Vale pluma
Aug. 10th, 2007 12:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
todayiamadaisyGiven my obsession with all things supermarket, imagine my excitement now that a new one has opened in town. Oh, I could hardly breathe. Ahem. Anyway, it's another branch of the supermarket where I usually shop. It has been laid out in a mirror image of that one, which I found extremely disorientating when I went there yesterday. I'd get to the end of an aisle and not know whether to turn right or left. Most odd.
To the alternating frustration and amusement of my co-workers, I have been nursing a pen (a black Bic Classic Fine ballpoint, since you ask, so we're not talking about an expensive superpen here) through to the very end. It lost the little doodad that corks up the end a long time ago, so the body of the pen has gradually been shattering; it's now about a centimetre shorter than when it started, with a jagged edge (covered by the lid, so I don't accidentally stab myself). The loss of the cork also means that there's nothing to hold the ink cartridge in, so whenever the pen gets picked up the cartridge flies out like a tiny javelin... or at least it did until I got sick of it and taped it in, which makes the pen bulky and uncomfortable to write with.
"This pen!" said Greg, picking it up to sign something one day before the tape went on and watching the ink cartridge fly across the room (and it could go a surprisingly long way). "Get rid of it! You've got a whole box of these things, I've seen them." Which is true. And ordinarily I would have tossed it out and got a new one, but I had decided for some reason that I was going to use this one all up and I stuck to that with great resolve.
It's been at death's door for the last week or so, writing and stopping and starting again. It finally died this morning: not one drop of ink left. Poor old pen. But it had a good life. And now I've got a glossy, smooth, new one!
*****
To the alternating frustration and amusement of my co-workers, I have been nursing a pen (a black Bic Classic Fine ballpoint, since you ask, so we're not talking about an expensive superpen here) through to the very end. It lost the little doodad that corks up the end a long time ago, so the body of the pen has gradually been shattering; it's now about a centimetre shorter than when it started, with a jagged edge (covered by the lid, so I don't accidentally stab myself). The loss of the cork also means that there's nothing to hold the ink cartridge in, so whenever the pen gets picked up the cartridge flies out like a tiny javelin... or at least it did until I got sick of it and taped it in, which makes the pen bulky and uncomfortable to write with.
"This pen!" said Greg, picking it up to sign something one day before the tape went on and watching the ink cartridge fly across the room (and it could go a surprisingly long way). "Get rid of it! You've got a whole box of these things, I've seen them." Which is true. And ordinarily I would have tossed it out and got a new one, but I had decided for some reason that I was going to use this one all up and I stuck to that with great resolve.
It's been at death's door for the last week or so, writing and stopping and starting again. It finally died this morning: not one drop of ink left. Poor old pen. But it had a good life. And now I've got a glossy, smooth, new one!