Victorianized

People are always so curious about the fairy-tale-make-believe life that I live during the summer months in Wells/Barkerville. I've been thinking about this post quite a bit and wondering how I can fully convey to you the time-change that I go through every morning before I start my shift.

During "my" time (pre 10am and post 6pm) I can usually be found sporting jeans, running clothes or cute dresses. I spend my time running, biking, kayaking, hiking, visiting friends, going to church, writing letters, watching tv or frantically trying to bum the internet off my buddy so I can keep in touch with all those people out in the world that I like. 

Around 9:45 each morning I enter "The Delorian" - aka our change room, where I transform from the Nikki you all know, into this: 

 (I call this my Anne of Green Gables costme)

 (This is my 'hot-day' costume, or my 'black costume, or 'the really nice costumethat everyone likes the best')

(This is my 'cold-day costume or my 'brown costume' or my 'wow-my-waist-looks-tiny-I-wonder-if-that's-from-running-4k-every-morning-or-if-it's-from-my-corset-costume'

After changing, getting the photo-equipment ready, cleaning up the shop, going up the street to get tea and gab for a few minutes with the other historical interpreters,  I start welcoming customers into the store. I take their money, dress them up, snap photo's, edit, print, frame etc. Nothing too exiting or blog-worthy although I do enjoy it.

But the thing that I thought would be interesting to ya'll, is how when we all put on our costumes at 10am each morning, we no longer are "Nikki" or "Hayley" or "Austin" or "Jessee." No, no no. We are now "Miss. Gerrits, Miss. Archer, Reverand Raynard and Mr. Mogan." We must refer to eachother as such. Gentlemen must tip their hats to us and remove them if they come into the shop. Ladies never leave a shelter without gloves, a hat and a shawl or jacket. We may not carry around anything modern - phones (which don't work anyways), i-pods, even plastic containers, bags or car keys are a no-no. These things for me are not so difficult. What is difficult is conversation.

Conversation. Discussion. Talking with my friends. As plesant and wonderful as a good chat can be, it takes quite a bit of thinking and cleverness to spit out what it is that we are trying to say. You're wondering why? Why can't we just say what we want to say? Ahhhh... because we are in 1867. Here are some samples of how we must speak at work.

"Miss. Hodgkinson? Perchance would you like to join Miss. Archer, Mr. Morgan, Mr. Ferguson, Teacher Chow and I this evening as we take my carriage to Quesnel Forks to see that new theatrical production about the man with bat-like qualities?"

Translation: Hey! Amanda! Wanna go see Batman tonight with us?"

"Miss. Archer! This morning on my journey to work I perceived that today was going to be stifling! I know it is quite improper, but I have decided to forego on some of my more restrictive underpinnings today."

Translation: Hayley, it's ridonculously hot today, I'm not gonna wear my corset"

"Well, this past weekened, I followed the migratory paths of our southern flying friends and purchased a new carriage."

Translation: I flew to Vancouver and picked up my new car.

"Well, I'm off to see a man about a horse."

Translation: These tourists are driving me mental and I need to get away from them.

Most of the historical interpreters and staff are much quicker and wittier in their speech than I am, but I try. After a long day of being Miss. Gerrits a la 1867, I head back into the Delorian and come 6pm, I turn back into Nikki.

(p.s. 10000 points to whoever knows why we named our changeroom "the Delorian")