Gallery X was in the process of deinstalling their summer exhibition when I joined. So on day one I got to meet...THE ART HANDLERS. Art Handlers do all all the physical work a gallery needs: heavy lifting, painting walls, building walls, packing work, changing lights and so on. Some galleries have art handlers on staff while others like Gallery X use freelance guys who charge by the hour and work SLOWLY! However for the sake of giving my readers an honest experience of the art world I must confess: I developed an instant crush on all three art handlers. Tall, lanky, wearing emo clothes and obviously artists themselves - the art handlers, lets call them Tom, Dick and Harry, were just so.....cool. And cute.

During my first weeks these guys tried really hard to make me feel welcome: letting me select what music they worked to, making small talk and giving me tidbits of info about the girl I had replaced. Unfortunately all of this just made me exceedingly nervous. First off they were really into music and I mean really - they would think Bjork was mainstream - and I'm a Britney Spears and John Mayer kinda gal - not cool at all. So when asked what I wanted to hear I'd usually say something vague like "the slow stuff you had on earlier" or "whatever inspires you to work"..."Whatever inspires you to work?!" Who says that?!! Then when chatting I would try really hard to make myself sound more badass then I really am, "Yeah, college was craaa-zy. I just partied all the time." Readers, I went to a small women's college in MA. I was an A- student, really didnt party much. Neither Tom, Dick or Harry seemed as affected by my presence and eventually I remembered I had a loving boyfriend who reciprocrated my crush on him. This change of feeling allowed to me distance myself from the art men and I was able to study the art handler as a character of the gallery world. This study is supported by my expereince with art handlers who were not Tom, Dick or Harry.

* Not all art handlers are soft on the eyes. They are usually all young, emo looking and strong. But some look like they haven't bathed in days, A LOT forget their job involves frequent bending yet still insist on wearing low rise jeans-man crack is NOT COOL guys- and most are socially awkward.

* DON'T ask the art handlers about their work. Okay that's mean, I loved talking to the art handlers, but once you ask them about their work they will talk for HOURS. and then the gallery manager will get mad at you for slowing them down. So make it clear that you can only talk to them when your boss is not around.

* Art handlers are usually pretty anti-gallery in principal. Think of them as art world hippie, they see the gallery as the corporation. If you do befriend them don't get caught up in their negative views. Also don't feel obligated to agree with them. Galleries aren't evil, most artists wouldn't survive without them. don't let them make you dislike your job.

* They are a good source of information. Art Handlers get to know the Gallery world well. So trust them when they give you advice. Tom, Dick and Harry not only updated me on the gossip and politics of Gallery X but also gave me constructive advice on how to ask for sick days, holidays etc.

* NEVER EVER BE RUDE. You shouldn't really be rude to anyone when you are the front desk person. But you really don't want to piss off the art handlers. They can work slower if they want and if they really don't like you they can decide not to work for you. Galleries often need art handlers at the last minute and it really sucks to have to find someone new in that moment.

* Invite them to the openings, its fun to have non collector people you know at the openings. Also if you make art handlers feel like part of the team they are likely to be more loyal and refer their friends to you when they can't make it.

* Talk about art. I realize that this negates point 2. But if you are a wannabe artist and want someone to honestly crit. your work then the art handlers are your best bet. They are practicing artists themselves.

* DON'T EVER DATE YOUR GALLERY'S ART HANDLER. No I didn't do this. But I just think its a really really bad idea. Don't even flirt. Your gallery director/Manager is depending on you to keep an eye on them. If you're obviously too chummy chummy you will lose credibility.

Basic summary: be nice, not too nice and don't forget you're part of the other team.

It is of prime importance to wear your "first-day-of-work" dress for a few hours before your first day of work. Not stopping for a sausage-egg and cheese when you are already running late is also advisable. Naturally I didn't do the dress run and I stopped for breakfast.

I had laid out my clothes the night before: new wrap dress, new heels, lucky underwear, pearl earrings, and chunky statement ring. Thanks to my nerves and my unemployed college-grad sleeping schedule (going to bed at 5 am and sleeping past noon) I got approximately three hours of sleep. I arrived to my first day, at my dream job, 10 minutes late and with raccoon eyes. Speed walking from the subway to the gallery I had realized that my new wrap dress was perhaps a size too small or missing something (a button? A hook?) that was supposed to prevent my entire thigh being exposed with each step. I tried taking smaller steps but the fear of getting fired for being late on my first day (a completely irrational fear) was too great. Turning onto 23rd street I broke into a run, cheered on by the ever-supportive Chelsea construction workers.

I'd only eaten half of my breakfast because the train was to crowded. I didn't want to arrive holding a half eaten sandwich so I hid it...in my brand new shiny green clutch, which was designed to hold credit cards, a thin tube of lip-gloss and maybe some mint gum, which I had forgotten. I apologized profusely to Maureen, the gallery manager, and was told to not worry and take my time to settle in. I plopped down in my chair and breathed.

This was it. I had arrived. Three months after graduation I had managed to get not only a job, but my dream job: working for a contemporary Chelsea Gallery. Gallery X was just perfect: large exhibition space, roomy offices (all expect mine), a chicly furnished showroom, nice kitchen and so many wonderful, exciting artists. It was just perfect. I still didn't know how I got the job considering I was competing with art history grad students and I was a Studio art major but, I'd made it, I was a Gallerina.

For those of you who haven't read Jan Hoffman's New York Times article "Gatekeepers to the art world" I would recommend you do it pronto. While criticizing gallerinas (as the writer calls us) or gallery assistants/receptionists/ associates (as we prefer to be called) for their frosty demeanor, Hoffman articulates three very important truths about us:

* We are over qualified for our jobs (did I really toil away for four years in my insanely stressful college to be asked if I knew how to scan?!)

* We are busy (this job entails everything from performing a condition report to getting lunch: think Andrea in Devil Wears Prada, but with much nicer colleagues)

* We need to look the part (egg breath a definite no)

Other than that, Hoffman is out of line: I was nice to everyone, smiled at everyone and longed for people to ask me questions about the work. Sadly the only visitors that ever made conversation were strange men who would proceed to ask me for my number, or creepily call the gallery a few hours later and ask me if I was single.

But it is a great job. You meet all sorts of characters: brilliant artists, angry people who want to use the bathroom, rambunctious high school kids, wrinkled old ladies swaddled in fur, friendly mailmen, cute emo-art handlers, pretentious collectors and of course the hip art crowd. There's a lot to learn about art, yourself and people in general.

On day one, I only learnt how to prepare a FedEx online. Maureen gave me a tour of the gallery and while I took copious notes she introduced me to my responsibilities: the dishwasher, the alarm, the stationary cupboards, the FedEx envelopes and the phone system. I sailed through FedEx training but failed on my first attempt to transfer a call, hanging up on an important collector. She was nice enough to call back. The rest of the day, I read catalogs and tried to look busy and awake. At 6.30 I was shown how to leave the gallery: bag the trash, call the lift, stick the trash bags between the lift door to prevent them from closing, turn off all the lights, punch in the alarm code and then sprint back to the lift before it stops beeping- if it stops, all hell will break lose and the police will be at the gallery minutes. The prospect of doing this myself by the end of the week was...nerve racking. Exhausted on the train ride home I thought about Day 2. It would go infinitely better: I would not wear this dress, maybe wear a pair of flats, leave home earlier and have breakfast at home...breakfast...still in the clutch.