My other things:
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At some stop - maybe Fulton street - you turned to me. “Can I borrow your pen?” you asked.
“Sure,” I said, and gave it to you.
“I know!” I said. “Who does that?
“I mean, that woman did,” said my pen. “But yeah, I know what you mean.”
The doors closed. For the next four stops I sat on the train, confused.
Why did you do this, Becky (I am going to call you Becky. If you think this is rude and presumptuous, you should hear about what happened to me on the train this morning)? Maybe you are dealing with some pen-related issue of which I am not aware. If so, my mostly sincere condolences. That sounds weird and sad. Maybe you have been jilted by a man who looks like me. Or a woman who looks like me. If any woman looks like me, especially with this half-beard*, my completely sincere condolences.
My best theory is that you read the following in my notebook: “Ugly sounding lady frigging hot as crap”. Now, I can understand how that could sound offensive. I’m writing a comedic radio show right now, and was working on some fake radio dating personals. Some lady with an uncouth demeanor who talks about what a friggin miss america or whatever she is. I will readily admit this joke is not going to set the world on fire in its current state. But it was also a one line brainstorm! These notes are not ready to be released into the air, like hundreds of doves! If they were released, most of them would immediately fall to the ground, misshapen and flightless and sometimes a little sexist. But I was not showing them to you, you were READING MY NOTEBOOK.
Anyway, that’s my theory. That you walked away from the train thinking “Well Becky, you struck a real blow for feminism today.”
Maybe I’m reading this wrong. Maybe you suffer from a Memento-like brain disorder, and immediately forgot that you had a pen in your hand upon borrowing it. Or maybe you knew it was my only pen and you wanted to point out how reliant we have become on simple technologies! If so, thank you! I had no goose with me from which to pluck a new quill, nor an ink pot into which to dip an improvised writing tool. My perspective has been broadened!
When I got to work, I rode the elevator with Paul Rudd and I was like “Paul, the weirdest thing happened to me, man” and he was like “Oh no buddy what was it? What floor are you going to? I’ll get off and walk you to your office so we can process this together, bud-style.” and we really hashed it out.**
In any case, if you get this, let me know what it was about that situation that caused you to ask for and then immediately dispose of my pen. I am curious. Let me know what color the pen was, or what it said on my notebook, or do something really invasively passive-aggressive, so I know you’re really Becky.
Confused Penless guy
p.s. I am not looking to date you. I do not think we are compatible. I have a
number of pens I would like to hold on to, and you seem to feel exactly
p.p.s. Also, I am dating Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor because I like
strong-willed independent women who don’t throw my goddamn pens out of
the subway train.
p.p.p.s. I am maybe not literally dating her, but the rest of that is true.
*Other craigslist readers: It’s half the length of a beard, I don’t have a
full-grown beard on just the left or right side of my face.
**Paul Rudd and I did not actually speak, but we did ride the elevator together in silence and boy, what a dreamboat you guys.