What Happens When You Leave Desk Items to Their Vices?

Summary

The desk items, feeling neglected by their owner's preference for digital tools, engage in a humorous, self-reflective dialogue about their diminished utility and turn to smoking weed as a form of escapism.

Abstract

The article presents a satirical narrative where the anthropomorphized desk items, including pens, pencils, and scissors, lament their owner's lack of attention since the acquisition of a new laptop. The dust accumulation on the desk and the subsequent complaints from the writing utensils set the stage for a mutiny, with the items criticizing their owner's neglect. As they discuss their fading relevance, they reveal their insecurities about becoming obsolete and the possibility of being discarded. However, the tone shifts when the owner discovers that the smoke from the desk isn't anger-induced but rather the result of the items using a highlighter to smoke weed, suggesting a creative coping mechanism for their situation. The story is framed around a contest prompt that invites readers to imagine the conversations among their own desk items.

Opinions

The writing utensils express frustration and a sense of abandonment due to being replaced by digital tools, highlighting the obsolescence of traditional writing instruments in the digital age.
The items are portrayed as if they possess human-like emotions and the ability to form social dynamics, with some showing signs of camaraderie and others exhibiting sarcasm and resentment.
The owner is characterized as a desk hoarder who, despite not using the items, holds onto them out of a practical sense of necessity in case of situations like a blackout.
The contest theme encourages a playful and imaginative exploration of the anthropomorphic interactions between inanimate objects, suggesting that even mundane items have stories to tell.
The humor in the story serves as a commentary on how people cope with change and the feeling of being replaced, with the desk items finding solace in each other's company and their shared predicament.

Their dreams go up in smoke

The dust gathers on my desk frequently. How do specks multiply like sex-starved dust bunnies in the untouched areas?

I need to know because I hear many complaints from the writing utensil section. They say the dust makes them sneezy. I say their sensitivity speaks more to their day’s monotony than their yearnings for cleanliness, but you know how it is with desktop instruments.

If you ignore them, they criticize you more.

The other day, I noticed smoke coming from the holder. They were fuming mad. I listened to their chatter and learned that I’d ignored them once too many times, so they planned a mutiny and held a sit-in. I listened to their discussion about how I did them wrong.

“Does anybody have any ink left?” Pencil said as she caressed her broken lead. “I’m useless.”

“Why are you asking me?” laughed Pen. “Your question, like you, seems pointless.”

“Hey, Pencil, why do you have a rubber that doesn’t work?” Scissors asked. “If you were physically fit with all your parts intact, we could erase the good old days from our memory and create new ones.”

“Great question, Shears,” Pen said. “You know how to cut to the chase. I didn’t realize you could be this sharp.”

“Hey guys, why are you so mean?” asked Marker. “It’s hard enough lying here, broken and forgotten.”

“We’re not mean. We’re meaningless. It’s been this way ever since Karen got her new laptop.”

So, there it was in a nutshell. They felt neglected, causing them to turn on each other. Gone are the days when pens optimistically met paper and scissors cut gift wrap into scrapbook art.

Today, the holder is anything close to tidy, with excess cue cards, postcards, picture hanging nails, and an envelope stamper.

The utensils look worn, worrying about the day they’ll get tossed, yet knowing desk hoarders like me don’t throw anything out. We never know when we might need them. A blackout would render my computer useless, and I’d need to reinstate their jobs.

I’ve noticed they’ve replaced their complaints with laughter as the smoke lingers.

Upon closer inspection, I see the fumes aren’t born of anger. Not at all. The pens, pencils, scissors, and the rest of the gang are occupying themselves by smoking a little weed with the help of their friend, the high-lighter.

Have you heard about the publication’s contest? It’s not too late to enter (deadline Dec. 20, 2023, midnight MST). Here’s the theme: “On your desk, there is a container for your pens, pencils, scissors and other such items. What kinds of conversations are happening amongst them?”

Inside this newsletter, you’ll find the details.

If you’re looking for a feel-good story, you won’t want to miss this inspirational piece by Nancy Oglesby. Nancy writes stories that easily capture the heart.

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