Let me preface this by stating the obvious: IT WAS ONLY A PEN. A red, G2 gel pen purchased by me. Even though I left in on my desk during muster, the pen was still mine. I bought it, I owned it. If someone wished to borrow it, they could have asked. But noooo, that’s not how this story goes…
1445 hrs. We’re having muster. Roll call, releases not getting released in a timely manner, etc.
Approximately 1500 hrs. I’m back at my desk, putting the court returns on a movement list. I pull their files, then settle in to write up the releases. I notice my pen is missing. I check my whole desk over. I open the drawers, I look down at the floor, I check my pockets. No red pen.
I look outside of my cubicle. No red pen.
I start walking around the office, glancing at each cubicle, checking people as I walk by. I ask, not too loudly, if anyone has seen my red pen. No answer.
I glance at one of the booking cubicles. “Florita” is writing up citation as she’s chatting with “Crystal.” I notice that “Florita” is using a red pen. Looks like my red pen. But I can’t be sure. I also note that next to her is another red pen, one with a white barrel.
I go back to my cubicle, annoyed now. No, angry. I ask again, louder. “Has anyone seen my red pen?” Still no answer. I pick up my blue pen, which is exactly like the red pen, only blue. I start to head back to “Florita’s” cubicle.
“Crystal” stops me as I’m rounding the corner. She whispers that “Florita” has a red pen. I hold up my blue pen and ask, “Did it look like this one, only red?” “Crystal” nods. Now I am very angry.
When I stop by “Florita’s” desk, she’s using a red pen, but the ballpoint red pen with the white barrel. I point blank ask her if she’s seen a pen like the blue one in my hand. She says no. I ask her again. She says no again. I tell her that I saw her writing with a red pen that looked like my pen. She tells me that I’m mistaken, that maybe I saw her with a different pen. She pulls another red pen out of her purse, but it ran out of ink, she tells me.
I walk away, frustrated. Then I remember that she was writing cite when I saw her. I head to the records officer’s desk. I find the cite. The ink on the folder is gel ink, not ballpoint ink. I go back to “Florita” and ask her what pen she used to write the cite. She tells me that she didn’t take my pen.
“It’s only a pen,” I keep telling myself. But I have to tell the Sgt. I find him in the break room and I tell him that I have a problem. I preface it by saying that yes, it’s only a pen, but… And I explain it to him. “Crystal” walks in and closes the door and backs up my story of seeing the pen in “Florita’s” hand. The Sgt tells me to check out my desk again and “Crystal” offers to check “Florita’s” desk.
We don’t find the pen. The Sgt comes by a few minutes later and says, “Short of looking in her purse, I can’t do anything about it.”
I understand.
Really I do.
But I reflect on my conversation with “Florita.” I remember her reddening face and the defensive denial. Was it because I was targeting her? Or was it her guilt? I remember how she tried to deflect my questions by suggesting that outside agency officers might have taken it from my desk.
The records officer stops by my desk and we talk a little. He tells me that “Florita” went to his desk and tried to explain why she couldn’t have been the one who took my pen. Now tell me, why would you defend yourself if you didn’t do anything?
Did I get all worked up because of a mere pen? No. I got upset, and I’m still upset, because I work for a law enforcement agency and I can’t even trust my fellow co-workers enough to leave my personal things out in my workspace. How utterly disappointing. And frustrating. And just plain sad.
And here’s another thought. It’s a pen today. What will it be tomorrow?
