“So what, exactly, are the submission guidelines?” asked Mr. Roberts.
The museum curator stared blankly from across the table.
“Well, what is it exactly that you are looking to submit?”
“It’s all there in the proposal,” Mr. Roberts replied.
“Yes, it is quite the interesting proposal, Mr. —”
“Roberts,” he answered.
"Yes, quite an interesting proposal Mr. Roberts. Honestly, something like this has never come across my desk before. And to be frank, I’m not quite sure how to handle it. You know, the museum has certain… limitations.”
Mr. Roberts takes a look around. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard. Just be honest, what can you do for me?”
“Well Mr. Roberts, I can’t do much. We would be honored to display some of your… craftsmanship here at the museum, but I don’t think at this time I am able to make you a formal offer.”
“I don’t need a formal offer. I just want you to display the stuff. I’ve already written the text for the placards.” He pulls a stack of index cards from his bag.
The museum curator glances down his nose at the cards.
“But where will I put them Mr. Roberts?”
“I don’t know, but I’m also not the damn museum curator, am I? Pick one of those glass cases and clear out the old crap.”
“Mr. Roberts, I appreciate your passion, but that is simply not how the museum works. We have boards, we have committees, we have donors. They will never approve of this change. Again, Mr. Roberts, we appreciate your generosity and recognize your ability, but we simply cannot entertain your offer at this time.”
But Mr. Roberts would not be consoled. He continued ranting and raving and admonishing the museum curator for his spineless nature and poor taste. Eventually he left. On his way home, Mr. Roberts ran over a possum, but he was so disheartened that he didn’t even stop to pick it up.