Even under hypnosis, my shrink was unable to root out the origins of my crippling vice: Ink Pen Thieving.
Yes. I used caps because they are THAT important to me. I think I was around four when the swiping began. Pens, pencils, glue, tape….if it was office/school supply related, then it was coming home with me. There for a couple of years, I entertained the idea of being a teacher. But then my personal Jiminy Cricket starting hissing things like, “You’ll be fired within the first week for theft and evasion.”
Couldn’t argue with that one. I remember in the 4th grade, I was asked to go fetch something out of the school supply closet. Not the little cabinet in the classroom. I’m talking the ROOM. With shelves and buckets full of writing instruments and shiny gem clips.
That’s when I knew something was a tad off. What clued me in was the shaking and rubber knees. I was like a crack-head who’d found an 8 pound rock in the alley behind the A&P. My teacher was convinced I’d become a hard-core glue sniffer and pinned a note to my back so my parents would know what kind of a hot mess they had on their hands.
In my youth, I swiped pens with abandon…not caring about their quality or fit. I was so childish then. So greedy. NOW, I’m very particular about the pens I steal. They have to write perfectly…no ink-clots. I prefer a very thin point…but not too thin, as to bend upon pressure.
I’m currently kicking it with the Sharpies that don’t bleed through the paper. I have approximately 50 of them. All the same color. Black. Most writers these days type up their junk. I personally like to write by hand. So I may switch pens 25 times during a single writing session. I am so dedicated to my vice that I’ve developed a freak-bump on my middle finger from aggressive pen pushing.
I’ve just recently realized that my vice has taken me deep into the bowels of the dark side. Hence the hypnosis session. After coming out from under the spell, I could tell my therapist was disturbed by the way she hustled me out of there, forgetting to hand over my ADHD med prescription. On my way out, I stopped at the front desk to make my co-pay and complain of the rising prices of meds.
The receptionist at the Mental Health Clinic has a tough job…dealing with “us” for 8 hours a day. And you can tell she’s not a consumer by the confused look on her face. Anyway, I wrote out my check and felt myself becoming titillated by the sultry sway of the pen tip. Without hesitation, I pointed to the sky excitedly and said, “Lookit!” She whipped around to see what was the matter, and it was in this 4 second purgatory that I made that hussy pen my very own.
I didn’t wait for the receipt. As I walked out, I heard her patting herself all over, muttering, “Where did I put my pen? I just had it.” She should know better than to leave an unchained writing device laying around with a bunch of bored and depressed kleptomaniacs roaming the room.
When I got to my car, Jiminy smacked my butt like an NFL football player and congratulated me on my successful score.
“Aw, that was tight, yo!”
I know this, Cricket. I know this.
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