Last night I was waiting for a comedy show to start. Sitting in the audience.

I wanted to take written notes during the show. To remember the sketches. For my Sketch Writing class.

Rushing out of my house earlier, I could not find a notebook. I did find a blank “Thank You” card. I took the card out of my purse. Felt around the bottom of the purse for a pen. Loose quarters and my car key. No pen. I forgot a pen.

A man and woman sat next to me. They were behind me online outside. Now sitting to my right. She had her right hand on his left thigh. A romantic couple.
Ask the woman if she has a pen, I told myself.
I sat in silence for five minutes. Thinking about how the interaction would go.

She will have a pen. Give it to me. And that’s it.
She will not have a pen. Say, ‘Sorry’ and I’ll ask someone else.
She will have a pen. We will become lifelong friends. And reminisce about the day I asked her for a pen. Saying, “Thank goodness I asked you for a pen.” “Imagine if I didn’t ask for the pen? Our lives would be so different. Now you are my Maid of Honor on my wedding day.”

I turned my head right and smiled.

“Excuse me, do either one of you have a pen I could borrow?” I asked.

The girl looked at me.

“A bun?” she asked. “You are asking if we have a bun?”

I laughed. “Yes. A bun to eat,” I said. Going along with the joke.

“No, a pen,” I said. Emphasizing the word pen.

“You had your hand by your mouth, that’s why I thought you asked for a bun.”

I did have my hand by my mouth. The way a chef kisses his hand and shakes it if he/she thinks the meal tastes good.

She unzipped her backpack. Pulled out a shiny blue and silver pen.

“Here you go,” she said. Handing me the pen. “It’s a really nice pen.”

I held it up. The pen was heavy. And engraved.

“It is a nice pen. I can see my reflection in it,” I said.

“I am embarrassed to use [the pen] because it is from my plastic surgeon,” she told me.

“Oh,” I said smiling. Not sure how to react. I wanted to ask her what procedure she got done at the plastic surgeon. But did not ask.

“I will treat the pen nicely,” I reassured her.

I took notes with the pen the entire hour long show.

Filling up the “Thank You” card with penmanship.

The show ended.

Lights came up.

“Thank you,” I said to the girl. Giving her back the pen.

She saw the “Thank You” card in my hand.

“Is that card for me?” She asked.

“Uh,” I said, “yes.”

Slowly handing her the note.

“Thank you for the pen.”

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