Here are some pictures of the football exhibition I worked in until two weeks ago. Well, these aren't pictures of the exhibition, but it serves as a portrait to what we were up to on our last day there.
The museum is located on the same square as the Karlskirche, a huge and rather impressive looking church. It was nice to just sit on the steps and look at it when I was on break.
Right next to the entry, and obviously after Spain had won the Euro. This is Sabine trying to solve a crossword. I was standing next to the 700+ € that were in the till each day. It was always such a drag to count that money!
One room was all about the dresscode of football. These were the Mods. The little screen was showing The Kinks on repeat.
When we were on the first floor, we always ended up sitting on the sofa and talking about girls or folding paperplanes. Working until nine in the evening meant that there were barely any visitors, so this was okay. This is Martin.
And this is me. Photos using flash always make me think of Terry Richardson whose work I do not like at all. Anyway, this isn't a characteristic portrait, I'm afraid. I was crowned the informal queen of propriety and correct work attitude. On our last day, even my motivation left me. That skirt was breaking our dresscode rules and might be the closest I'll ever come to rebellion.
The museum is located on the same square as the Karlskirche, a huge and rather impressive looking church. It was nice to just sit on the steps and look at it when I was on break.
Right next to the entry, and obviously after Spain had won the Euro. This is Sabine trying to solve a crossword. I was standing next to the 700+ € that were in the till each day. It was always such a drag to count that money!
One room was all about the dresscode of football. These were the Mods. The little screen was showing The Kinks on repeat.
When we were on the first floor, we always ended up sitting on the sofa and talking about girls or folding paperplanes. Working until nine in the evening meant that there were barely any visitors, so this was okay. This is Martin.
And this is me. Photos using flash always make me think of Terry Richardson whose work I do not like at all. Anyway, this isn't a characteristic portrait, I'm afraid. I was crowned the informal queen of propriety and correct work attitude. On our last day, even my motivation left me. That skirt was breaking our dresscode rules and might be the closest I'll ever come to rebellion.
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