I don’t know about you, but I can not remember a time in my life when I used up a pen’s whole ink cartridge.
Every time I get a new package of pens, I either end up giving them away, losing them or not buying them in the first place, because honestly, who buys packages of pens in high school?
There are only two options: they end up on the floor, or they implode in on themselves.
Upon further investigation, I learned most teachers will pick up pens and put them in a cliched mug for students to use, but that only equates to about 17 percent of the missing pen population.
What happens to the remainder?
The late night janitors, that’s what. Every day, countless writing utensils end up on the floor and every morning, they are gone. The only people picking them up between those hours is the custodial crew. Using logical deduction, we can assume that they are hoarding them.
I have spent precious senior class time looking for the legendary pen room. I’ve used everything from ink detectors to drug cats: nothing has worked. My suspicions have lead me to none other then the new outside building.
Next week, I will explore my theory and see if I can’t get my hands on their inky stash. But as for now, I can hear the waxer zamboni around the corner, so I should go.
