Diary Of An Archaeologist - Wattys 2019 Non-fiction Winner

That Time I Became A Curator

It has been some time since I have written down one of archaeological adventures. Let's see if I can still do this.

This time I want to tell you guys about the time I was fired.

But don't worry, it's a fun story.

Kind of.

2020 has been a turbulent year for all of us. With the pandemic holding the world in its grip, nationwide lockdowns ensuing all over the world and otherwise normal things like, going out for dinner, hugging friends or visiting family and friends for a birthday/holiday/just because it is now impossible or requires a military level of strategic planning.

I miss those little things, as I think most of us do. But there will come an end to this pandemic, and we will be able to do those things again.

But now onto the story. I can keep it fairly simple, after the first lockdown in the Netherlands ended I got the news that my contract would not be renewed. The museum I was working for, was struggling financially and with the prospect that there would be 50% fewer visitors they had to let some people go.

The director of the museum was heartbroken, crying himself as he told me the news. And I was devastated, of course.
To lose your job over something you have no hand in is hard to accept. But I understood that my superiors had as little choice as me.

And so I took my leave, without being able to say goodbye to the colleagues I had worked with for 2 years.

They organized a sort of get together via Zoom, for me and the others who had lost their jobs. And it was during this meeting that the topic of applying for a new job came up. One of my colleagues told me he had been contacted by a private collector who had a egyptian collection and wanted a curator to help him sort it out and mediate when necessary between the museums who wanted to loan pieces to put on display. The colleague declined the offer, saying that as a curator for a museum he does not want to breach his contract with the museum by working for another party. 

Private collections are always a painful subject among museum circles, even if a lot of the world's most famous collections is in those museums because of collectors, there has always been this stigma against them. Maybe it has to do with the stolen art, maybe it has to do with the fact that most of the art that is stolen from museum end's up in some collector's fault through the black market. Maybe it is just a bias because it's not a scientifically researched collection.

Whatever the case there is some bad blood, and I didn't feel stirring within that pot. So, I at first also declined when my ex-colleague told me I should contact the collector. 

But after thinking about it a little while longer I thought, why the hell not. I had no job, no longer an obligation to the museum, so why shouldn't I try it with a private collection. 

Within a week I had my interview. Before the end of the month, I signed my contract.

Yes, it went that fast.

It was insane, and honestly a bit frightening. The collector turned out to be a guy barely two years my senior who was obsessed with Egypt and Indiana Jones ever since he was a child. He comes from one of the wealthiest families in the country, even though I had never heard of him before. But yeah, with all that money he could afford one hell of a collection. Although, he wasn't an expert on the subject and mostly relied on the information given to him at auctions. Which as you might recall is not also the most accurate info.

So, I had my work cut out for me. But I'll spare you the details of me sifting through archives of info trying to figure out if each piece was authentic.

Because what I quickly found when I landed this job is that people didn't want to hear about what I do. They want to hear about my millionaire boss. I'll be honest, I had a lot of prejudices about my boss when I first met him. I saw the arrogant, spoiled rich kid, the playboy who thinks he can get anything he wants. I saw what the media portrayed rich guys his age to be, and I was wrong.

After a while I realized that we were much more alike than I thought, and that having a lot of money bring on its own set of problems. There are a lot of things you'll have to be cautious with when you come from money. Even more so when you are young, and naïve. I've seen people straight up ask him for ridiculous amounts of money like it was nothing, and he always remained very polite when declining them.

It is insane how different people will treat you once they know you are wealthy, and after a while I just felt bad for him. To the point where I didn't want to accept anything from him other than my loan, because I didn't want to associate myself with those people.

He made me realize just how shallow many people are once it comes to money. Lots of money equals good, lack of money equals bad. We always strive to make more money, have a bigger house, newer phone, better-paid job, but does that make us happier?

2020 has made me lose the thing I thought I wanted for years, but has also given me something I didn't think I needed; contentness with my situation. I am happy where I am, and grateful for what I have. Of course, I don't have the biggest apartment, or the newest phone but that is fine. It is enough for me. 

If I can be a confidant and friend for my boss, someone who he can trust, then that is enough. Trust is something far more valuable than money. You cannot buy it, you must work for it.

And after all, this whole experience has put the 'billionaire romance' trope in an entirely new light for me.