I turned back to the man who led me to the gallery and queried, “So, uh, what do you want me to do?” he looked at me sternly, “I want you to fix it!” I was pretty confused and needed more help. “Fix it? It looks kinda cool.” The man puffed up with rage at that point. “Kinda cool?! I’m the Jaques. I’m the Senior Duchamp Curator, and I decide what goes in that room.” I looked down at Clippy and whispered, The Jaques? Is that guy an algorithm?" Clippy chuckled before replying, “You don’t need to whisper; what we say is encrypted, remember, and no. That guy is most definitely an upload.”

My focus returned to The Jaques, “sorry mate; it’s my first day; I have no idea what is supposed to be in this room.” But I seemed to infuriate the curator even more; he started to rant, “I’ve got hackers that think they should have a say in what is displayed. Then those useless algorithms send me an upload that thinks it’s “cool”? I have to do everything around here.” Jaques pulled a laser pointer from his pocket and marched into the gallery, flicking little balls of green light on different walls and objects; here and there, he would pause and bark, “stays.” After a few moments, he turned back to me and ordered, “everything else goes; there is your cart. Get to it.”

A photo of a bespectacled man standing in a large brutalist gallery, framed like a Spike Lee film