Apologies. For whatever reason, today was rough. I don't feel like I gave you enough content. So here's a little something extra, just for you:
A lot of people ask me, "Alex, what's the saddest thing you ever saw?" And I'm going to be honest, I've seen a lot of sad things. You can't live as long as I have, you can't feel as deeply as I do, without having borne witness to some terrible, heartbreaking visions. But I would have to say that the saddest thing I ever saw was, on its face, ostensibly quite ordinary.
It was 1996, and I was on a business trip in some unbearable suburb of Chicago. A jaunt to the local mall, in an attempt to stimulate my appetite for the bounteous feast I was due to have at Bennigan's later that evening, resulted in my wandering by a stationery store where I saw in the window a ceramic utensil holder which bore the image of a piteous ursine fellow clutching in one pathetic paw a small number of writing implements alongside the legend, "I'd be beary, beary upset if you took all of my pencils."
I mean, all well and good, but, ultimately? Heartbreaking. Because the fact that an object like that would be mass-produced presumes that there's an enough of an audience to justify such production, when, really, there are only two scenarios in which I can see it being purchased. Both of them assume the end consumer is someone who works in an office where pencils are at short supply and people are constantly coming up to his or her-and let's be honest, it's her: she's in her fifties or sixties, she's been doing this job for twenty-five years at least, she's as sweet as can be, and it has never occurred to her to want more (or, if it has, she's sublimated those yearnings to the traditions of family, religion, or regional custom) than what she has-desk and absent-mindedly making off with her pencils, so this is her light-hearted attempt at warding off such behavior.
In scenario one, Kathleen-or Terri, or Mary Anne, or whatever her name is, but something not outside the realm of the three already suggested-lives alone, has never been married or had children, has two or three siblings with a large number of offspring upon whom she dotes but can never quite make a connection with and always gives awkward presents to at birthdays and Christmases and sometimes allows herself to wonder if they aren't laughing at her once the door finally closes and she drives herself back to her small home after a holiday meal, sees the pencil holder in the mall and buys it for herself, thinking it will at least provide a small chuckle to her co-workers, who in her darker moments she also suspects of being derisive about her when she's not around. This is the less sad possibility.
In scenario two, Ellen-or Jayne, or SarahLynne, or whatever her name is, but something not outside the realm of the three already suggested-has a wonderful grandchild who thinks his Grandma is the greatest lady in the world and whose eyes light up every time he sees her and who remembers how much fun he had at her office the one time when she was watching him when Mommy was busy and how everyone there was so nice to him and how Grandma joked around about them stealing her pencils, well, when he turned eight and began getting an allowance, he started saving up his own money-his own money-so that he could buy her a special birthday present and when he saw the pencil holder at the mall he thought it was just the most perfect gift for the grandmother he loved so much, plus he was finally old enough to understand the wordplay, and even though his dad asked him more than once whether he was sure he wanted to waste his cash on a stupid pencil cup, he insisted on getting it for her and it may well have been the sweetest moment in her life. Six weeks later her beautiful grandbaby was playing in the yard with some friends of his and when one of them overthrew the ball he instinctively ran out into the street after it without looking and was struck by a car, hanging on just long enough for her to see his eyes roll back in his head while he was hooked up to so many machines in the hospital before passing away. Now the cup sits there on her desk each day, a horrible reminder of how she's lost the only grandchild she's ever had, but also something she's unwilling to part with because it's her sole remaining connection to the little boy whom she watched every day for the first year of his life while her daughter was finishing nursing school and who would cry in the evening each time his mother came to take him home because he did not want to be taken away from her.
Also, I felt bad for the bear.
So, yeah, that's the saddest thing I ever saw. I mean, as of now. I'm sure there'll be something else. There usually is.
You missed the third scenario, where a passive-aggressive beast of any age (but probably female - a male would go with something more modernist) puts that out as a sort of corny desk gag to remind people not to take all the pencils/pens - except if just ONE of them goes missing, there will be meetings and accusations and treachery and hostility that will oneday escalate to a workplace shooting.
Oh wait, that's depressing too.
Also, WHERE DO YOU COME UP WITH THIS SHIT? You need to hit the shooting range sometime, man.
I don't like Scenario 2.
I want the boy to live. Why can't his grandmother die instead? She's lived many years. But the boy ... he's got his whole life ahead of him.
It's downright inexcusable to just let the boy die like that. It's like when Charles Dickens killed little Nell in The Old Curiosity Shop. Right at the end of the book. (Um ... spoiler alert!)
Pfizer has a program for people who can't afford their medications. Just saying.
Wow. I was going to say that it sounds just like something a teacher would have on her desk. I guess I am not as dramatic as I fancy myself.
Scenario 4: weed-addled hipster buys said mug, fills it with pre-rolled joints (or change for laundry-slash-weed), placing it next to the other mug he found that says "Cocaine" in fancy script, and the ROAD SENSE one from the car insurance guy that he always fills with booze.
All the best scenarios end like that. (And yes, I have encountered both of the latter two mugs.)
The moral of this story? Something something USE YOUR ROAD SENSE. (Because at least the thoughtful grandson would have lived.)
What if in scenario two, the boy doesn't get hit by a car, but instead grows up into a teenager who uses surliness and funny-colored hair to cover his terrible awkwardness, and grandma gets older and her mind kind of goes soft, and every time she sees her grandson she always brings up the damn bear and what a nice gift it was, usually in front of the grandson's cool friends, which sends him into paroxysms of embarassment, until one day he loses it and yells at her to stop fucking talking about the talking bear, which makes her cry, which fills him with a terrible shame that haunts him for the rest of his life?
None of these are sadder than scenario three: the bear is purchased by some insufferable, cooler-than-thou hipster who puts it on his desk in his fancy design studio or web startup or whatever, and all his hipster friends laugh and make fun of it, but eventually he has it for long enough that he can't tell if he's enjoying it ironically or not.
I don't know, jfruh, scenario three sounds pretty cheery, especially if the hipster realizes what a douchebag he's been and moves from Williamsburg to Nyack with wife, kids and minivan.
Lifehacker would suggest hot gluing silk flowers to the pencils to keep people from stealing them; the bear would be happy because it had flowers and maybe the boy wouldn't die?
That's wonderful until one day you find out the silk flowers were left at the boy's funeral.
I know what you mean. I got the same problems. I gotta get organized. Little things like my apartment, possessions. I should get a sign : "One of these days, I'm gonna get Organiz-ized."
Upon reflection, I think we should take up a collection to buy Alex one of those "Hang In There!" posters, with the kitten hanging off of a clothesline. That ought to cheer him up!
Seconded.
However much I’d be beary, beary upset if you took away all these kinds of posts, I think weight training would really help. The actual activity would burn of the ethanol and the subsequent endorphin release would act as a mood lifter.
June 16--
I gotta get in shape now. Too much sitting has ruined my body. Too much abuse has gone on for too long.
From now on it'll be fifty pushups each morning. Fifty pull-ups.
There will be no more pills, no more bad food...no more destroyers of my body. From now on it'll be total organization. Every muscle must be tight.
I was not talking about getting in shape. I was referring to the mood enhancing effects.
You were talkin' to me? Then who the hell else are you talking... Well I'm the only one here. Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? Oh yeah? OK.
Sometimes a pencil holder is just a pencil holder.
http://www.thegreenhead.com/imgs/dead-fred-pen-holder-1.jpg
Dude, does that mall by chance have a Rainforest Cafe attached? Because I think I've been to it.
I think Balk needs a hug. Or a blow job. Probably a blow job would be better.
If that's the case, you can catch him at Bar Stuzzichini.
You are the Under Toad.
Margaret. Her name is Margaret. And she works in this HUGE office full of hundreds of cubicles as far as the eye can see and Mr. Schromfeld is her boss and his office is on another floor and she rarely sees him. She only gets memos and emails. All automated. Anyway in spite of that, she's in love with him. She bought the pencil holder one Saturday and took it to the office the following Monday and put it on her desk. Empty. Hoping that one day Mr. Schromfeld would walk by and see the empty pencil holder and ask, "Margaret. I notice you're out of pencils. Who are the lowlife culprits that are stealing your pencils?" And then their romance would begin and blossom. If only he would walk by one morning.
Hi Balk,
You don't know me, but I've been reading your stuff pretty regularly for the past 3 years now. I've gotten many a laugh out of your work, and some of your writing on Gawker and Tumblr has been very moving. You have no idea I exist, as far as I know. Which is why I need to know WHY you picked my name as one of the ones for Scenario One. You've even spelled it correctly - and no one ever spells my name correctly. Am I going to wind up as scenario one? because if so, I may just .... I don't know.
Fuck it. My name is Mary Anne, and I am NOT winding up attempting to find joy in pencil holders. I am, however, slightly shaken by the world at the moment.
I just want to know why the HELL somebody wasn't watching that precious grandbaby to make sure he didn't run in the street! Did he die on Grandma's watch?
This story, and these comments, were a trip through hell.
In my Private Hell (did you see it? Goldie Hawn has lost her mind), the pencil holder is a pig, and there are no more pencils, since all anyone does anymore is type words on a TV screen and admire them. Which is tragicomic, because Goldie Hawn was going to stick the pencils into the pig's snout.
And stop picking on Chicago suburbs. I live there. So I'm in your beary beary nightmare every damn day.
I'm from Elmhurst, a lovely Chicago suburb with a beautiful mall (Oakbrook) so this surely isn't MY mall you're discussing.
Scenario #1 was sadder for me. Mostly because the whole "boy dying" thing seemed too implausible.
Also, scenario #3, old lady who is obsessed with bears, buys all things with a bear on them regardless of how cheezy or not useful they are. Folks, meet my grandma. Ever heard of a "Boyds bear"? She owns hundreds of them. I heard I get them in the will. Yippee.
Elmhurst is lovely; and, it is impossible to get depressed at Oakbrook. Unless you're poor.
It was that old mall on Rt 38 in St. Charles where the old people walk around in the morning before they have their coffee and talk about genetically modified corn seeds.
The mall is definitely the one in Schaumburg, by the Ikea.
My grandma is like that with ducks.
Also, my head totally hurts just trying to wrap my head around how much "over thinking" Balk must do on a daily basis.
This should perk your ass up: http://rlv.zcache.com/beary_cheery_cheerleading_bear_photosculpture-p153550220274927974tro3_210.jpg
If you're in a mood like this [and some days you/one are/is], then tell yourself the horrible stories and cry or drink or whatever! Cathartic!
Then the next day you can be in a better mood. And to anyone who says stories like the one Balk just wrote don't happen daily--verbatim--I call bullshit. They totes do. Also, I am not one of these 'perk yourself up' fellas. Some days just suck and blow at the same time and all you can do is wait them out.
G-d bless you, Mister Balk. So articulate and melancholy.
You should also listen to U2's October during these days.
You don't have to be immersed in the depths of despair to work here, but it helps!
Every once in a while you just read something that is truly gorgeous. This is one of those times.
So what did you order at Bennigans?
The first scenario made me cry a little at work. The second one annoyed me, because there's no need for the kid to die. That's just excessively maudlin and in no way implied the the pencil holder itself.
This isn't sad, per se, but your story reminded me of my story. Years ago I was working at a global, faceless . . . oh, what the heck, they layed me off after 31 years of service last February, I can say the name - it was IBM. Anyway I was working at IBM back when most of we workers at the lab sat together in the computer lab to get our work done, because the lab is where the 'terminals' were and PCs were not yet invented.
This was also back when we shared a feeling of camaraderie instead of being isolated and fearful and mostly working from home so we wouldn't have to face coming to the dismal, dreary office but that is besides the point.
Back to the point, we had an office supply cabinet upstairs from the lab stocked full of all sorts of office supplies for all of us to use whenever we wanted, and this supply included pens. I would bring two pens to my table when I was working in the lab, and sometime during the day not one but both of my pens would go missing. This happened every day.
I'd go upstairs and get a couple more pens but I became frustrated at this so I started an experiment.
One morning I took a box of pens, probably 24 of them, down to the lab and set those out. They lasted longer, but they did not last the week, so then I decided to see if the demand for lab pens was infinite, or is it was possible to actually satiate the apparently huge demand for lab pens.
I continued to bring a box of pens down to the lab and replace the box when the last pen was gone, and I determined that for our lab the steady state requirement for pens was 127 pens, give or take five, with a loss rate of about one pen a day.
I suppose I could have suggested we put a supply cabinet in the lab itself but where is the fun in that?