Paying at the Guggenheim

Dear Diary:

As a former Guggenheim member, I already feel guilty about going on the one “free” night, but leaner times have made for museum budgeting. I do not want to miss James Turrell’s meditative light transformation of Wright’s space. When I finally get to the front of a line that started two blocks away on Madison Avenue, I encounter a perfectly coifed, silk-scarved museum employee.

She: “Your payment, please.”
Me: “I thought it was ‘Pay what you wish’ night.”
She: “Yes.”
Me (in a hush): “I wish to pay nothing.”
She (loudly): “That is not an option. You have to pay something.”
Me (searching my pockets and purse): “I don’t think I have any money on me, but I just waited two hours in a long, long line.”
She: “You still have to pay something. That is the rule.”
Me: “But it is ‘Pay what you wish.’ What if you wish to pay nothing?”
She: “Don’t you even have a quarter or anything?”
Me: “No, I don’t have a cent on me.”
She: “Well, then you can’t enter. You will have to leave.”

I look around, hoping someone will offer me a dime, but at the same time praying no one overheard this exchange. I consider asking her for a penny, but feel humiliated enough. I dump the contents of my bag on the counter. I root around again in all my pockets. In the bowels of my purse, I find a nickel.

Me (triumphantly): “Here!”

She silently hands me a ticket. I stay until closing.

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