Pour One On the Curb

Pour a forty on the curb for one of my dearest and most constant companions. My Fisher Space Pen is lost and gone forever. That pen rode shotgun in my pocket for a long time, and it's now naught but a memory.

Most of the people who know me well know that I have a pen fetish. And while I love all kinds of pens, the Fisher Bullet Space Pen has always been far and away my favorite. Sure, it can write underwater, in freezing weather, and upside down, but that's not why I love these pens. It's not often I have to write in the ocean, in the arctic, or on the ceiling (though I do frequently write in bed). But they are hefty, well built pens, they write smoothly, and their compact size when closed allows it to fit neatly in my pocket right next to my other constant companion, a Moleskine pocket notebook.

Yesterday, just before heading out for the day, I put my Space Pen and my Moleskine in my left jacket pocket, as I always do. On my way to the movie theater, I decided to stop at Starbucks. As I got out of the car, I put my keys in my left jacket pocket. I don't usually do that, because I hate having a bunch of things in one pocket. But I didn't give it much thought this time, and I absent-mindedly dropped my keys into the same pocket as my pen and notebook. As I was leaving Starbucks, I reached into my pocket, pulled out my keys, got in my car, and drove away. When I got to the movies, I checked my pocket to make sure my pen and notebook were in there, but my pen was nowhere to be found. I turned my car upside down looking for it, but it wasn't there. A sinking feeling began to grow within me as I slowly realized what must have happened. When I pulled my keys out of my pocket, I probably pulled the pen out with them. It probably clattered unceremoniously to the ground without me even realizing it, and I drove away, never to see it again. And some lucky fool probably found himself a nice free pen.

So until I can afford to replace it (and it's hard to justify spending $20 on a pen when you're unemployed), I'm reduced to carrying around a Papermate. Ick.