Editing The Pen Addict 336/transcript (section)

== Listener Email Transition ==


'''Brad Dowdy:''' Let's put that one in the parking lot. And I'm going to read you this email from my good friend, Emil.

'''Myke Hurley:''' Okay.

'''Brad Dowdy:''' It happened some years ago. Can I just say the storytelling of our listeners is amazing?

'''Myke Hurley:''' I really like that people are writing these stories. It makes our job a lot easier, right? Because we don't have to fluff them up. This is very good. Please keep writing. If you're going to send them in, be as creative as you want. I love it. Like, the 13th of September happened. It's brilliant. I love it. Just go wild with it. This is it, right? Like, I feel like you have a better chance, the more dramatic the story is, right? You have a better chance of getting into the Hall of Fame. But remember, true stories only.

'''Brad Dowdy:''' It happened some years ago, Myke. I was sitting at my desk, anxious at thoughts of an upcoming hike. Should I go light? Should I turn into a beast of burden? I'm already quite a donkey. But the most important issue, what kind of stationery should I throw into my bag? After settling on pens, I went to my ink drawer and pondered some more. But nothing inspired me. Finally, I went for platinum violet. It was sitting in ink cartridges. But since I've given away all my platinum pens, I had no use for it. Harvesting the ink seemed like the reasonable thing to do. So I sat down with a spare container and started sucking out the ink. I fumbled for a bit and took a short break, moving all the stationary stuff to the sides of my desk. After a while, I went back to it. I reached, not looking, to the right side of my desk to grab my tools and felt a short, stingy sensation. When I turned my head, I realized what I've done. A now empty syringe dangled from my palm with a needle piercing my skin. I, in my eternal wisdom, left the syringe standing up on its plunger, needle up. So when I tried to grab it, I went sharp point first. And the pressure and weight of my hand made me, A, stab myself. And B, inject my palm with two milliliters of a decent violet ink. I didn't die, but my entire hike, my hand sent a constant reminder, making a burst of shooting pain, that yes, I am an idiot. P.S., you still cannot get blunt needles in Poland. That sound you make is what I made the first time I read this. This is the first one that made my jaw drop as I read it. I was going, oh, oh, oh, God, I had to read this. Then I had to read it again to, like, grasp what happened. So, like, he was working, filling these, you know, sucking out the ink of these cartridges and left the needle standing up on its end. And in the U.S., you can get blunt tip needles. Doing this type of work with a traditional needle is not only scary, it's dangerous. And Emil found that out. Oh, my God. Like, I, this one made me, like, exclaim, like, out loud. Like, ugh. Like, I don't even know that I'm comfortable putting it in the Hall of Fame because I'd have to tell it again. Like, it, this one, like, moved me in an uncomfortable manner.
'''Brad Dowdy:''' Maybe that's because it needs to go in the Hall of Fame. I don't know what to do here. This one freaked me out on a different level.

'''Myke Hurley:''' I think it's.

'''Brad Dowdy:''' So, how does that, how does that compare to the rolling over the nib in the bed story?

'''Myke Hurley:''' Sorry, Andy, you've been beaten out by this. Like, you know, you got, you just, like, poached yourself. Emil straight up ejected himself. I think it's gotta, I think it's got to. This is. Because there was ink in the syringe. That's why. Right? And it's a sharp needle, which you shouldn't do. Like, you know, Emil, he knows better. If Emil stabbed himself, right, that's terrible. The fact that Emil injected himself with platinum violet, that's gotta be it. It's gotta be it.

'''Brad Dowdy:''' Right? Like, I mean, I've stabbed myself, I've stuck myself, I've never, like, injected myself. And I see how this happened.

'''Myke Hurley:''' Like, this could have been legit dangerous. Yeah. Right? I feel like it's got to. I feel like it's got to. I don't know how many more stories we're really gonna get that have legit human peril in them. Right?

'''Brad Dowdy:''' This one does. I think it's in. I think it's in. This is the first one they got, like, a visceral reaction from me. Wow. Like, oh my god. Wow. And it's bad. Please don't do this. Please use your blunt needles, folks.

'''Myke Hurley:''' So we should say, Emil and David, they need to email you, right? Yeah. To get their t-shirts. Yeah.

'''Brad Dowdy:''' So we'll do that. Wow. Yeah. That one moved me in a not good way.

'''Myke Hurley:''' Wow. All right. I've got the last one today. Let's see how we're gonna finish up today. Wow. Brad, I can't believe that. That's wild.

'''Myke Hurley:''' He injected himself. Wow. Wow. Wow. Okay. Okay. Matthew. Matthew writes. In 1986, I started studying the School of Architecture at Mississippi State University. My first day in the studio, we were instructed to get a radiograph pen, preferably a .35. I didn't know what this was, and I had to ask at the art supply store. I learned that they came in multiple widths, but were kind of expensive, so I just got one. A Rotring .35. Some of my classmates got full sets, though. Over the next two years, I added a few more Rotrings for wider and thinner lines. In my fourth year, one of the local art stores had a huge sale. They offered a set of Koh-i Noor's at a price that was too good to pass up. I bought it on a Saturday. It was a beautiful set with seven full pens, two small disassembly discs, and a bottle of ink. It all came in a clamshell case that had a clear plastic hinged lid with little push tabs on the side. I still remember opening and closing the case in my dorm room. The next day, I decided to bring the set to the studio to keep in my desk. I packed it in my messenger bag and got on my road bike to ride across campus. The last driveway I crossed before getting to the architecture building was at the bottom of a hill. I flew across it, cut over the sidewalk, and started up the hill when I hit a huge bump in the pavement. I was used to this bump and had crossed it many times. This time, though, the Velcro on my messenger bag came loose and the bag ejected the pen case. It landed in the road right near the gutter. I jumped off my bike, dropped my bag, and went to reach it into the street. When I heard a car coming from my left, I pulled back and watched helplessly. The driver must have seen me reaching into the street, though, because the car did veer left a little, but the back tire still hit the case. The case bounced a little. It looked cracked, but everything still seemed pretty much intact. I went to reach it again. That's when I heard the second car. The second car driver did not have the acute sense of awareness of the first driver and proceeded to barrel through right over the pen case, catching it with both tires. In my mind, I can still see the parts bouncing in the air and off the pavement. Some landed in the gutter. Some strewn across the asphalt. I was then able to retrieve the remnants, dumping them in my bag. Once in the studio, I surveyed the damage. The beautiful case was completely destroyed. All but two of the barrels were crushed flat. Most of the tips were still usable, but some of the small collars and ink reservoirs were also crushed. The remaining parts were riddled with pockmarks from the road debris and gravel bits. Somehow, the bottle of ink was untouched. I did use the pen somewhat over the years, but the luster was gone. Always having to swap barrels was tedious. They were all loose bits in my case, and the pens just never seemed to work that well. I continued to use and still have my three rotarings. I also still have two of the Coen oils with the two barrels. I hung on to the remaining points, too, but the last time I saw them was about two years ago, when I'd given them to my then five-year-old son to play with. This is good.

'''Brad Dowdy:''' So this one, yeah, this is good. This one resonates with me because in the mid-'80s, this set of pens was everything for a college student in architecture or engineering. Like, this was like buying your $400 textbook that you don't need, right? This is like it for someone of this age going to school at the time for your design work. And the importance of this set is not lost on me because I grew up during this time, even though I was a little bit after that in college. But, like, I knew these are the pens, like, I would go to the bookstore and look at through the glass case and know I could never buy because there were, like, $30 a pen. And you'd end up with, like, a whole set of these pens. And it was just crazy. I'm glad he didn't lose a hand or an arm reaching for them, but I probably would have done the same thing, right? This was a very expensive, important tool at the time. And I believe that's why Matthew remembers this tale so vividly. Like, I would, too. Like, I remember these types of things because, you know, for things that were very important to me, like this set of pens. I don't think it's a Hall of Fame case, but it's such a relatable story to me personally. Like, I get it. Like, this was a big, big deal because of the time and what this product was and what it was being used for and, you know, how important it was to his studies. So it's a crazy story. I don't think it's a Hall of Fame story, though.