"Everyone is mad at you."
Having delivered her line, the woman stalked back to a table and sat down. She was sitting with another couple, as I recall.
The object of her ire rolled his shoulders and sniffed before pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. He impatiently drummed his fingers on the snack bar's counter. All I know is, he wasn't in line with the rest of us.
I didn't find her hit-and-run communication style generally constructive. Then again, he struck me as the "my-way-or-the-highway" sort; perhaps some drama was in order.
I recognized a young woman to my left who'd been ushered out of the Miro museum at closing time, just as we had been. She wore a T-shirt with a provocative, profane slogan. She held her family's place in the service line while her parents took turns in the W.C.
She looked bored, as if the shirt wasn't getting her a desirable reaction. I wanted to tell her that it was working fine -- that I felt uncomfortable and preoccupied with it at the same time. I wondered how her parents felt about the shirt, replacing the thought a moment later with, "This is Barcelona."
Three hours before, we'd rushed out of the hotel to make sure we had enough time at the Miro museum before it closed at 1430. We were all the way down to the platform when I remembered that I'd left my camera up in the room. Meh.
Other than the ticket stub, the only evidence that we viewed the place are Liz's phonepics. I think Miro might have liked the notion of a telephone that can capture and distribute images. Whether he would have enjoyed the jarring ringtones that echo throughout his permanent collection, I cannot speculate.
Posted by Walter at September 18, 2005 12:52 PM