Installation 39: Check-Check-Check previous
In her new position as full-time coat-checker, Phoebe quickly became familiar with a new level of boredom. Up until this point, she was best acquainted with the garden-variety boredom one might experience when there is nothing good on television and no one to talk to. Or the boredom she experienced as a kid when summer vacation drew to a close and she no longer felt like playing hide-and-seek, riding her bike to Dairy Queen or watching soap operas with her mother.
The boredom she encountered at coat check was deep and endless. The kind of boredom that made her wonder at her very existence. Why was she alive? To check coats and bags at half hour intervals? To direct people to the restrooms, although there was a large sign affixed to the wall directly behind her head that read, “Restrooms,” with an arrow pointing in their general direction?
Without access to a computer and forbidden from reading, her main occupation was to stare out at the street. Children biked by on the sidewalks. Cars rushed past. It was always a beautiful day. The sun shone and enormous puffy clouds skittered across the sky and yet she felt entirely removed from everything, trapped behind the coat check counter. Co-workers walked through the lobby, returning from leisurely lunches at places she used to frequent herself - Mustard Café, Spring Moon Chinese, Fork. She saw Fern and Carlotta come in through the heavy glass doors, laughing over something Carlotta said. When Fern laughed she scrunched up her face to reveal twisted teeth nestled in blood red gums. Phoebe was sure Fern had gingivitis and was in danger of losing her teeth but, she reasoned, it would be fair compensation for taking Phoebe’s job.
Sometimes Phoebe caught glimpses of Karl. He tried to walk through the lobby unnoticed, keeping close to the walls, but it was impossible to miss his familiar gait. He might have been doing both of them a favor by avoiding her so she wouldn’t have to talk to him while seated at coat check with all the empty racks and shelves stretching out behind, underscoring her removal from anything that mattered. She didn’t want his pity and yet, when he disappeared around a corner or out the door, she felt a knot in her stomach. It would have been nice, she thought, just to have him stroke her hair.
Her feelings of hopelessness were interrupted by brief but frequent visits from her supervisor, Rod Spellman, a man who wore skinny ties and oxfords printed with tiny patterns of aboriginal stick figures or geometric shapes. A typical encounter went something like this:
Rod: Hi, Phoebe. Checked many bags and coats today?
Phoebe: Its 80 degrees out.
Rod: So not many coats?
Phoebe: No.
Rod: Sometimes people bring in sweaters but they don’t check them. They want them along in the galleries because of the air-conditioning.
Phoebe: Uh huh.
Rod: Have you been opening all the oversize bags?
Phoebe: No.
Rod: I thought we talked about this. You need to be looking for explosives.
Phoebe: I don't know what explosives look like. Unless it's a stick of dynamite. I've seen those in cartoons.
Rod: Well let me tell you, if I had an explosive device in a backpack, I would check it and walk back outside. I wouldn’t carry it around.
Phoebe: Why not just bring it in, set it down in a gallery and walk away without talking to anyone?
Rod: Good point. Maybe there should be a new rule that all backpacks and bags need to be inspected, regardless of whether or not they want to check them. You aren’t letting people go in with umbrellas, are you?
Phoebe: Its not raining. No one has umbrellas.
Rod: Umbrellas are weapons. Or cleverly disguised dart guns. Or rifles.
Phoebe: I’ll make sure no one gets in with one.
Rod: If you ever see anyone with an umbrella on a day like today, when the sun is out and there’s no chance of rain… Well, that’s a tip-off, isn’t it?
Phoebe: Yes, I suppose it is.
Rod: Here, I’ve got a little project for you. If you could just make a hash mark on this piece of paper every time someone checks something, that would be great. I want to see what kind of volume we’re handling at peak hours.
Phoebe: I’ve checked one item today. Someone’s oxygen tank. They said they didn’t want to deal with it in the galleries.
Rod: That’s it, huh? One item?
Phoebe: Yep.
Rod: OK, well, that’s useful information. It helps me know how to plan appropriate levels of staff.
Phoebe: Can I go on break soon?
Rod: You know, ZZ Top is playing this weekend at a club on Highway 52.
Phoebe: So?
Rod: Used to be you could only see them at a stadium show. I'm thinking of checking it out. Do you want to go?
Phoebe: With you?
Rod: Sure.
Phoebe: No.
With that, Rod would make his way back to his office, which was a renovated closet located behind the information desk. It was a windowless space with white walls marred only by a free calendar from Rod’s credit union. Phoebe sank back into silence and despair.