair made her feel better. Jamie finished half the bottle and opened his mouth. Amanda put the bottle on the table.

“I think we made our point,” Jamie said.

“You wanna go get some real lunch now?”

“Yeah.” Amanda put the bottle back in the bag, pausing when her hand brushed against a diaper. With a Cheshire cat grin on her face, she whispered in Jamie’s ear

“Okay. Yeah, let’s do it,” he said, suppressing a laugh. Red faced but committed, he let Amanda lift him up and lay him on the table. He was pants down and ankles up in moments. Amanda quickly but thoroughly changed his wet diaper, rolled it up and pulled his pants back up.

“I think we’re ready to go now,” she said. Jamie nodded. She put him on his feet, and the two of them walked back toward the entrance. Amanda stopped next to the manager, ignoring the eyes on her, some approving and others disapproving, and pushed the rolled up wet diaper at him. He instinctively grabbed it before it could fall.

“You don’t mind throwing that away, do you? Or maybe your boss could do it.”

Amanda took Jamie’s hand, and the two walked out together.

“Hey, Manda,” Jamie asked when they were outside, “Had you known we were supposed to sit in that section, would you have?”

“I don’t know.” She thought about it. “If someone had seated us there, I guess. I mean, it’s no different. I don’t think I would have noticed it was a different section.”

“And if you had?”

She wasn’t entirely sure, but she wanted to believe she’d have put up a fight but she didn’t know if she would’ve. Truthfully, she doubted it; their experience at the museum right before had primed her to react the way she did.

“Look, they want to call it a bar and not allow in littles or minors, fine. But it’s a restaurant, it’s not fancy, it’s not even dinner time, and they don’t need a whole separate section just for families with littles and kids. That’s just bullshit.”

“How come they let little kids walk around the museum but not littles? There was a toddler or two in there.” Toddlers which were his size but bigger. No way was a little, even a regressed one, more disruptive or dangerous to the art than a toddler or young child.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Sure would like to fucking find out,” she muttered. The adrenaline was subsiding; she felt tired, sighed again, and shook her head.

“Tex-Mex?”

“A very good idea.” They were halfway up the hill to their car. “I’m sorry this day sucked. Really, this is bullshit. You must be disappointed and hurt.” She certainly was.

“The day’s not over yet … I liked the parts of the museum we go to see. Thanks for sticking up for me.”

“For us. Always.”