Yayo Short 5: How not to tell a Story & Art Gallery Part 2
After searching for what felt like a million years, I found Yayo in a small pub down town. She just sat there, drinking a glass of milk. "What are you doing?" I asked her, annoyed.
"Didn't you just say I am drinking a glass of milk, so it must be that." said Yayo in a snarky tone.
I had enough of Yayo's lack of consideration and respect for my story that I was trying to tell. "I want you to come with me, back to the museum!" I commanded her.
"No," she replied bluntly," your 'story' is boring." While my little argument was going on, the bartender of the pub starred in amazement at how Yayo talked to a disembodied voice.
"You know what," I shouted at Yayo," I don't need this. Either you are coming with me, or I'll stop right now. You depend on me." "Oh really," she responded in a way that made me feel marginalized and unimportant," as far as I can tell, I am the star of this story and pretty much the only one who has any dialogue, even if it is just internal most of the time." I was just about to give Yayo a vocal slap, as she jumped off her bar stool. "Okay, I can see how desperate you are. The great and generous Yayo shall allow you to tell the story you want to tell. Isn't that nice of me?" She asked me arrogantly rhetorical. "Fine." I answered briefly, knowing it was impossible to fight against Yayo's giant ego.
It was close, but Yayo made it in time for the guided tour. The guide was a blond-haired guy in his mid-30's, wearing old Victorian style clothing and a melon hat. Yayo wasn't quite sure what to make of this dude, but he seemed incredibly self-absorbed in his knowledge of modern art. The tour was taking its course without any incidents, if you ignore Yayo's blatant disinterest in what the guide had to say. He wasn't saying anything of worth anyway while describing paintings that looked like a couple of blue dots on a white canvas. "This painting is called 'Nobody is born with a heart made of gold, because the heart is living within the shell of a clam that resides in the ocean of your feelings'." explained the guide. "Hey," Yayo thought to herself," the artist stole that name from me." "It was painted by Trevor P. Retentious," continued the guide," Mister Retentious wanted to to express the fragility of life in this work." Yayo thought that this was all complete bullshit, because the only thing she could see in that painting was three blue dots on a white canvas. "Great," whispered Yayo while rolling her eyes," nowadays anybody can become an artist. Just piss on a piece of Paper, give it a fancy name, make up a story for it and you can sell it for thousands of bucks. This was the point Yayo walked away from the tour to find true art, the works of the excellent Cappuccino.
It took Yayo ages to find Cappuccino art installation, mostly because Yayo took thirty minutes painting faces on the restroom stalls. "I call it, Face de la shit." exclaimed Yayo while proudly observing her artwork. Having finished vandalizing the museum toilets Yayo carried on her search for the beautiful deliciousness. At the other end of the museum she finally found it. Located in a big round room made out of windows and illuminated by the light of the afternoon sun, there was Cappuccinos 2 meters tall sculpture of the tennis player Andre Agassi made entirely out of old spaghetti. Yayo bowed down in front of this gorgeous sight. "Oh Cappuccino," she spouted cheerfully," you never disappoint with your delicate craft. You are truly a god of art on earth." While Yayo was observing the sculpture from all sides, suppressing some tears along the way, the guided tour entered the round room. The voice of the guide could be heard slowly approaching, getting louder and louder. "In this room," the guide uttered," you can see something that I would call trash. As a matter of fact I don't know why the creator Cappuccino even became famous in the first place. Most of his work is low-grade." These words shot through Yayo like a bullet through John Lennon. "What?!" She screamed angrily running at the guide. He was barely able to react, as a visibly upset Yayo head-butted him into the stomach. Lying on the ground in pain, Yayo continued to pounce up and down on the guides back. "How dare you call Cappuccino low-grade!" she raged. It didn't take long for guards to show up, who managed to wrestle Yayo off the knocked out guide. Despite all her struggles, it took only mere minutes for her to be thrown out of the museum.
As Yayo's face kissed the outside lawn, she thought to herself: "That is why do not visit art galleries." If I were her I would have said how 'art is subjective after all' instead. Yayo wasn't faced for long though. She picked herself up with new energy. "Ah, that felt good," she said to herself while having a huge grin on her face," this arrogant douche deserved it." What Yayo did not know, and what I did not tell her was, how incredibly hypocritical it was. After dusting off her pants, Yayo made her way home, certainly looking forward to a nice cup of orange-tea.
THE END
Disclaimer by the narrator: I do not condone violence. Yayo went off script when she beat that guy up. Please do not hurt any tour guides, ever. Even if they don't like 2 meter tall sculptures of athletes by your favourite artist.