The White Blouse

If I had known it would have caused such a ruckus I would have left it with my umbrella at the coat check. But I’m getting ahead of the story. Let me begin by saying that I understand and respect rules. I particularly understand rules wherever people gather and in places like museums where there are rare and socially and historically relevant artifacts on public display. But to save my life I could not explain why the owner/manager/curator whoever came up with the rule that one cannot stroll through a museum with a white blouse. I will try to explain.

One of the most prized artifacts in the Neues Museum in Berlin is the Gold Hat. It is made of thin gold leaf, circa 1,000 – 800 B.C. It is one of only four such hats remaining and is the only one fully preserved. It is covered with symbols representing a lunisolar calendar. What is particularly interesting about this hat is the fact that the information on it wasn’t thought to be figured out (or discovered) until much later. The existence of this hat proves . . . something.

It was at this point I was interrupted for the first time by one of the many guards at the Neues Museum, one of the many guards whose job is a dearth of activity. He spoke to me in German, a language I was still struggling to learn. I didn’t understand him, but I could tell he was talking about the small (I’m a size 4) blouse slung on my arm. I got that he wasn’t complimenting me on my fabric choice, but otherwise couldn’t figure out what he was saying. Through the little German I spoke and some pantomime I guessed I wasn’t allowed to have the blouse slung on my arm. That was so ridiculous I was certain I was dreaming so I just walked away from him. He pulled out his walkie-talkie like a saber and called for backup. Really? Pushing through my bewilderment at that, I asked why I couldn’t have my blouse. I understood that it was against the rules. I gave him my best ‘duh’ face. I asked again, hoping for an answer this time, why? He then looked around, stepped back into a corner and writhed around in a twist-like manner then held up his hands and made the ‘duh’ face right back at me. Obviously the man was touched and I feared for my safety lest my reaction to his dance frighten him. I slowly stepped back, said something non-committal like “Ahh” then slowly pretended to do something with my blouse and left his room.

What the . . .?

Did I mention that we were allowed to take pictures in this museum? There were only two rooms where photography was prohibited and this was clearly marked for the illiterate as well as the literate. I was learning about Nefertiti whose name means “the beauty has come.” She carried many titles including “Main King’s Wife.” I’m not sure whether that meant that she was the wife of the main king or she was the main wife of the king, but it is understood that they married for love as she was a commoner. Supposedly she reigned for a time as the king was . . .

Then I was again interrupted. This time a female guard approached me. Again the white blouse was distressing. She and I had an exchange similar to the one I had with the male guard earlier, though she was no mime. She meant business; her words carried enough weight. So did she. I tried walking away again, but she drew her saber – almost dropped it she was so adamant at reporting my behavior. So I stopped. As we stood there people were fondling Nefertiti’s bust, taking turns running their hands all over it. Apparently that was acceptable, but my blouse was not. I again asked why I couldn’t carry a blouse on my arm. I was told it is against the rules. For a people of whom so many the word ‘why’ means nothing, how did so many scientists come out of Germany? I appealed to her feminine side, though there wasn’t one in evidence. I told her I was in menopause and frequently got hot, then chilled. No good. I was then tempted to take a picture of her and show it to her saying “This is not a happy person.” But that would have been wrong and petty. I did manage to get what I thought was an extremely helpful clue as to why the blouse was causing so much distress amongst the guards: it was not “fest”. Fest means, among other things, stable. Neither, in my opinion were the guards in this museum, but that was beside the point, to her anyway. So I tied the sleeves of my blouse around my purse. That satisfied her and I was off to another room and another encounter.

Nefertiti was actually the Pharaoh’s wife. Pharaoh, I learned means “great house.” The Egyptians prided themselves on caring for their whole being. The males would gather regularly for symposiums to strengthen themselves physically (where nude wrestling was common), mentally, spiritually and morally. I then learned that a “symposium” was really a huge drunken whore fest. We women should be alert when our husbands take part in any symposiums. This was getting juicy until I was again interrupted.

The man who had earlier busted me for my umbrella (against which I put up no fight) told me I couldn’t carry my blouse like that. He spoke good English. I told him that the woman in the other room said I could carry it like this. He shook his head and told me that was incorrect. I tied it around my waist thinking (logically) what’s the difference between a skirt and a shirt tied around my waist? That, too was unacceptable. I asked him why . . . well you know that part of that story already. I asked him what the reason for the rule was. He shook his head and confessed that the rule was passed down from the owner/manager/curator – whatever, and he was hired to enforce it. At last someone who knew what was going on! I said, “So there is no reason.” He just shook his head and walked away.

I walked through several rooms unassaulted and thought that perhaps my friend had notified the other guards that we were calling a truce.

Nope.

I was in the erotic room. I had seen a statue of a Satyr and hermaphrodite (which was unclear until you viewed it from a certain angle). I finally realized what Cupid’s arrows represented. (I’m slow.) I was examining a very rough, wooden carving (for lack of a better word) of a figure with a hole between its legs for, to quote the audio guide, “obvious purposes.” I’m slow, remember, and I was trying to figure out what obvious purposes those were when I was again accosted by a guard.

This guard had a new approach. It had occurred to me that the same people who didn’t want a blouse slung on my arm (or tied to my purse or around my waist) were okay with my carrying around a (museum issued) metal walkman swinging around on the end on a long string. So I asked her what made my blouse more dangerous than the metal hanging and swinging off me. She took the fabric of my blouse and brushed it against the corner of a display case, then held up her hands and gave me the ‘duh’ face. Well, that explains that.

I was a lifeguard and I hated it when people would argue with me as to why they couldn’t dive into six feet of water nor run around on the wet deck. I know from that experience that there are two things many, many people don’t want to be told: the truth and to not do something. I don’t want to make people’s jobs harder just as I didn’t like it when people made my job harder. If these rules showed the vaguest sense I wouldn’t have given these guards such a hard time.

I had one final encounter. Possibly my favorite, that’s hard to call. This man spoke a little English. “Lady, lady” he interrupted me. He whipped out a rule book – a rule book! “Look. In English.” He showed me the written rule. It stated that there would be no carrying of coats around the museum. Coats?! Now I just love it when people use some piece of information that they think will win them their argument when really it works against them.I told him, "Das ist nicht ein Mantel." This is not a coat. “Was ist das?“ “Das ist eine Bluse!“ This is a blouse.

He threw up his arms and walked away from me. Should I have reported him for not doing his job?