As good an excuse as any | Dull pencils and raggedy shoes drive a writer to distraction
Now that the mid-term elections are behind us, we can all get back to the important things we were doing before politicians interrupted with their rallies, robocalls, endless speeches and angry, negative radio and television ads. The thing is, I can’t remember what those important things were, exactly.
Ever notice how easily you can be distracted when there’s something you have to do and deep down you don’t want to do it? And if you can be distracted by a horde of politicians, there’s probably nothing that won’t distract you.
I once had something important to write and managed to convince myself that there was no way I could get serious and write anything worth reading while there was a mug filled with dull pencils sitting on my desk staring at me. What kind of a writer would I be if I let that situation continue? Trouble is, before I could sharpen the pencils, I had to drive to an office supply place and get a new pencil sharpener. The reason all my pencils were unsharpened was because my old sharpener was broken.
While getting ready to leave, I noticed that my sneakers weren’t looking too good and I thought, “How can I write anything decent while wearing my ragged old sneakers?” In the past, I’ve tried taking my sneakers off and writing in my stocking feet, but I’ve learned that no one ever wrote anything decent while in stocking feet.
So, I convinced myself that the only way to get back to writing was to go to an office supply store for a pencil sharpener and then go to the New Balance outlet in Oxford and get myself a nice new pair of sneakers.
The decision became a tad complicated because before I could go anywhere, I had to go to my bank’s ATM and punch out a few $20 bills for the sharpener and the shoes. Then I figured I should also fill my tank while I was running around doing important things. My writing would just have to wait.
At the first branch with an ATM, they were fussing with their machine and had a sign saying it was “temporarily” out of order. Rather than drive all over town looking for an ATM that was “in order,” I drove back to my office, went online and called a few branches to see who had an ATM that was ready to dispense money.
Friends often ask, “John, why don’t you use a credit card or debit card instead of fooling around with old-fashioned ATMs?” Fact is, I’ve always preferred cash, no matter how out of fashion it’s become. My first choice is bartering but that’s become even more unfashionable than cold, hard cash.
Anyway, once I found a working ATM and got my fistful of money, I headed to a nearby gas station. I make a point of going to one of the few full-service stations still operating so I won’t get gasoline all over my hands. I also wanted to have someone check my oil before I went shopping for the pencil sharpener and footwear.
After filling my tank and doing the dipstick routine, the cheerful attendant came around to my window and asked when I last had my oil changed. I, of course, had no idea. He said, “I’d say from the looks of this oil that you need an oil change something awful.”
So, I paid for my gas and headed next to one of those quick-change oil places and got in line. Did you know that those places not only drain your old oil, pour in fresh oil and give you a new oil filter, but — according to the sign in the waiting room — they also make sure all your belts and hoses are in good shape and make sure all the fluid levels are right where they’re supposed to be?
Maybe I wasn’t getting my writing done, but the things that were getting done were very important. Now that I had a full tank of fuel and fresh oil in my engine block and had been assured that my belts and hoses were fine and my fluid levels were fabulous, I could drive around and complete my other errands in total confidence.
I had a few difficulties at the New Balance store and a few issues arose at the office supply place, but eventually I was ready to return home with new sneakers, sharpen all my dull pencils and get back to work. In fact, it wasn’t until a few days later that I finally got back to writing. I can’t say how the piece turned out, but no matter how bad it was at least I couldn’t blame my footwear or my pencils.
John McDonald, an author, humorist and storyteller who performs throughout New England, can be reached at mainestoryteller@yahoo.com. Read more of John’s columns here.
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