On recording history

Spring has arrived. Nothing against winter, but it sucks and I hate it. The place looks dead and having cold feet makes me feel unnecessarily aggressive towards everything. I welcome the warmer weather even if it comes along with itchy eyes and a box of tissues.

We’re not quite there yet, but it’s almost warm enough to do my morning shenanigans outdoors. I love journaling in the sunshine. If I flip back through the years, springtime’s journal entries are full of hope and optimism, a stark contrast to the winter entries where I write as if I’m not sure I will make it out alive. It’s amazing what you notice about yourself when you write every day.

My daily journal entries are of the analog variety. In fact, my posts here are the only digital writing I do outside of work. For nearly everything else, I write in paper notebooks with black ink. Organization is a nightmare, but I still love it. For journaling, I found an affordable notebook I like at the craft store—180 pages of 80lb paper. I don’t waste my time with the 60lb, ink bleeds right through. I prefer a dotted grid to lined pages because it allows for flexibility in line spacing and an occasional drawing if the mood strikes me. It’s just the right size. The book fits in my bag easily and even has an elastic strap to hold the cover shut. There’s another loop of elastic on the side for a pen, but I prefer hooking the pen’s cap on the strap and tucking it against the top of the pages. It’s more streamline. Less likely to be knocked off in transit. And the spine and covers are strong enough to support me if I need to write something down mid stride. I love them. They feel like they were made for me. Its an incredible feeling when you find something you love.

I’ve become a snob about pens, too. I caught one of my classmates taking notes with a dime-a-dozen Bic and thought have some respect for yourself. I’m also easily annoyed by a woman who sits to my left. She has a hot pink pencil bag with a plethora of colored pens and highlighters that she is constantly uncapping and recapping. Its unnecessary. I can’t imagine she’s learning ethics more effectively than I am with a simple underline, but who am I to judge?

I’m a Sharpie girl, myself. That goes way back. When I was a teenager I wore a pair of enormously oversized jeans held up by a belt. It was “a time” in fashion to be sure, but I like to think I elevated to a new level of art dork chic. I bought the pants with my own money during a brief stint in retail sales at the age of fourteen. For just over a month, I worked in a denim warehouse. I utilized the employee discount (twenty per cent off, if I remember correctly) to buy a large pair of men’s jeans. At the time I was big into quotes and pithy sayings. I kept a list of my favorites. Some make me cringe now to think I ever thought of them as revolutionary, but many hold up. I’m impressed my younger self was so thoughtful. Anyway, I collected these quotes and then with colorful Sharpie markers, I illustrated the typography all over my jeans and wore them proudly. Because the markers are permanent I could keep washing, wearing, and adding new sayings. I wore them out. I’ve loved a Sharpie ever since then.

When I started really recording my days a few years ago, I tried out a bunch of different pens to see what made me the happiest. I like Sharpie’s clickable ball point for drawing. I found those early on. I do wish the refills were easier to find because they go quickly. Drawing is a different animal, I tend to use more ink. Eventually, I stumbled onto a four pack of Sharpie Rollers and right out of the package, I knew. It was the touch for me. A fresh Sharpie Roller feels both hard and soft somehow, like a stone polished by a stream and then dried in the sun, and the weight is perfect. Heavy enough to feel it in my hand, but not so heavy that my letters drag. The branding is minimal and coordinates with the sturdy metal clip with a rounded edge. The tip of the pen writes beautifully in rich, steadfast ink. I feel classy AF with my Sharpie pen.

I have a bone to pick with the company though. These pens can be subject to leakage. The first time it happened I had just taken a flight to Santa Fe and I assumed it was the change in pressure that caused the mess in my hotel room. Huge black blots stained the crisp hotel sheets. I called the front desk to apologize. I think I even offered to wash them. She laughed. But as I continued to purchase these pens (to date I’ve filled fourteen books—I use a lot of ink) maybe one in each package leaks ink at the pen tip. It’s a messy discovery every time. I can’t see the leak, rather I feel it, and by then my hands are covered and there are dark stains everywhere.

I sent a message about the leaky pens to the company through the website’s contact page. I didn’t start with the complaint. I gave them a little background about me. A sentence or two on how much I like their pens. Then I said it was a bummer that they occasionally leaked and could it be my fault? Maybe there is some wisdom they could share from the field of pen maintenance? I’m all ears. I ended my message by writing that I’d still buy the pens because I love them so much. I fan-girled hard, is what I am saying. I f*cking love a good pen.

Right away I got back an automated We got your message message, then a few days later:

This is where my heart breaks. I didn’t even it read to the end on the first pass. It was too painful. I mean, I wasn’t not hoping for a free set of pens, but I wasn’t insisting. And don’t make me dance for it. The complete void of human interaction crushed me. It’s signed by a specific name, but who knows these days, you know? The only thing that makes me think there’s any chance another beating heart sent me this message is that it took too long to get here.

Maybe I’m treating Sharpie unfairly. I have been a little lonely lately. I can’t expect a major corporation to read every message carefully, and I’m sure the majority of those reaching out are hoping to be compensated for a faulty product. I wanted to let Sharpie know there was a problem, and that I loved the product anyway. There probably aren’t a ton of weirdos like me who assume the people who work at a company would be happy to hear someone appreciates what they do. Maybe employees there don’t even get the chance to read the fan mail. The Sharpie policy is treat every claim the same way. I get it. Only I wasn’t asking for anything. Sharpie followed up again a few days after that to ask if they had resolved my issue. Remember that Twilight Zone where the guy just wants to read in peace and everyone else disappears? That last email from Sharpie was the part where he steps on his glasses.

I think it’s time I start shopping around for a permanent pen. One from a fancy store where the pens have names like Excalibur and NimbleNote and are displayed in glass cases. The kind that requires I “put in an order” for refills. I think I’ve graduated to the level of responsibility needed to keep track of a pen like that. And it would make me feel better to create less trash. It’s possible all of my empty pens have made their way out into the ocean and are part of that giant, floating garbage patch that we ought to clean up (or at least stop contributing to). Maybe some poor sea turtle has one stuck up his nose! Yes, it’s definitely time for a long-lasting model. I’ll make a note.

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