Yes, what happened next was so horrible I am certain no one could have seen it coming. Surely not me. It was a deed dastardly by any measure. In an effort to provide appropriate touching experiences in an office chock full of visual and sensual pleasures, I took my glazed terra cotta dish full of the States Quarters collection and put it at the end of the reception counter, that patch of semi-precious real estate that denotes the portals of the Inner Sanctum. You can' t get to my office without passing through this hallowed spot; not many at all are invited. Fewer yet get to come in. But those that do would see the quarters and would be enticed, implicitly invited, to explore the quarters. Maybe not the most adventurous opportunity of any given day, but an opportunity nonetheless and certainly a tactile pleasure. And a generous gesture by the collector of the house, to be certain. And how is this generosity rewarded? ha.
A brute, a Cretan, a monster of a person surely with putrid breath, greasy hair, bleeding gums and cuticles stole my quarters! Unbelievable, is it not? I was out of the office on business for two days and came back to a whirlwind of faxes and mail and only casually glanced at my little treasure trove of engraving at end of business on the first day back. I staggered when I saw my little terra cotta dish only partially full, not brimming full as when I had positioned it so carefully, only 3 business days previous. Some rat bastard took my change!
I fumed. I frantically sorted and resorted, wanting to believe I wasn't seeing what I really was seeing: no Iowa, Illinois, Alabama, Missouri, North Carolina, Pennsylvania or New Jersey. Who took Iowa, Illinois, Alabama, Missouri, North Carolina, Pennsylvania and New Jersey? I cursed my fate to the gods, damning them for giving me collection affliction, cursing them for giving me imbeciles for clients and employees, snarling at my vulnerability and exposure in this cruel world. How does bad shit happen to good people?
In the morning, my furor had turned to sober introspection. What would make a person steal another person's beloved art? Why would any person scoff at another person's generosity in providing an uncommon art experience for the touching afflicted? I know what it's like to be afflicted; I have been plagued with collection affliction for years. My suffering is real. This was a beautiful gesture of outreach--answered with humiliating scorn and degradation. Now I could only hope for victims' recompense. I was sadder but wiser as the remainder of my quarters came back to the Inner Sanctum. I had cast my pearls before swine and was feeling the stinging fist of rebuke.
The 'Kan EWA