Howie K.
Yelp
He was reading my mind. "I'm going to creepily follow you up the stairs, now," said the unassuming guy sporting glasses and absolutely no garment of clothing identifying him as an employee of the Hall of Fame. So I asked if he worked there. Yes. And then he creepily followed me up to the second floor.
I digress. I visited this place because my seven year-old is on a chess team and I've suddenly been thrust into the position of Chess Dad, so naturally, when visiting the chess capital of the world (er, that's probably somewhere in Russia, they've been check-mating our collective behinds over a century, now), I'm obligated to visit and buy her things from the gift shop. So that's the first thing I did. Wonderful gift shop. Noting that I had some down time, I decided to peruse the free museum/fame floors, and that, dear reader, is when the creepy lurking began.
I was the only visitor in the building. I've never felt so self-conscious in my life. There was a young woman in the Victor Vasarely exhibition (brilliant stuff, absolutely worth your time) who stood 10-20 feet behind me at all times, and she didn't play around the way most museum security guards play, she wasn't pretending that she wasn't paying too much attention, she was staring at me. Nonstop. And wandering over to me and stepping back. And suddenly, what would normally be an enjoyable, unhurried visit to an exhibit became incredibly intense, the precise opposite of what it should have felt like. So be warned, Lone Ranger, they have no qualms creeping you in this place. That said, once I kind of got over the Somebody's Watching Me vibe, I really enjoyed the actual Hall of Fame on the third floor, and politely pretended to take fleeting interest in the fashion exhibit on the second. I hope that creep doesn't read this review, he was just doing his creepy job.