My Favorite Pen and I

I’ve used many pens in my life. But it wasn’t until I met the Zebra F-301 .7mm Ballpoint Retractable Pen, that I met one I actually cared about.

Like many users, I had a type…for a while. Until I had another type. Who knew pens could come in so many beautiful varieties?

And when I was into a type, I was into a type. Whenever I came across one I liked, I made it mine. Paying for pens is for suckers? So are pens with caps—they’re too high maintenance.

It didn’t matter whose pen it was or where I found it—the server at Cheddar’s or in the back of a church pew. It was theirs, now it’s mine. And I will use it.

Yeah, I used a lot of pens in my life. So what. Most were done with me long before I was done with them. Or disappeared out of my life without even a goodbye.

It was just a glimpse when I first saw the Zebra F-301 .7mm BP. A mysterious glint of stainless steel, surrounded by so many dull plastic pens, trapped in a mug on a receptionist’s desk.

Before I could grab it, the lady shoved a clipboard in my face and handed me one of those gloomy pens from the mug. With a cap. You. have. got. to. be. kidding.

The next time, I was finally able to see the Zebra F-301 .7mm Retractable in all its fantastic glory. This guy behind a desk was trying to talk to me about a new car, but all I wanted to do was talk about the pen he was holding.

Then, he started talking about what kind of deal he could get me on the new car, but I just wanted to know what kind of deal I would have to pay for that pen. I had to have it. Hold it, use it.

But I left there without the pen, and without the new car. That’s okay. New cars are for suckers. Suckers with good credit, apparently.

The next time I saw the Zebra F-301 .7mm laying about alone, I quickly grabbed it. And before I knew it, it was in my pocket. And before I knew it, I was out the door and in the parking lot. And before I knew it, I was sitting in my car. And before I knew it, it was in my hand.

The Zebra F-301 was finally in my hand. My thumb slid across the stainless steel barrel, and felt the edge of the sturdy metal clip. Then, it was on top of the push button and I pressed down. Heard that confident click. No recoil, nice. I push it again (another strong click). And again.

Now, it’s nestled between my first two fingers, supported by my thumb. I think to myself, how can this plastic, engraved grid provide such a sure grip. I make a small, tentative line on the end of my other thumb (it tickles). Oh, what a smooth, ebony line it made.

I raced home, and we went through pages and pages together that night. In the coming days, sometimes it was a race to see who would run out first—me out of ideas, or the pen out of ink.

In the years since ZB and I have been through a lot together. Ups and downs, lefts and rights, squiggly lines and curlicues. Through more words than could fill a million dictionaries.

But, sadly there was a time I was afraid it was all over. I had carelessly abandoned ZB in a pants pocket. Forced it to be submerged in soapy water, then dizzily tumble through a hot dryer. When I found it, I thought it meant that­—because of my mistake—our future was burned away on permanent press.

However, all was not lost. ZB wasn’t done with me yet. After a hopeful click, and tentative start, that easy glide of black was back. Hope renewed.

I don’t know how good of a copywriter I’d be, without my ZB. Writing with another pen never feels right.

I can’t wait for the future ideas we’ll give birth to, or what new worlds we will create. What wonderful, whimsical sentences that together we will one day make.

Just my favorite pen and I.