FLORIDA MUSEUM/SHELL SHOP By Bahumuth Across the street from the condominium was a Florida museum. It had that unprofessional look that seemed almost home-made. A low income museum intrigued me. I had always felt one could find more quality and interest in the unprofessional; the non-commercialized than the user-friendly perfection of higher budget corps. So, like the tourist I was, I decided to cross the street to see the interests of Florida. There was a large sign reading "Florida Antiques" with a subtitle "Live Alligator!". The sign looked self-made itself. It made me wonder if he cut down the very tree that produced the wood for the advertisement. On it was a picture of a smiling, bipedal alligator. Quite frankly, it looked pretty silly. As I neared the door, I saw a second entrance just a few feet away with a sign above it reading "Shell Shop". I decided to check this out first so I walked through the second door. Hundreds of pieces of chipped paint tore apart from the door and seemed to disintegrate before me as I opened the door. The movement also triggered a bell chime. An old man appeared through a door behind the desk but I paid little attention to him. I was surprised to find that, as the only thing the sign had promised, the only objects being sold were shells. Some were interesting but most of them looked like ordinary shells you could find on the beach. Not being fond of sea cartilage, I looked around for anything else of interest. The room itself was dirty and drab. The walls were peeling as much as the door was. The only sound was the faint noise of a television set behind the clerk's door. The aged clerk was obviously the owner. He seemed to stare at me and I became conscious of my own actions. I escaped his vigilance by leaving. By the time I went through door designated to the museum, the man had already went back into the other room. I rang the counter bell and he reappeared. This time I got a better look at him. He wasn't mad, but I felt as if he was bothered by my presence. I paid the fee and he gave me a tape recorder to play as I went through the tour. He gave me instructions on the route to follow but they were quick and non- explanatory, as if I was supposed to know this already. I turned on the recorder and began the outdoor exhibit. The antiques were kept in small buildings with large panel glass covering an entire side. The roof overlapped the sides to provide shade for the customer. The tour was great and the antiques were interesting. I enjoyed going through it alone. A lot of the attractions were stuffed sea creatures but it also included old artifacts found underwater, models of old ships, and even statues of Florida Indians in an exhibit complete with teepees and totem poles. It surprised me to see so many antiques in a privately owned establishment. However, at the same time, the place seemed very old and unkept. The grass had not been mowed and parts of the buildings were falling apart. I then came upon the alligator pond. It did not surprise me that I could barely see it. It kept still almost totally submerged in the mossy water where I imagine it stayed, not moving unless to eat, for most of it's days. The pond looked neglected as most of the entire establishment was. As I walked back to the starting point, I saw the old man walking with the same grim look on his face. He did not grumble but I imagined him to. He went right past me without even seeing me. I got the impression that he was always like that; as unproductive as the alligator. I wondered if life could ever be worth it going through life in such a dismal demeanor every day. When I got back, I noticed the museum/shell shop also tripled as the owner's home and that the whole place was up for sale. Then I understood. The man had worked hard his life and dreamed of opening a museum for his retirement to show off the interests of Florida. Only an obsession could have brought so many artifacts to a privately owned business. The man, unlike so many others, was able to make his dreams come true. Now, he thinks he is too old to keep the place up. He just wants to retire from his retirement, to move to a simpler existence where he doesn't have to bother with customers or feed the docile alligator. He isn't too old; just sick, sick of showing the interests of Florida; sick of selling worthless shells you can find on the beach. So, he has to move again, to get away from the utopia he achieved, but that somehow didn't fit his dreams.