I know when you wake up every morning. I know when you leave the house. I know how late you stay up some nights. I know how long it takes for you to make macaroni and cheese in the microwave. And how often you burn it; you need to use me more often. You barely look at me anymore. You’re parents and grandparents looked at me almost daily, but maybe I’m out of date now…an antique. Do you really not use me anymore? I know I can’t be carried around everywhere to do my job, but I’m supposed to be the one used in the house. People add machines like me into little computers, cars, kitchen appliances and heck, even the thing that’s always in your pocket has one of me. I see why you don’t think I’m as useful. I can’t shout to wake you up in the morning or remind you of a friend’s birthday, but I have a presence. I’m even taller than you, so why am I forgotten and left to die. I don’t want to become something akin to the boombox in the corner. I need to be needed! I can feel myself slowing down, little by little, hour by hour. Soon I won’t even be able to move my hands and I’ll just be another decoration against a wall. But it seems like that’s all I’m good for anyways.

I decided to complete the “Monologue of a Household Tool” assignment because I thought it would be a fun idea to look around my room and think about how an object feels when it is used daily or if an object has been ignored or misused for a long time. This assignment can have someone write on completely different sides of the emotional spectrum, shown as a happy, used tool or as a neglected, sour tool. I got my idea of using an old grandfather clock from noticing how common clocks are found in daily life. You have watches, clocks on cell phones, computers and just about everywhere else you go outside of our home. Large grandfather clocks have lost their primary purpose to more convenient devices that are wearable and now they mostly serve as a gateway into the past of how people used to tell time and how impressive the size of the clock feels. I wrote this assignment in Microsoft Word and found the image on Google from TripAdvisor.

I am something that people use daily, the people who own me and ones who I have never seen before. For the majority of the day I sit dark and cold. My perspective of the world is either a wall or someplace dark. My brothers and sisters are all different sizes and colors. Its very hard to pick me up because i weigh tone and am a very odd shape. Sometimes I have buttons, levers, strings or just do my duties on my own. I can be very easy to clean or very difficult if i haven’t been touched in a long long time. I can be a college students best friend if the moment is right. At certain times of the week and day, I  get a lot of action….If I am strapped with the right equipment, I can eat anything…literally almost anything. All you gotta do is press,  pull, tug or move and poof, its gone.

When I saw an assignment that personifies household objects, I just had to complete it. I am one of those people who talks to inanimate objects all the time, especially when I’m frustrated or excited, so the assignment “monologue of a household tool” is right up my alley. Instead of talking to the tool, I had to get into its head (metaphorically: I know these objects aren’t really alive, don’t worry). I wonder if you can guess the tool?

I sit on a shelf in the dark most of the time. My ancestors were used almost daily, but those times have passed. Some days, the door in front of me and pulls me down from the shelf. Very carefully, my owner sets me in the center of the table. My owner towers over me so I can’t see what is happening, but suddenly the top of my head feels warm. I can hear soft music playing in the background, and the lights are turned off. Now I know how my ancestors must have felt on romantic nights like this. Glowing with happiness, I watch my owner and the other human eat dinner and laugh with each other. I don’t even notice that I am shrinking. My owner blows on me, and I can’t see anything anymore. Less than a day later, I end up back on the shelf in the dark.
One sleepy evening, I was just about to fall asleep when I was jerked awake suddenly when my owner grabbed me off my shelf. It was dark outside the cabinet, which is odd for this time of the evening. Barely awake, I glowed for my owner as noises of thunder rolled in the background. I wonder why it is so dark and my owner chose me over the lights. I’m so excited! Maybe the old days are coming back, and I will be loved, and…wait, what? The lights are on again? But I didn’t see my owner turn them on. My heart sinks as my owner blows on me and says, “Finally, the electricity is back.” I’m back on my shelf, almost as tall as the day I was created. I curse the electric lights. Maybe I will be loved some other day.

                   This is what I see

When I sat down to write this monologue it took me a while to know what to write about. What tool should I choose? There are many tools surrounding me in my dorm, but I know which one is missing. Students are not allowed to have candles. Personally, I love candles, so its hard to live without them here. I decided to use this melancholy feeling and flip it on its head for this assignment. I think a candle must feel melancholy when it isn’t used. In my house, candles are only used for two purposes: mood lighting for dinner and extra light when the power goes off. Therefore, I have reimagined these two instances from the candle’s point of view. It occurred to me that candles might not like to be used because they would shrink and eventually wouldn’t exist anymore, but because the whole purpose of a candle is to use it, they are probably not to worried about that fact. Additionally, you may notice that there are no genders attached to the humans in this monologue. That is because candles have no gender, and probably don’t recognize gender in others. However, candles probably do realize the competition from electric lighting leaves them in the dust (or in the dark). As such, my candle spends an inordinate amount of time reminiscing on what it would have been like before electric light, and less time looking around and taking in its surroundings (which are shrouded in shadow anyway).

Monologue of a Household Tool (4 points) 

I’m awake! I’m awake! Woohoo, finally! I thought I would never get to wake up! So, what’s new in the living room today? Oh, it’s just her again. What was her name again, Shannon Mayonaise or something? I have been sitting here on this end table for nearly a month now and she has done nothing except sit around and read. She has had no guests. No surprise visitors. Nothing. I swear, the department store I used to sit in was more interesting than this woman. And that place was just a lousy Macy’s. Some days I wish she would just knock me over, so I could go to the dump and get out of this gloomy apartment. I sit here sleeping all day to save electricity, and when Stella finally comes home and turns me on to wake me up, she just makes herself a sad turkey sandwich with mustard and reads the newspaper or a book. Sometimes she gets letters in the mail, what a thrilling moment that is when she opens the letter to see what news her distant friend is telling her! It is truly the most exciting moments of my week, I am on the edge of my end table.

Oooh, today she is mixing things up. She is eating ham instead of turkey. What a rebel!

Wait, what was that? Something orange just blurred by in the corner of my eye. If only I could turn to catch a better view. AAHH! WHAT IS THAT? Whatever it is, it is now coming straight toward me! It jumped up on the couch and it is inching its way towards me. It’s this fuzzy, orange creature with glowing yellow eyes. It walks with four legs like it owns this room. How savage! This is my living room! It’s coming closer to me! It’s going to attack my shade! SHARON DO SOMETHING TO SAVE ME! Don’t let me sit here defenseless! I take back everything I said about your boring life! You are better than a department store! This monster is going to kill me!

“Come here, Bailey! Leave the lamp alone.” Susanna finally spoke, picking the creature up and bringing it over by her table with her. So it has a name. Bailey. It is some kind of a pet. How interesting… Perhaps today isn’t going to be as boring as I thought it would be. There’s something new in the room. Now that this Bailey is no longer attacking me, it doesn’t look scary after all. It is actually kind of cute, that is if you like orange puff balls. Bailey is now strutting around the living room checking out all of the other furniture. He played with closed blinds for a little bit, I don’t think she appreciated that very much. I could get used to watching him, he’s kind of adorable.

Stephanie cleaned up her dinner and walked over to the bookshelf to grab a book. She curled up on the couch with a blanket and started to read. Bailey curled up next to her. I glanced over to see the title of the book. Ugh. Little Women again! Honestly, has she heard of a library? It’s gonna be a long evening…

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So some of my friends and I were talking about this assignment, and we were joking about how awful the life of a lamp would be, because it is only on for a very small portion of the day. So I thought about writing from the perspective of a lamp could be fun. I decided that the lamp was only conscious when it was turned on and I could imagine the excitement the lamp must have felt at that exciting moment when it finally gets to wake up.

Because we were supposed to dedicate 3 of our 8 points this week to the character we created. I knew this lamp had to belong to Sarah Mustard. Now, since Sarah has no friends and works at all hours of the day tailing people, I imagine that life as Sarah’s lamp would be pretty dull. Not many interesting things would happen in Sarah’s apartment. Then I started having fun with the idea that the lamp is so bored with Sarah, that it can’t even be bothered to remember her real name. So I wrote that in to make it like a Dory from Finding Nemo type life.

After writing my last writing assignment about Sarah finding a cat, I thought it would logically follow that Sarah took the cat home. I chose to name the cat Bailey because Sarah Mustard’s favorite movie is It’s a Wonderful Life. Then I realized that the lamp has probably never encountered a cat before, and it would probably be very scary from a lamp’s perspective to see this cat wandering around the living room checking things out.

This assignment was really fun. I liked the character growth that the lamp goes through, and honestly I had a lot of fun pretending to see things as a lamp. It was an enlightening experience.

I am many people’s favorite appliance. People open and shut me all day long and take things out me as they please. Sometimes it leaves me feeling empty inside until someone fills me back up again. I’m always chilly and half of me is always colder than the other half. People tend to like what I hold inside of me and when guests come over, they are always offered something that I hold. I see many people come and go through the kitchen. Some run to look inside of me and others pass right by. Some nights someone will spend hours in the kitchen opening and closing me and using the things inside of me to make nice smelling things using the other appliances. I’m glad that what I hold seems to make people happy and I will be here for years holding the things people enjoy.

           I must say, I am definitely your favorite appliance in the house. Really, you must think I’m full of it, but well…I’m kind of full, literally. I see you prance around in the kitchen, holding your pained stomach under your hand. I’ve got exactly what you need, believe me. Then your eyes meet my stainless-steel armor and I know I have gotten your attention. You quickly pace towards me and grasp the handle to unlock my secrets of delight. When you open my door, I feel so alive and everything just lights up. I see your eyes scanning me like a metal detector, only you’re detecting a milk carton, ketchup bottles, one slice of cheddar cheese, and an open can of Monster. My lights grow dimmer when I see your expectant smile fade and you close the door. But I don’t understand. I mean, I always have what you need. You can put a line of ketchup on the slice of cheese and have a glass of milk and the monster on the side…right? Then after two minutes of torturous agony, you open the door again. I wish all the time I could magically make a roll of cookie dough magically appear in one of my compartments. This is the game we play: you leave me empty and come back for more. I let you take everything out of me because that is all I have to offer until you fill me up again. You are the one who gives me a purpose and a reason to open my door. I let you tattoo me with your photographs and dentist appointments notes hung on their tacky little magnets and never protest.

            Then I hear you open a door close by: my ice-cold brother. You mutter, “Yes,” while doing a celebratory gesture as his light illuminates your statuesque face. You pull out a box of…it’s so hard to say, give me a second because I feel I’m melting…Bagel Bites! How could you do this to me? It hurts knowing you choose to accept my cold brother’s gifts rather than mine. But what, you look my way and I forget how you hurt me because you pull out that half-full can on Monster. No matter how many times you open my door, close it, then open it again in a passing of one long minute, I still adore you.

            See. I always win.