Hands off

When I visit a museum or a gallery or any exhibit, I always end up in a loop with the same people. Groups of people moving at the same pace through a show, clump together, follow the same path, read the same signs, and, essentially, share the same experience.

I’ve been on double-dates where our two sets of couples don’t have the same pace, and the visit feels awkward to me, like we didn’t connect as deeply as we should. Invariably, Matthew and I are the slower couple, because if we’re not learning, we’re not having fun.

I’ve also been to exhibits at the Art Institute and The Field Museum where I felt extremely connected to random strangers because we were all interested in the same educational and enjoyment experiences. We walk leisurely, taking in all the historic objects that gratify our egos by osmosis, and we share that moment. I’m all for the communal experience transcending the individual.

And then, there’s the Touchers.

The Touchers are the people you can’t shake. You don’t want to walk the same pace as them—something about them bugs you to your core—but you just can’t get away. Take a turn around a corner of the exhibit, they’re there again. Speed up, they catch up. Slow down, they stop to gawk at beauty. Something happens, and they’re always there with you, dragging you down.

I call them the Touchers, because I’ve noticed that the people who irk me most are the ones that touch exhibits inappropriately. Even if the object is under glass, they’ll stroke the glass case, leaving greasy smeared finger prints like the KFC Finger Lickin’ Good Monster just sashayed through.

Today was a Toucher day. After three days of sweatpants and free HBO preview, I was hankerin to get out of the house and DO something. It had to be a THING, you know, not just go to the store, it had to be an EVENT. So, I picked a flower conservatory. Either Lincoln Park or Garfield Park, I told Matthew, whichever he chose. He chose Garfield Park because parking is easier.

At Garfield Park Conservatory, we discovered that—Oh my God—It’s Easter Sunday. I don’t think either of us really remembered all that religion biz. Many families were out strolling the Garfield Park Conservatory, enjoying the lilies and azaleas. We’ve been to Garfield Park at the height of visitors, during the Chihuly glass exhibit, and this was hardly a big crowd. We hoped to be mostly alone, so we were a little surprised to see that everyone had our idea, but this was nothing compared to Chihuly.

What did put us off were the Touchers. We ended up behind a whole family of Touchers. The Toucher Family. Toucher Family found it incumbent of themselves to crumble off dried edges of leaves. To caress everything they laid eyes on. To twiddle leaves and even poke cacti. And we couldn’t shake them.

“Toucher Family is going into the children’s garden. Hurry, turn right, and we can get away from them!”

But as we admired the agave plant (a cactus since it grows in the Americas), we lost track of speeding along the path and Toucher Family caught back up to us. Rats.

We didn’t let Toucher Family ruin our experience (see the March pictures on my Flickr site), but they gave us plenty to talk about. Maybe they enriched our lives by giving our generalized rage a focal point. A common experience that transcends the exhibit, bonding us as we travel through the education experience.