Trip to the Fountain Pen Hospital to Buy Jack a Fountain Pen
My 12yo nephew Jackson started talking about fountain pens, which I took as a personal triumph. So it was with great pride that I marched down to the Fountain Pen Hospital the Saturday before Christmas.
My mission: buy the kid a fountain pen he'd remember long after he lost it.
I told the sales guy at the Fountain Pen Hospital that I wanted the shiniest, most golden fountain pen they had in stock. My nephew enjoys treasures that have the distinct look of treasure.
(When I told Wanda about my shopping trip later, she complimented my prowess. "Way to know your audience," she said.)
Don't get me wrong, I qualified my price point to the FPH sales guy. They have pens in that place that cost more than my car.
The sales guy replied, "For that price point ... ummm .... you can't get real gold."
Ha ha, yeah. I pretended to look crestfallen.
Nah, I wish I had the presence of mind to look crestfallen. In reality I rolled my eyeballs like a champion eyeball roller. Which I happen to be.
The eye ball roll must have sealed our pact, because from then on, me and the Sales Guy were a solid team. We wandered around the store together while he produced an array of pens that might meet my criteria.
"The pen also needs to come in a fancy box of course," I added to my requirements.
"Of course," said the sales guy.
We were totally on the same page.
When I saw the Kaweco pen, I knew it was perfect. First of all, the box:
And get a load of the pen:
It was like Christmas morning when Jackson opened up the pen. Then again, it was Christmas morning. He immediately whipped the pen out of the box and started writing with it -- in painstaking cursive. They don't learn cursive in school these days so it's like arcane and ancient hieroglyphics for the Gen-Z set.
When I couldn't take it anymore, I said, "Jack, you know you don't have to write in cursive. It's not a fountain pen requirement."
He sat back and looked at me like I'd just revealed a secret to the universe.
It was faster going from that point forward.
To round out the gift, I'd also gotten Jack a little notebook. Later on, he came up to me and said, "Aunt Stacey, do you know what I wrote in my notebook?"
"No," I replied.
"I wrote, 'I love this pen.'"
Bring me a hankie.
My mission: buy the kid a fountain pen he'd remember long after he lost it.
I told the sales guy at the Fountain Pen Hospital that I wanted the shiniest, most golden fountain pen they had in stock. My nephew enjoys treasures that have the distinct look of treasure.
(When I told Wanda about my shopping trip later, she complimented my prowess. "Way to know your audience," she said.)
Don't get me wrong, I qualified my price point to the FPH sales guy. They have pens in that place that cost more than my car.
The sales guy replied, "For that price point ... ummm .... you can't get real gold."
Ha ha, yeah. I pretended to look crestfallen.
Nah, I wish I had the presence of mind to look crestfallen. In reality I rolled my eyeballs like a champion eyeball roller. Which I happen to be.
The eye ball roll must have sealed our pact, because from then on, me and the Sales Guy were a solid team. We wandered around the store together while he produced an array of pens that might meet my criteria.
"The pen also needs to come in a fancy box of course," I added to my requirements.
"Of course," said the sales guy.
We were totally on the same page.
When I saw the Kaweco pen, I knew it was perfect. First of all, the box:
 |
| An embossed metal box! |
 |
| Golden as all hell. Also, sporty. |
When I couldn't take it anymore, I said, "Jack, you know you don't have to write in cursive. It's not a fountain pen requirement."
He sat back and looked at me like I'd just revealed a secret to the universe.
It was faster going from that point forward.
To round out the gift, I'd also gotten Jack a little notebook. Later on, he came up to me and said, "Aunt Stacey, do you know what I wrote in my notebook?"
"No," I replied.
"I wrote, 'I love this pen.'"
Bring me a hankie.
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