Stationery

O.K., people do wonder about my habit. I have to admit that it is not easy being me and having to suffer with an addiction to stationery. Yes, stationery. Papyrophilia. I am admitting something that most people would not find embarrassing, but to me it is something quite shameful, despite all of the success that it has given me. I even dread sharing this with you, especially after all that has passed between us. But why not? I have some time before my next meeting.

It all began in school, as many things do. They would give us notebooks to write out our journal entries, but they made the mistake of giving us this assignment at the beginning of the day when we all had nothing to talk about. I argued about that and the other fact that they were grading us on what we wrote. It was all personal, I said, hiding the book in my desk. They never listened. I was a good student and they only thought of my complaints about the journal as my one special quirk; something like an artistic temperament.

They trusted me, too, which created certain problems between me and the other people in the different grades I passed through. When the teacher left and I was put in charge (far too often, I thought), people said that I was a snitch, a teacher’s pet. No one would speak to me at recess, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t care about foot hockey, soccer, or the fights that would start every other day, it seemed, especially after my discovery of the supply office. A teacher had sent me to the principal’s office to get some more foolscap (foolscap; a very odd name). We had a test that day and he had forgotten to get the extra stack of those long sheets needed for thirty people. The principal smiled when she saw me, and when she read my note, she was glad that I wasn’t in trouble like some of the other kids in my grade. The office with the papers and the notebooks was right next to the gym and around the corner from the boy’s bathroom. I saw three-hole-punched notebooks, rulers, pens, papers of every size and colour, pen holders, erasers, liquid paper bottles (sorry, correction fluid bottles), tapes (scotch, duct, electrical, etc…), markers, crayons. The principal caught me staring and (was this a sign?) placed some very nice easy glide pens into my top overall pocket.

I cannot seem to go anywhere now without a notebook or a pen. Not a bad habit when you are a student; not a good one when you have to be in the workforce. I know that people carry them around and use them, but I seem to take it a little too far. Here, when there was an error in the number of binders ordered and received, guess who got blamed? Can’t find your souvenir pen from that trip to Niagara Falls? Go to the weird guy on third. Yeah, I was on the third floor. They hated me there. Management did not know what to do with me, but I worked hard and had things done long before most of the deadlines. The one thing they could not understand about me was my habit of bringing in boxes of pens and pencils to the office when there was a supply room just down the hall. Believe me, I was doing the right thing. Bad printing jobs for the inking of the legal pads; cheap glue on the envelopes (surprised me that no one ever got sick from them). At least I had some sense about what I was doing, and I paid for everything I had. There were plenty of other people who got caught with their hands in the supplies, but, like I said, guess who got blamed? What kept me here is that I never had any of the supplies in my office, so they had no evidence.

It did bother me, though. I finally told one of the assistant salespeople here what was happening. He didn’t want to do anything about it, so he told one of the managers and they had me in the office for what they loved to call a “heart-to-heart” chat. I went on about the thefts and why I was bringing my own stuff to the office after two years here. Before I knew it, they were silent and paying attention to everything I said. One woman kept making notes and asked me after the meeting about what I would suggest for different supplies. So, I let them know what they were doing wrong. After about half an hour of this, they told me that they were glad to have had this little chat.

Oh wait, I said that I was on the third floor. Well, as you can see, I have stepped up in the world. They put me into management. They must have been paying attention to all of that stuff I shared with them at that meeting because I have been here now for three years and my salary keeps going up. It seems that people are impressed by how I am able to tell apart different types of inks, pencil leads and thickness of paper with just a quick glance and how each type suits our different clientele. It is true that I know why students want to use matte instead of glossy paper when creating banners or murals, or why lawyers hate legal-pads and doctors always want scratch pads without spiral binding. When I started here and made some suggestions, everyone doubted me (one manager went out of his way to tell me that it was all nonsense and dumb luck). Of course, when the sales figures began to come in after my first month and everything was in the black, they saw why some opinions actually matter. So, I am doing all right with more money in a better office. Right now, they have me checking out the new notebooks that they want to market to compete with the specialty shops: is it usable? Durable? Comfortable? Does the ink bleed into the page underneath? Will it smear the ink? And who’ll buy it? Almost too easy for me to say, but I don’t give everything.

I am glad that you called and wanted to know why I’m here. Yes, it has been a while since you have heard anything from me. Don’t worry, we have assessments on all the staff members here and they have me in top shape.

I have mailed some high-quality paper and envelopes for you to write back with. Try getting a Waterman or a Pilot Fineliner. They won’t smear.

Look forward to hearing from you. Hope this message isn’t too long.

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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