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The Life of an Inanimate Object (Part III: Store Shelves)

posted Feb 17, 2017, 11:49 AM by Jeffrey Wolf

By: Megan Cichon, Entertainment Editor

Posted February 17th, 2017

Part III: Store Shelves

“Goodbye!” Preston shouted as a muscular man lifted our box up and carried us outside.

The amount of sunlight outside was blinding. I squinted, and could make out a baby blue sky spotted with puffy white clouds.

“It’s so beautiful,” a pencil next to me remarked, and I nodded in agreement.

Suddenly, the sky vanished, and was replaced by another dirty ceiling.

“Is that the new shipment?” Someone asked.

“Yeah,” the burly man holding us replied, “‘Bout time we got this. We’ve only been waiting for six weeks...”

“I’ll get it on the shelves right now,” a lady said, and she took us from the muscular man.

She walked quickly away and out a set of doors. The ceiling in this room was much cleaner. I heard tons of talking, and squeaking wheels.

“Momma, can I get this toy?!” A young voice squealed.

“Honey, I don’t know what type of oil your car takes,” a woman mocked.

“Do you think grandma would like this sweater in purple or black?” A man wondered.

There was so much going on; it was difficult to take it all in. I shut my eyes and tried to block out all of the noise. And then I felt my individual pencil box be picked up. I opened my eyes, and the lady looked at my box with lazy eyes. The other pencils and I stayed silent, fearful of what would happen next. Then she plopped us on a metal shelf and reached for another pencil pack.

“What’s she doing?” I wondered.

“Who cares what she’s doing?” One pencil replied, “Where are we?”

I looked around. Bright signs advertising low prices were everywhere. Across from me were pens, notebooks, papers, folders, scissors...office supplies.

“Preston said we were going to a superstore,” a pencil remarked, “That must be where we are...a superstore.”

“Doesn’t look that super to me,” I muttered.

The lady dropped a few more pencil packs on the shelf next to me and then gathered our shipment box and walked away.

“Now what do we do?” One pencil inquired.

An old lady turned into our aisle and stopped in front of us. She grabbed the pencil pack next to us and walked away, humming contently to herself.

“We wait to be purchased I think.”

A young man turned into our aisle and turned to observe the notebooks. His hands were in his pockets and he was nervously tapping his foot. He grabbed a notebook and flipped through it. Seeming pleased, he tucked it under his arm and walked over by us. He was muttering to himself.

“Pencils...notebooks...new eraser...hole puncher...binder...plastic binder sleeves...printer ink...red pens...flash drives...”

“Oh my gosh,” a pencil in another box sneered, “He’s talking to himself. He must be insane.”

He reached forwards and grabbed my box. A few of us groaned in displeasure, and I just watched his sneakers move as he walked around the store, muttering the entire time.

“Pencils...notebook...new eraser...hole puncher...”