At the end of the DC show last summer, John Hall and I had packed up all of our stuff on Sunday and were enjoying some last-minute shopping before heading home. That’s when I found this one:
I didn’t want to buy it.
Even though that blue plastic is really sharp, complete with that chasing. I had a good reason to resist, but in the end I was powerless to do so. It wasn’t that I had something against fantastic oversized 1920s flattop pencils – obviously. My reluctance came more from feeling like I was throwing good money after bad.
A couple years ago, one of these came up in an online auction. I bid an overly healthy sum because I was so enamored with it. However, when it arrived, I was disappointed to discover that the clip was loose. It didn’t affect the function of the pencil, since I had no intent to carry this one around in my pocket, but it was noticeable enough to me that I knew I’d overpaid for it. Whether it was disclosed and I missed it or whether it wasn’t disclosed, I felt the same – standing on a razor’s edge trying to decide whether the defect was serious enough to send it back.
In the end, I couldn’t bear to send it back. It was just too nice otherwise.
So when this one came along, I had mixed feelings. I didn’t want to buy the same pencil a second time, even though this one cost about half what I paid for the first one. On the other hand, since this one is perfect, with a nice, tight clip and nothing to distract me from enjoying it, I’d be able to remove that other piece of poor judgment from my display, sell it for whatever I could get for it and move on.
Unfortunately, when I got home and went to replace the old with the new . . .
Guess that other one is going to stay in my collection a little while longer. And I guess I don’t mind it so much now, either.