Could i borrow your pen, please?

I try to keep myself busy by looking at the phone that doesn't ring and then scribble some rubbish on the paper nearby. The man standing before me refuses to take the cue and just keeps on hanging. Oh my...should i or should i not? My dilemma deepens and i look up at him trying to put up a stern face, that never comes so easily to me...Even the dumbest of the dumb men would look at my stern serious face and feel like giggling! This one looked smart and i knew he wouldn't budge. And he shoots his question, that question i have dreaded the past two minutes- "Madam, can i have your pen?" Gritting my teeth, i make a wry face and hand him over my pen gingerly. He accepts it gratefully. I check on how he writes, he holds it carefully and starts writing. Thank God, his nails are properly trimmed. Hallelujah! His hand is neat.


He seems to be engrossed in his writing and finally looks up and slowly moves the pen to his mouth. Oh no! I almost shriek in silence,  but the nut case chews the tip of my pen...MY PEN, absently. I glare at him, which he fails to notice as always. He chews quarter of an inch before he fills up his application form and by that time, i am resigned to my fate, THAT pen is going into the dustbin. He says a meek ' thank you' and hands my pen over. I use my 'tissue' paper and pick it up after he is gone, chuck it in the dustbin and take out my new pen. Reynolds has been showing profits all these years just because of  me! 

I hate to lend pens and i try my level best to say a NO when people ask for pens in the counter. I am not that unhelpful, but i just can't bear it to see my pen being chewed upon, used to scratch the back, scratch the head and once, clean the ears! My strict policy is " Say NO to lend a pen". I found myself in a tragic situation once, in a nationalised bank. I went to deposit some money and promptly took a pay in slip. Only when i looked up in my bag did i find out that i had forgot it back at home. I tried to borrow from the person standing next in the queue and he showed me a pen hanging in front of the counter. Thanking him and my lucky stars, i headed to the counter where the pen hung. 


All of my five feet frame could not reach the pen how much ever i jumped! I cursed my forefathers who were short, my PET master who didn't teach me high jump properly and my short heeled slippers. The pen was hanging from the countertop tied with a tight string, which might have been heavier than an iron chain. As i tried to pull it down, the string snapped and the pen fell on the floor. I could feel atleast a hundred eyes watching me and as i picked it up and tried to write, it refused to write, as anticipated. I shook it vigorously, blew it from the back and even tried to hit it- Sardarji ishcooter style, it refused to budge. Damn! I muttered a silent curse when Mr. Right arrived from nowhere. He looked at me and advised, " Madam, the pen is for everyone's use, don't take it for yourself". That is when i exploded, " As if it writes!" Mr Right glared at me and picked it up to write. Smiling sweetly, i left the bank as Mr Right was jumping, shaking and blowing...trying to make the pen write!


I have been wondering of late, why don't people keep a pen in their shirt pockets and women in their handbags...The next time you approach the lady at the counter asking for a pen...remember you are asking for trouble with a Capital T!