I lost a pen yesterday.
It wasn't an especially nice or an especially expensive pen, but I liked it. It was a blue/black gel pen that I bought in Muji for less than a pound. I liked writing with it and I was sorry to discover that I had lost it somewhere. At the first opportunity I will buy another one.
...and then in my first meeting of the day, I noticed that the guy sitting next to me had a blue/black gel pen from Muji.
I supressed my instincts to decry him as a thief and instead tried to shrug and accept that it wouldn't really be that surprising if someone else had the same pen as me. He could have bought it himself, after all.
...and then he picked up the pen and carefully read the sticker on the side, as though seeing it for the first time.
It doesn't mean anything. Deep breath. Deep breath. Concentrate on the meeting.
... and then he opened up his notebook and started to draw a couple of lines with the pen, examining the nib carefully each time, as though trying it out for the first time.
IT'S MY PEN! HE'S GOT MY PEN!
It cost me less than a pound.
He could have his own or he could have found mine lying around on the floor somewhere and picked it up. It doesn't mean anything. I lost the damn thing and I'm going to buy a new one.
So why do I still find myself to be mildly annoyed?
Reading to escape
3 days ago