Teeth Grinding

I've a had a teeth-grinding kind've day.

I come in to my new office in the Chemistry Lab department (more on that tomorrow, with pictures). It is, as it has been for a while, dusty, dark, and with dead flies, cockroaches, and beetles.

I decided to wipe down my office with those Dettol Wipe things. I nearly finished the pack i got specifically for this occasion. I grew frustrated. I called around. Called the HR guy. He sent over some 3ummal. They cleaned, dusted, wiped, and otherwise polished the place up. Apparently, the two chemistry guys (one of them my 'Chemistry guy') had asked before to no avail.

While walking around checking if everything was properly done, i noticed a disturbing amount of clear plastic bags containing ceramic fragments. In all the wrong places. In the electric room. Right in front of a window, between a furnace (for speeding up ceramic drying. it's never been used). Some of the artifacts were the size of my hand, some were the size of my fingernail. Regardless, there was a disturbing number of them. I take a closer look at the labels. Most of them don't have labels. The rare ones that do have been pretty-much destroyed by the light, the dust, the lack of care. But there are lots of bags. And lots of interesting looking pieces. I look for any clue as to what these are.

All i see is F87/24078. I stop. I stare. I stop. I feel my jaw tightening. I feel my eyes open with alarm.
F87 is Failaka. F87 is the archeological excavation of Failaka in 198-fucking-7.

Ok.
Ok.
Ok.
*deep breath*

Quickened walk to Boss.
Not in.
Quickened walk to Head.
Not in.
*grinds teeth*
Quickened walk to Storage people.
They in. Said 'no problemo dragon lady, we gots the space'.
*grinds teeth*
I will wait for Bu A7med to come before i go ballistic... i mean, ask his permission.
It is continually mentioned to me that the Storage can't take them in. Apparently, they tried, to no avail.

I calm down.
I decide to do some research on some ways to preserve paper (some dude came in yesterday with three folders of old correspondences for the Chemistry guys to help restore).
I research.
I go up and ask the part-time Chemist (not "the Chemistry guy", the other one) if we have acid-free paper, or polyester plastic sleeves. Oh, and if we had any silica gel for all the coins we found (having them lay on cotton balls will not stop moisture and the consequential ruin of these metals).
We don't.
Quelle Surprise!
I ask the guy to compile me a list of all the companies they get their supplies from. I call the first name on the list. No acid free paper, but plenty of different-sized silica gels. Getting somewhere.
I will wait for both Boss and Head to get back before i tell these specialists why exactly we need to preserve our finds. Oh, and how.

However, i'm interrupted on the phone by 'some dude' (the old correspondence papers guy). He asked if they started on them. I gave him a look like, 'bitch please, do you see anyone caring?' He sighs. I ask his name. Tell him mine. Ask what he does. Interest immediately piqued. 'Take me there'. He does. Takes out his keys to open his door.

I see why he keeps it locked. There are folders. Everywhere. Big 'Box File' folders. Everywhere. And papers. Everywhere. Old, yellow papers. In this stack, in that. Stamped with 'Kuwait National Museum Collection'. I cringe. 'Why stamp on the paper itself?!' But i know why. To catalog. I come closer to the papers, and pay attention to the Arabic written words.
'Date: 1911'.
'Dear Excellency'.
'Bombay'.
'Shaikh'.
......Whoa.

Correspondence letters, dating to as far back as the early 1900's just sitting there, slowly being cataloged by this one guy. He reckoned he has around 120,000 of them. A lot less had they been thrown out in '92 when the clean-up of the Museum took place.

Secret documents. Folders with names like '7ukam Al-Kuwait', '3a'ilat Al-Sabah', 'Wathaa'eq Ba7riya', 'Wathaa'eq Tijariya', etc.

Not cataloged. Not filed. Not preserved. With just this one guy doing it. Obviously i offered my right pinkie toe to help out. He came back in with a folder for me to work on. He wants me to scan them. I haven't seen a scanner in this place yet. I mean like, the whole Museum. I don't know where i would go. He doesn't either. He wants me to scan these important documents and i can't. And not only becuase i don't have a scanner, becuase this whole qisim doesn't have a computer!
He wants me to lock my door when i leave but i can't. There's no key. The security guys are running around trying to find me one. I asked for the main door. They don't know where that is either. Apparently, they don't lock the main doors. Just the office doors (not in this dept, anyways). I'm being completely honest when i say the hallway cabinets contain vital information while the office cabinets contain 2004 issues of magazines. There is no security and here is our history.


*istaghfarallah*


Bu A7med just came in. I haven't seen him in ages. I went on. Got frustrated. He got defensive and set me straight. Those bags are not going anywhere. They are supposed to go back to Failaka Island where all the Failaka artifacts are. In storage's. He says you find more dead rats in there than you do anything else. Says it's a dump. With no security. Told him to get boxes so we can put these bags in them, instead of them just sitting there. He told me i hadn't seen nothin' yet. Took me places. Ranted on and on about how he's been here 25 years and they don't give him any authority to do anything. How internal politics have ravaged the place. How asking for anything means you're a trouble maker. How in the next year when he leaves and i have to deal with everything i'll finally understand.

Took me outside, to the decontamination room. I didn't know what he was talking about until i saw it. It was in a sort've ''KNM dumping ground''. It was huge. Said it cost 70,000KD. We opened it. We were doing something very wrong by being there but it had to be seen for myself, he said. Trash. Old computers. Books. Toner. New things. New things in thier boxes and wrapping that have now gone old. Books. New books. Newly bound historical books. Covers for 'Shahadat Shukur oo Taqdeer'. A hundred of them, at least. But we don't get thanks.

I think i've shown Bu A7med and Nahhar a side of me they sensed but never saw: a cursing, fuming, 'i-don't-give-a-flying-fuck, and am not scared of anyone' me. Told me to unfortunately get used to it. That getting through these years by not making problems is the best way to go. How you need to not complain to anyone because so and so and so and so and a hundred more are all spies. How confronting people will leave you stagnant, unable to move up the ladder for a higher position with more authority.

But, as a co-worker said to me, we're basically in the lowest point that the KNM has seen, with constant internal (KNM) and external (NCCAL) bickering and stubbornness going on. Not to mention the blatant corruption and stealing. So in reality, the only way to go is up. Let's just hope it'll be well before we retire.


*cringes*
How fantastic. Now my headache's back and my coffee's cold.

Pictures tomorrow inshallah.



Dudes,
keep it real, yeah?
Peace.