my favorite pen

I know, I said I promised to write *each-and-every-day* in December. I did say that. But apparently I’m not the best with making promises and sticking to them. It’s been several days – and finally I’ve returned to write something.

There were all kinds of plans I had, too. Big Writing Plans. All listed neatly in my writing book, which travels with me everywhere I go. You see the intention is to write worthwile things in that book whenever I have a moment in my day, and then when I get home I am supposed to come here and enter entry after entry of wordy goodness. I had plans to write about my old job, working in the place where cars and licensed, dealing with people who don’t understand that there are certain rules that need to be followed, otherwise you don’t get a title. And that if those rules weren’t followed the first time around, and you didn’t get a title that time, but instead you received a letter explaining why said title was never issued, and then you proceeded to ignore said letter, that it really isn’t my fault. There’s absolutely no way it’s my fault.

And when you come in on a Saturday when the line is two hours long, you need to just shut up and be patient. Don’t show up on the last day before penalties start to accrue and expect me to help you when you’ve missed your number. If you miss your number because you went to eat lunch, do you really think it’s fair for me to help you when all those other people *pointing* sitting out there have been patiently waiting for their numbers to be called? If everyone went to eat lunch and returned at their leisure that would pretty much defeat the purpose of the number system, now wouldn’t it?

Do people think before they open their mouths?

“You need an emissions test before I can issue you plates in this st–”

She interrupts, “So where would I get an emissions test?”

“Do you know where blah blah is?”

Blank stare.

Okay, I have a map. Right here is where we are. And here (marking with my pen) is where emissions is.”

“Where do I get a driver’s license?”

“Here. (pointing again.)”

“So when can I get plates.”

“After you go to –”

“How long do I have.”

(If you interrupt me one more f*cking time) “After you go to –”

“What. Do. I. Need. To. Do. To. Get. Plates. In. This. State.”

She says it like I wasn’t listening to begin with. Like I wasn’t ever trying to help her. Like I wasn’t patient with her the three times she interrupted me.

So slowly I start to list everything she needs again. And she already has everything – it’s just the emissions test that she needs. But here’s the cherry on top: I have this pen. A special pen, as all writers tend to have. One that no one is allowed to touch, because it holds the key to all my creativity and knows my soul.

She reaches accross my counter, onto my desk and grabs it. MY PEN. The bitch grabbed my pen.

That was it. I lost it. First she doesn’t listen, then she has the nerve to grab a pen that isn’t anywhere near her. Just grabs. Doesn’t even ask.

Seething, I grabbed it back.

“You can use this pen.” I hand her the pen on a chain.

“I want to use that pen.”

Authoritatively, “No one uses my pen.”

Again she’s not paying attention to what she needs to pay attention to. She’s writing down something that I’ve already written down for her and she hasn’t listened to me say that ALL SHE NEEDS IS AN EMISSIONS TEST.

“My hands are clean.” She mumbles to herself, half wanting me to hear. So I play along.

“It’s not about clean hands. It’s *my* pen.”

Yeah I had big plans to bitch and whine about it all, but I think now I may have gotten it all out of my system.

Filed under Uncategorized, money making | Comments Off