Smile politely. Nod, as if you understand the existential weight of modern art, even if you don’t.

Step toward the exit and say, “I’m off to contemplate my own inadequacy in the sculpture garden. It’s performance art in motion.”

Bring out a whiteboard and diagram why spending four hundred dollars on a canvas that looks suspiciously like your cousin’s kitchen wall is economically unsound.

Pull out a photo album of every abstract painting you own, showing the gallery owner that their work clashes with your living-room feng shui.

Produce a small whip and ask which exhibit they think would be easiest to stage a daring escape from, should a gallery ghost appear.

Inform the curator that you are allergic to oil paints, acrylics, and existential dread. Anything that has been near them is suspect.

Ask the gallery owner if they prefer “contemporary” or “avant-garde,” then insist on settling the debate with a polite interpretive dance—preferably in the lobby.

Grab the nearest visitor and suggest a slow-motion chase around the exhibit to “really feel the tension of artistic struggle.”

Explain that you suddenly remembered a traumatic incident involving a velvet rope and a very judgmental sculpture of a goat, and need to sit down immediately.

Lift your sleeve to reveal a series of tiny pencil marks. Tell the curator they are secret messages from the Pencil Spirit, demanding your urgent assistance.

Announce that you just tripped over a conceptual installation and may need immediate medical attention, preferably before anyone notices.

Inform them you have discovered your soul has been “stolen” by a particularly smug painting in the corner and that no transaction will repair this loss.

Tell them you have realized you no longer believe in art, beauty, or human connection, and so will not be buying prints, postcards, or existential approval.

Pause dramatically, inhale deeply, and declare that the “energy in the gallery is palpable,” then cough as if that energy has taken the form of a particularly aggressive dust bunny.

Reveal that you once had a traumatic experience involving a modern sculpture, a high-school talent show, and a misinterpreted interpretive dance. Offer no further details.

Finally, nod solemnly, whisper that you are actually a museum spy, and that you already own all art ever created. You are simply here to assess the competition.

Exit gracefully. Or, you know… buy a postcard.