Jenny + Max 4Ever

I hung out at my boyfriend’s place this weekend. His name is Max. Actually, that’s his last name, but that’s what I like to call him. His full name is OfficeMax. We met quite a few years ago, when I was in college. We’re not dating each other exclusively, but I see him at least once a month. Usually when I need something. Does that sound bad? I don’t know, I guess it works for us.
I’ve actually been seeing more and more of Max lately. This is our favorite time of year right now – the sweltering heat of summer is about to end, leaves will soon begin changing color, there’s a certain crispness to the air that signals the beginning of fall. And most of all, I love it because it’s a very special time of the year for Max and me – he likes to call it the Back-to-School Sale.
When I was a kid, I would get so excited as the new school year began, not at the thought of seeing old friends, or making new ones, and certainly not at the prospect of learning something new. No, what got me more thrilled than anything else was when we would finally receive the school supply list, and my mom would take me to K-Mart to buy my supplies for the year. There were crayons, lunch boxes, rulers, and pens. And as I got older, I needed a compass, a calculator, a back pack, and binders!
Back-to-School was like a religious holiday to me – the most sacred time of the year. This was the one and only time when school supplies would finally get the respect they deserved. Front page placement in the Sunday circulars. Special signage in the entry of every store directing customers to the right aisles. For once, school supplies would leave their tiny trailer park excuse for an aisle, wedged unceremoniously between generic greeting cards and duct tape, and for a few glorious weeks, they would get to live in the penthouse suite of the department store. Three full aisles with end caps devoted solely to meeting my Back-to-School needs!
As I got older, my love for school supplies never waned. It just blossomed, really. But now I call them office supplies to reflect our more mature relationship. In fact, if I could own any kind of store in the whole wide world, it would be an office supply store. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to be able to walk down the aisles after hours, and just know that everything there was mine. Although, I guess it technically wouldn’t all be mine, because I’d need to sell it in order to make money to keep the store open.
I wonder if it would bother me to see people buying up all of my office supplies. I’d have to keep ordering more and more, and strangers would just keep taking them all away. And I’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate the supplies the way that I do. They’d just hound me with questions about why I didn’t have any highlighters that were cheaper than $0.79 each, and why Liquid Paper only came in packs of three. And then I’d have to sink to the lowest common denominator and stock fruit-scented glitter gel pens for all the tweeners who think it’s cool to write boys notes that smell like strawberry.
Boy, I guess owning a store is really a lot of work, and it seems like you have to compromise your ideals in order to turn a profit. I don’t know, maybe what I meant to say is that if I could rob any kind of store in the whole wide world, it would be an office supply store. That’s probably a more realistic goal. But of course, I’d never do that because prison orange really washes out my skin tone, and I highly doubt I’d have access to top-shelf office supplies in Cell Block H.
I know it’s kind of a weird thing to be so passionate about, but if loving the feel of a Uni-ball Vision Exact Medium Point pen in my hands is a crime, then lock me up and throw away the key. I mean, I’m more likely to notice the kind of pen someone is writing with than their hair color or facial features. I guess it’s just more important to me. Anyone can have a winning smile, but pull out an Ultra Fine Point Sharpie to sign your check at the grocery store and my heart is yours forever. Whip out a Bic disposable blue ink pen with teeth marks on the end, however, and you might as well just keep your phone number. Trust me – I’ll never call.
So some people call me eccentric, some call me a snob, but I really don’t care. I just tell them that I know what I want, and right now, Max has everything I need.

Comments are closed.