An exploded pen, and an interaction afterwards.

The other week, I was commuting in to work at my one private client's house, and I took a pen out of my bookbag in order to write up my to-do list for the coming week.

All of a sudden, then, I notice a black smear on the back of the envelope that I was using for my list, and I lift up my pen to look at it, as I notice that my hand is all smeared up with the same black ink from my pen, which I guess had gotten cracked up somehow and broken in my backpack, to the point where all the black ink would leak out.

So, I set it down on the floor of the subway car so I wouldn't get dirty anymore, and so I could pick it up carefully when I got off to go and throw it out, so some employee for the public transit company wouldn't have to go and do it like I was some slob or something.

And, so I could use my phone to read news articles and whatnot, I rubbed my hands all together, to spread the ink out so that it would dry quicker, so I could use my hands until I finally got to my client's house and I could go wash my hands there.

Finally, when I did get there, I washed my hands, but little bits of ink remained on my nails and on the side of my right hand, where I guess I hadn't washed carefully enough.

When I saw my client, then, I raised up my hands and was like, "Just so you know, my pen broke on the ride here and I got ink all over my hands, I wasn't finger-f*cking a chimney sweep or anything like that."

. . .

She liked that joke, she has a dirty sense of humor.