Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Your Fountain Pen

You go to Laywine’s, because that’s where one goes. There’s a brunette behind the counter, because you’ve been reading Raymond Chandler. She offers you “torpedo” shapes, but they’re too Donald Trump. The next pens are ergonomic, with a ribbed grip that regrettably evokes condoms. Then there’s pearwood. Almost. But will it start to smell of fingers and pocket change? In the end, the answer is German:  matte aluminum, silicon-gripped, with a happy orange cap. The brunette offers to remove a tiny cardboard ring, which indeed says REMOVE in two tiny languages. But you say no. Because it’s your fountain pen.

Image: www.jetpens.com


  1. You return to Laywine's 3 weeks later, because you don't know where else to go. You have your fountain pen in your pocket. It is functioning perfectly. The brunette asks you what you need. You begin to tell her about how your pen tends to stick on certain surfaces. She invites you to try this new German paper they just got in. You are reluctant, but relent. You leave with 3 new notebooks because you need them. Really. Need. Them.

  2. Or you return the next weekend. Because the pen is sucking air like a straw with a hole in it. The clerks don't quite say it, but they can't imagine it's the pen's fault. And it isn't. You are tutored in how deeply to dip the pen to draw the ink up correctly. Deeper than you thought. You leave smiling. And come back the next week for that stunning umbrella.

  3. The brunette is nowhere to be found. Some uppity boy with red hair is eyeing you suspiciously as you playfully twirl the umbrella.

    "Don't you know that's bad luck?" he hisses, from behind the counter.

    You're about to give him the what-for when the brunette appears from a door in the back of the store. Her eyes are swollen and red.

    You shut the umbrella officiously

  4. officiously and poke the redhead in the stomach with it. The brunette cracks a smile. You don’t ask her what a nice girl like her is doing with a prat like him. Instead, you scoop up the bottle of Visine blue ink from behind the counter – this being Laywine’s, you know they have everything. “Hey” says the redhead. You poke him again because you can, and

  5. quite right too. One always likes to unwrap one's own... pens.


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