You’re about to sign something important. A document. A check. Maybe a birthday card you’re already running late to deliver.
You grab a pen from the cup on your desk. You go to write.
Nothing. Just a faint scratch on the paper like the pen is giving up on life.
The Scribble Circle Ritual
You do the universal pen-fixing move: scribbling furiously in the corner of the page.
Circle, circle, circle. Scratch, scratch, scratch.
A faint line appears. Hope! You try to write again.
It works for two letters then dies completely.
Back to scribbling. You’re creating abstract art in the margin now. Still nothing.
The Pen Cup Lottery
You grab another pen. Dead.
Another one. Dead.
A third pen. This one’s a promotional pen from a dentist’s office you went to in 2018. Also dead.
How are ALL the pens dead? You have 12 pens in this cup. The odds of every single one being out of ink are astronomical.
Yet here you are. Penless. In a house full of pens.
The Mouth Breathing Technique
Someone once told you breathing on the tip warms up the ink.
You’re now huffing on a pen like you’re trying to fog up a window.
You try writing. Still nothing.
You feel ridiculous. You continue anyway because what else are you supposed to do?
The Aggressive Shake Method
You shake the pen violently like you’re trying to wake it up from a coma.
You try again. A faint line! Progress!
You write half a word. It dies again.
You’re now in a war with an inanimate object. And losing.
The Paper Towel Workaround
You scribble on a paper towel because “different surface texture” or something.
It actually works. The pen writes on the paper towel perfectly.
You go back to your document. Dead again.
The pen has beef with this specific piece of paper apparently.
The Borrowed Pen Save
You find a pen in your junk drawer that you definitely stole from a hotel or a bank at some point.
It works. Perfectly. Smooth ink. Beautiful lines.
You guard this pen with your life now. It goes in a special spot. Nobody touches this pen.
Two Days Later
You need to write something quick. You grab the good pen.
Dead.
How? HOW? You used it once! ONCE!
The pen gods are cruel and they demand suffering.
The Truth
You’re buying a 50-pack of cheap pens from Amazon tonight because clearly that’s what adulthood has come to.
Half of them will be dead within a month. The other half will disappear into the void where socks and Tupperware lids go.
But for now, you’ll have pens that work.
Until you need one. Then they’ll all mysteriously stop working simultaneously.
Pens: proof that the universe has a sense of humor and it’s aimed directly at you.