My affinity for pens, the expensive ones, started somewhere around 13. When I realized the difference between good pens and bad pens, and the way they not only look, but feel against the paper, my days of Bic pens were over. That’s not to say that Bic pens don’t have their place, they do of course, it’s just not anywhere near me.
When I was an Office Manager one of my primary responsibilities, actually the one in which I found the most pleasure, was ordering of pens for the office. It was a promotional marketing firm, and we were constantly getting free pens with logos on them, but each one seemed to be worse than the one before it. The vendors would spend a good ten minutes in front of my desk explaining to me all the reasons why their pens were far superior than the rest. Frankly, they weren’t – they were all fairly same.
As a responsible Office Manager, I made it a point to order the high quality pens, the ones that were fine point, a rich ink, and most importantly, the kind that wouldn’t smear should the sweat from my iced coffee cup get on it. However, I kept them to myself.
While the rest of the office used the blue, thick ink pens, I hoarded the great black, felt tip ones. I kept them in my bottom drawer under my handbag, emergency tampons and a Yellow Pages book. Which is the safest place for such things, as no one uses the Yellow Pages anymore. Occasionally, if I was feeling generous, I’d share one from my stash with a fellow coworker, whom I decided deserved such greatness. Honestly, that was a rare event.
Perhaps, I never mastered the whole sharing thing as I should have back in preschool; or like a perfect box of cookies, sparing even one just seems mildly insane, even a bit crazy. With that concept in mind, I’ll keep the good pens for myself instead of being labeled “crazy.” You know, for my own sanity and that of my coworkers.
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