Why it's better to buy locally

In our house, 2005 was the year of Bionicles, Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince (purchased like all the other Harry Potter books and unread) and A Series of Unfortunate Events (purchased, started and TK and Sutchy lost interest).  It was also a year of Beyblade Tazo Topz and a character named Koya Yamareto, the namesake of our youngest child whose first name is actually Koya Kibbim.  

     For me, 2005 was the year I discovered online stationery shopping at Office Works and I remember the joy of ordering 100 Bic ballpoint pens, a small distraction from the violent nausea I experienced in late pregnancy.  Buying pens online was far more cost-effective than paying 60 cents for each Kilometrico pen from Col Jones Newsagency.
     This is how 2005 became the year of spit balls. 
     I remember this because my sons took most of my Bic pens for critical spit ball parts, no doubt supplying their friends.  You see to make an effective spit ball weapon you need two things.  Firstly, a disembowelled ball point pen and Bic pens are the premium choice for young spit ball manufacturers. Remember to saw off the smaller end with a steak knife.  Secondly, small pieces of paper that are then chewed to a pulp and inserted in one end of the hollowed pen.  When the user blows, with great force through the other end, the spit ball is propelled at high speed.  This provides hours of entertainment for young boys which is good for a busy mum with a newborn and two year old to care for.

     Since we had two sons, then aged 9 and 7, we had double the spit balls flying around.  The boys discovered the more viscous the spit ball was, the longer it could remain attached to a wall.  Of course, they were required to remove the offending material.  
     I was hit by a few spit balls (they hurt) so dispensed the appropriate discipline.  The boys then turned their attentions to their younger sister.  A couple of good hard slaps solved that problem with a terse warning not to go near baby Kibbim.  
     The boys pursued their interest in spit ball warfare and TK even got a detention from firing spit balls at school.  Eventually, the boys lost interest in spit balls and took up kebab stick archery after the wet season arrived and with it, lots of plump tadpoles in gutters and storm water drains.

     However, towards the end of the spit ball epoch, our fax machine stopped working.  I knew the problem wasn’t terminal because the buttons worked, the screen was displayed and faxes could be received.  The only problem was sending faxes; the machine refused to accept the paper.  And what’s more, it was a fairly new machine so there shouldn’t have been any problems.

     I rang Roger (I think that was his name) from Typewriter and Office Supplies in Cairns.  He was a very helpful young man.  We agreed that I’d send the machine down and he’d have a look and if it was fixable, provide a quote.

     A fortnight later, a perplexed Roger rang.

     ‘I’ve found the problem and it was easy to fix,’ he said, but it’s hard to explain.’

     ‘Have a go,’ I said.

     ‘Okay, the machine was fine except the rollers weren’t working when you sent a fax because there was some stuff in there.’

     ‘What was it?’  I was thinking perhaps a dead gecko or cockroach. 

     ‘Um, it was almost like, and this is really weird, taking a small bit of paper and chewing it and then making it into a ball.  It’s gross I know, but do you know what I mean?’

     I looked to the ceiling above my desk in the office.  It was covered with small white lumps.  Spit balls. The fax was positioned right next to my desk.  Some of the spit balls had fallen from the ceiling into the intake part of the fax. 

     ‘T’KIDO!  SUTCHY!’ I screamed.

     ‘Would you like me to debit your visa card?’ said Roger.

     ‘Oh, yes, of course.’  And I quietly choked at the price.  

     It would have been much cheaper to buy 100 Kilometrico pens from Col Jones Newsagency because Kilometrico pens can’t be disembowelled.

     Some of the spit balls are still on the ceiling, eight years later.