Before I even get started, you need to know that I am a pen thief…
If you talk to me for more than 2 minutes, you’ll know I have a thing for Sharpies. It’s more than a thing: basically an obsession. I need all the sharpies and I store them, sorted by color (top down or they dry up, that’s a free tip) in coffee mugs.
When I was teaching, there was a well stocked teacher resource room. In that resource room, there was a plastic storage container labeled “Sharpies”. Every morning, I would dip into the drawer and snag one Sharpie, no matter how many Sharpies were already in my classroom, no matter how robust my existing supply was.
One morning, I checked the drawer as usual. To my complete delight, there was an entire set of COLORED SHARPIES, including the ever elusive hot pink Sharpie.
Unfortunately, I was alone in the resource room. Something came over me and that something was greed. I grabbed a brown paper lunch bag (they’re in every teacher resource room; just ask any teacher, in fact ask one right now), collected all the colored Sharpies (even the useless yellow one), stuffed them in the lunch sack, rolled the sack and then shoved it UNDER MY SWEATER and stored it in the general area of my appendix. Then, while clutching my contraband, I walked briskly back to my classroom and shoved the bag into the dark recess of my teacher cabinet. The day started as usual.
But that day was not at all usual. In the back of my mind a seed of guilt germinated and by 10:30, that little seed was an enormous spider plant (only poisonous). I was supposed to be teaching young children the importance of sharing, doing the right thing, making good choices. But lo, their teacher was a hypocrite, a Sharpie criminal. All I could think about was the crumpled bag of deceit, the poor children who were being taught by an office supply robber.
By nap time, I couldn’t take it any longer. While my teaching partner was heating her lunch, I grabbed the bag, secured it back to my appendix region and waited. When she came back, I told her I had to make copies or something and set out on my quest to return the goods. With my hand over my sweater (to avoid the telltale crinkle of the paper bag), I did my perp walk back to the resource room, sweating nervously the entire way. I felt chased, hunted. Two teachers asked me if I had an upset stomach due to the very obvious clutching. I don’t know what I told them but I promise it didn’t make any sense.
Of course the resource room was packed with teachers, all doing legitimate teacher things, unlike me, a criminal in their midst, a wolf among sheep, a phony. I made idle chit chat, did some fake teacher work, laminated a scrap of useless paper. Finally the coast was clear. When I grabbed the bag, it had changed from the color of a lunch bag to the color of dark, brown, wet leaves and it was damp. I replaced all the Sharpies and fled the scene of the crime.
For two weeks, I kept myself on strict Sharpie restriction. I didn’t even glance at the Sharpie drawer (but I wanted to!). After my self-inflicted penalty, I ordered my own personal set of colored Sharpies, courtesy of Amazon.
Driving in Reverse 