I just got back from MOCA, where I went to check out the Basquiat exhibit. It was good, there is a healthy amount of his work to see, just right. Not too much, not too little.

There is also another exhibit; it is a collection of varied works, including pieces by John Waters and Steve McQueen. Yeah, that part was pretty fucked up.

One of the pieces in that collection is a crescent moon shape, composed of various found plastic objects affixed to the wall. It is a gradient rainbow. My museum buddy observed that they looked like they had come from the beach. I pointed to one of the yellow pieces in the middle and said Yeah, especially this one.

The security guard who had been leaning in the doorway walked over. He obviously didn’t know I’m like a museum celebrity, and am well-aware of how to appreciate art.

“Miss, you can’t touch the artwork.”

“But I didn’t touch the artwork.”

“I’m just letting you know, you can’t touch it.”

“But I didn’t! Are you accusing me of doing something I didn’t even do?”

“Well just now, when you pointed, you were very close.”

“But pointing isn’t touching. And I wasn’t even that close!”

“You need to point from at least two feet away.”

“Oh really? Two feet, huh?”

“Yes. You know, I don’t make the rules, I’m just doing my job.”

“Ah. I didn’t receive the Guidelines to Museum Pointing when I came in. But I’ll keep that in mind in the future.”

Just doing his job. His job to accost patrons when they almost break a rule. It’s hard to believe that no matter how little power some people have, they will do their best to wield it in the most oppressive way possible.

After we finished the disappointing last leg of the gallery, I felt like going back to the crescent moon and hovering my finger over its plastic pieces, saying, “I’m not touching it, I’m not touching it!” Just to see what the guard would do. But I didn’t. My legs were tired and his job sucks enough already. And I'm 26 years of age.

Still, it was tempting.