mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary
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R.I.P. La Pluma
A number of months ago (seven to be exact), I was sitting at my desk at work sorting through my mail. I receive an obscene amount of junk mail and promotional offers at my job. Bundles of sample bookmarks emblazoned with the company logo and address come to my attention every week. Planners and journals with similar markings clutter my inbox. Keychains, calendar samples, calculators, coffee cups - all offering to promote our business to our clients in a stylish and useful way. Never mind that every sample they have ever sent has been pure, plasticated crap. Or that I work for a poor little nonprofit where we are often stretching the budget just to afford copier paper (up until a year ago I was using a TRS 80 Model 3 to do my job). Or that we have yet to ever buy anything from this distributor. It doesn't matter. They just keep sending us this garbage.
The most popular items sent by these companies are pens. I must get fifteen pens a week all engraved or screenprinted with some bastardization of the very long name of the organization I work for. I save the pens (like I mentioned we are a poor starving nonprofit and you never know when a pen famine will occur). These sample pens are usually good for one or two uses. It's as if Joe Smoe Promotions only wants to afford me a taste of they have to offer, just enough to get me hooked and then they know that I'll have to come back to them for more. Okay, that never happens. I just toss the writing implement in question into the trash and grab another from my collection but on November 5, 2002 that all changed. On November 5th I received a pen promotion that was to stick with me until August of 2003. I give you Light Up Santa Pen!
Hideous, huh? The company that manufactures these suckers actually had the gall to suggest that the very serious organization I work, which by the way deals with an issue that is no laughing matter, distribute these to our professional contacts throughout the holiday season. Ummm, no thanks. The best part, and sadly the part I cannot demonstrate to you, is that the tip of the pen lights up as you press the tip down. Yep, Santa glows in a most distracting way. And of course the pen feels like ass in your hand (and not like good firm ass either, more like lumpy, cellulite butt). But because of the potential pen dearth, I kept old St. Nick in the drawer next to my computer with my post its and "sign here" stickies and staples.
There are various occasions in my employment where I am called upon to give a little John Hancock (sounds kinky, doesn't it). When those times arise, I always seem to be caught unaware. "Oh a FedEx package for me," I exclaim. "Why you shouldn't have!" And then I begin to grope about for a pen. I'm not sure where they all go but I always seem to have to hit the reserves and you know what pen I always pull? You got it - Kriss Kringle and his light up action. And then there are the last minute grab and go for meetings, where I find myself gathering a note pad and flashing Father Christmas. Do you know how embarrassing it is to enter a staff meeting only to discover that you're going to have to take notes with this ridiculous thing? And don't think it went unnoticed by the President. "Wow Mrs-Roboto," she commented just last week. "That's some Christmas pen you have there. You must really like Christmas." Guys, I dress in black almost everyday. I sulk and pout. My favorite weather condition is rain. How could anyone mistake me as a fan of Yuletide? Next thing you know I'll be collecting Beanie Babies and Trolls. Stupid pen is ruining my reputation. Why didn't it just run out of ink after the second use like all the rest? It's August ferchrissakes. Die pen, die!
Well today I decided to do something about this situation. I had been laughed at by the cool courier boy for the last time and so at 4:30 PM as I loaded my stuff up to leave the office, I turned to my coworker Lauren. "I've had enough already with this darn pen," I declared. "I'm going to take it home with me where it will most certainly be lost within moments and maybe when I stumble upon it again, my feelings will be less raw and we both can have a good laugh about the old days. Me and this pen, if hands could talk." I marched out and called for the elevator which I boarded without incident but as I was departing a horrible tragedy occurred. I dropped the pen down the open space between the car and the elevator shaft. Santa plummeted downward and landed in a crash. I could tell he was irreparable, broken in many pieces. There was no riviving him, no bringing him back. For a moment I felt so forlorn but then I remembered that November is right around the corner and with it a new pen will be making it's way to me. What a relief.
9:12 p.m. - 2003-08-05
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