When I was a tween, I used to write in green ink.
At the time, there were only four colors generally available, at least from Bic, at least at the drug store that was within biking distance. Those were blue, black, red, and green. I couldn’t write in red for obvious reasons, and I didn’t want to write in blue or black.
That left green.
I would collect up whatever coins I could, usually pennies, and then when I had enough saved up, I would bike to the drug store and buy another green pen.
On one occasion, the clerk tried to refuse me entirely because I had a bag of pennies and they didn’t want to count them out, but they grumbled, took the money, let me have my pen, and went on with it.
I never bought a pen from that drug store, ever again. It was still open for quite a few years, but I was so offended that my perfectly good money wasn’t acceptable there. And I was ashamed.
It was a common lesson I got as a child: My oddities weren’t appreciated by others. My teachers weren’t fond of my green ink, and some of them refused my work because of it. That seems so odd now, with the rainbow of ink colors readily available, but back then, it was a fairly tricolor world.
The clerk who tried to refuse my money appeared to be a college student trying to make some extra money, but I don’t know. I’ll never know now, although they’re probably still out there in the world somewhere, in their 60s. I’m sure they’ve long forgotten the weird kid who would buy green ballpoint pens with bags full of pennies.
Or maybe they’re out there somewhere blogging about it.
But… probably the first thing.