My family lives in a small town (population 90000), but is near several larger ones that we can visit for cultural stimulation. One regular destination has been the Kitchener/Waterloo The Museum. I fear though that this may have been our last trip there for awhile. The problem? This little beauty, and the audacity to use it.
The story begins with a visit to the museum basement, dodging a birthday party in an adjacent room. (The museum has shed its former name as the “waterloo regional children’s museum”, but wisely not its focus on child-oriented displays.) As a part of the excellent RAM show, we find a completely dark room, with black-light-illuminated circles on the ground, inviting people to step inside. Overhead, speakers belch out some cool special effect noise at the appropriate moments.
Then it happens. A kid asks “how does that work?”.
We try not to panic. We are technologists, and we are in a mini science museum with a bold vision/value statement that includes experiential learning. Let’s do some learning and experiencing. Out comes my pocket flashlight to take a look around the darkness. Aha. A pair of Microsoft Kinect controllers on the ceiling, and a couple of speakers mounted nearby. Aha, there is the totally standard room light switch, right beside the dimly visible exit door. We’re the only ones in the unattended display room, and the booming noises are scaring the brats anyway, so I flick the light on to take a closer look. Aha, there are the wires that connect those bits to something behind a routine shade/stand curtain standing at one side of the room. Do we, or don’t we? You know what I’m asking. Do we draw the curtain back to take a look? Would you?
I am sorry to admit that our curiosity gets the better of me, and yes, we do take a quick look, finding two completely unprotected Macs with some neat screen display of the Kinect data, and some amplifiers, immediately behind the curtain on a table. Out comes some speculation about how it works, comparing screen imagery to the position of people in the display space. The curiosity is satisfied. The room is returned to its previous dark self, curtains restored, machinery undisturbed, and we’re off to see the rest of the show. Later, the incident I just described will be referred to as OFFENCE #1.
Next stop, the top floor, with more RAM displays. The brats are getting a little more antsy, but things are still more or less under control. They are curious about some of the knick-knacks and widgets, and keep their hands mostly to themselves. The displays are again mostly unattended, except by one kind young lady who summarizes one display to us, then walks off. A few of us are taken in by an interactive display with a camera embedded in a screen, which renders an artsie brushstrokey version of whatever the camera sees. Neat.
Then there is a loud crash from behind us, plus a child’s scream. Unfortunately it’s our 4-year-old child screaming. His hand is trapped underneath another display that fell over. “Darn, this may be expensive” is one thought, and “how did he get away from us this time?” is another, and “I hope he’s OK” is a third. As parents and staff converge and lifts the display, Juimiin takes Stuart off to check him out and to check him out and let him mope. He appears only slightly injured. None of us saw exactly what happened – except maybe security cameras whose footage we have not seen. Stuart later said that he only touched it a little bit. I’m not sure I believe him, but he’s mostly OK, so I advise the staff not to worry about him; joke that “he had it coming”. We relax because I see that the display machinery core was not actually damaged: the plainly exposed Mac laptop and the display were still doing their thing.
I help get the display back into its original upright position, and wonder how the heck they expected this one to be safe with kids around. This display consists of a large heavy metal-grill-enclosed LCD screen held up by a 12“x4”ish hollow wooden tower of about four feet in height, with a support structure of another 4“x8”-ish wooden support tower of somewhat shorter height attached to it in a vertical T shape. The two towers are – or were – attached to each other by little more than a few biscuit-reinforced butt joints. The whole thing weighs maybe thirty pounds, and is amazingly top and front-heavy. There is no sign that it was ever anchored to the floor or the wall. Stuart later says that he barely got out of the way. A smaller child might have been killed.
But while we ponder the fortunate misfortune, which we shall later refer to as ACCIDENT #1, a staff lady approaches, and advises that she’s glad everything’s OK, and that there’s another RAM display in the basement we might like to see. We tell her that yes, we have already seen it, we turned on the lights to see how it works, that it’s great. She pauses. Paraphrasing follows. “You turned on the lights?” “Yes, just for a minute.” She looks worried. “Relax, everything’s fine, back to normal.” She heads off. A few minutes later, a staff man approaches, and assumes the most ingratiating and patronizing tone. “So, how are WE doing today? Did WE look at the display in the basement? Did WE turn the lights on? Did WE touch anything?” I’m confused then confounded then annoyed by his first person plural, but try not to show it: “We took a quick glance, that’s all.” “Do you mind if I go downstairs to take a look?” “Go ahead.” Or maybe he said “WE” again. Off he goes.
The tone and the implication that some OFFENCE has been committed downstairs does not sit well with us, especially considering the still-whimpering child. But the brats still want to see some of the other floors, so we head to floor #3, where the science-centery stuff is concentrated. We do not notice that we pick up a tail, in the form of a young staff person.
We walk around, enjoy the usual stuff. Then we find a display that is safe, handsome, tempting, and very slightly non-functional. Pressing the “Start” button doesn’t “Debut” anything.
Eric finds broken things vocally disheartening, so I figure it’s worth a quick look to see what’s up with the machine. I pull out my trusty flashlight again, and look at whatever’s sandwiched between the two halves of the display. Wires, some circuitry visible, nothing obviously wrong, no power switch. I direct a bright white light at the cooling grille, checking out the barely visible internals. Then we move on. Very soon, this event becomes known as OFFENCE #2.
For those keeping score at home, we’re up to OFFENCE #1, ACCIDENT #1, and OFFENCE #2.
A few minutes go by, wherein we make work some driving simulator widget, which the brats enjoy, and show some limited competence.
A few more minutes go by, at which point the “WE” staff guy shows up and starts up a conversation. Paraphrase and immaterial elision follows. “Accidents occur (“ACCIDENT #1”), we understand that. But security camera footage shows that you looked behind the curtain downstairs. (“OFFENCE #1”) And now you were seen attempting to fix that display over there. (“OFFENCE #2”). It is not your place to do that. If you can’t stop yourself from meddling with things, perhaps this place is not for you. My CEO advises that WE can refund your admission, and WE can show you to the exit.”
Those of you who know me will not be surprised that a bit of verbal combat is not intimidating. “Regarding OFFENCE #1, what exactly is the problem? Did we damage anything?” “No.” “Is everything back to normal?” “Yes.” “Was there being anyone else there, being disturbed?” “No. But the artist’s vision ….” “Was any harm done by our curiosity?” “No, er ….”
“Regarding OFFENCE #2, what exactly did I do?” “You used your flashlight, as if you were about to try to fix it.” “You mean I only used the flashlight?” “Yes.” “And I didn’t actually touch anything on the inside?” “Correct.” “So we did nothing but bombard the hardware with some extra photons out of curiosity?” “Yes.” “Do you have something against curiosity?” “We support curiosity, but …” “But not too much curiosity apparently. What a pity.”
“Have a good day, Sir.”, may have said Mr. WE, and walked off, leaving us alone. Juimiin and I stared at each other in stunned silence. This was not to last, as the brats didn’t understand what was going on, and just wanted to get back to the game. I overruled the first instinct to just leave the darned place, so instead we pretended all was normal. The brats played at one or two stations for maybe fifteen minutes more, but we were keenly aware of the “tail” still coming and going, keeping an eye on us. I wonder if we were one wrong flashlight-activation away from being dragged out by burlier men. We did leave a little phosphorescent graffiti in their light-sensitive “shadow image” room as a goodbye present from the flashlight. It just said “Bye!”, which the following image (from another venue, earlier) only vaguely portrays:
The morale? Darned if I know if this is the message the museum meant to send, but this is what I received: Don’t be too curious. Don’t let your kids accidentally break stuff (which by the way we’d be willing to pay for repairs to, if called upon). For that matter, maybe your kids would be safer at home. Most of all, leave your flashlight in your other pants.
UPDATE: David Marskell responds.