We ran into him outside first, the ageless Gerald R. Ford Museum security guard, K was holding an umbrella and he said to her, “you think that is really necessary?” And she stepped out of the rain puddle near the astronaut statue and into the sunlight. She didn’t ask if the umbrella was legal because she knew that he was a security guard, not a cop. He dealt only with order while cops deal with the law.
He’d already lingered too long, he was the cable guy, the mall cop in the movies, the boring cousin, the ex-con on day release.
We lost him during the first part of our tour and saved The White House in Miniature until the end of our museum visit, knowing that the sight of miniature things would make us pass out (as it does for most women) and we were working on a new Vistas Video when he came out of a dark corner, his voice again directed at K, “you have a pan-o-ram-ick camera?”
“Nope, we are very busy doing something extremely awesome with a regular camera.”
“You want to see the room where the Monica Lewinsky thing happened?” He points to a bottom corner office in the elaborate mini white house. Gross.
And then he hands us a brochure, “This is the last one from the back rooms. It’s from the 70s.”
This is the front and the back and an excerpt from a creepy color drawing inside that was placed between the LBJ and Nixon entries:
He watched us circle the house, this security guy, the miniature-ness was not making me feel like passing out because every time I tried to point something out to K, like a hockey game live on a mini tv set, he, the security guy would comment on it. Every time I tried to take a picture of her and he’d say “Ha! That is a cool shot. You want to use your flash? You can you know, I will let you. You normally can’t.”
“No, that’s ok. I don’t need a flash.”
K tells me she saw him try to offer a small child some unpackaged skittles from his pocket and the kid refused and left the room.
He makes a few more Monica Lewinsky references.
You can hear him here a lil bit (try not to pass out from the mini-ness)
He finally asks us if we want our picture taken together. We agreed and stood in front of the miniature White House, looking like giant glamazons about to smash the nation’s capital. And he snaps one, looks at it and says, “Ooooh. It’s a little dark. I’m going to have to turn the flash on. It’s cool though. I can authorize it.” And zing, the flash goes off and he hands the camera back to us.
A sound comes from his shoulder and he leans into his security guard radio contraption and says, “No, it’s cool. I authorized it.” He looks at us, “they caught your flash,” and we are like ok, who gives a F and he says, “don’t worry, I told them I ok-ed it.”
“Thanks,” we said.
Now if this thirty year old exhibit wastes away from the decay-inducing light of harsh electronic flash bulbs, it should be known that it is this young security guard, suffering from boredom-induced borderline personality disorder, handing out authorizations to anybody. With people like him guarding our nation’s precious artifacts, who needs a Library of Congress or rules, or laws, or order?
