It’s hard not to like Mr. Blick. You’d have to be a naysayer or a rule-follower to turn a cold shoulder to the little pink pill. The first time I met Mr. Blick I was at my friend Curtis’ house. I can’t remember if Mr. Blick was left out or if Curtis brought him out to show me. Either way, I had never met a more delightful little man.
Mr. Blick is a game in which you hold a paddle with a divet in the center and try to make a plastic pink pill with a ball-bearing inside “walk” into the divet. It is the sort of challenge I was happy to take up – something a five-year-old could handle. I was 17 and loved games I knew I could win. Uncoincidentally, I had never asked a girl on a date.
Ultimately, though, it was not the game that I loved: it was Mr. Blick himself. For some reason, I see Mr. Blick as an old-time pharmacist, complete with hat and suspenders. He lives above the store with his wife and their children. They go to church on Sundays and frequent the playhouse. He is a man about town, known for his patience and thorough knowledge of ailments. When he is older, he grows a silver moustache. His obituary will run on the front page of the local paper: “Blick Dies, Leaving Town Bereft.” His hearty laugh and gentle demeanor will be missed. But that’s the future. Today we can all enjoy Mr. Blick.
There exists a picture of me at my high school graduation. It is the official graduation picture: me smiling in cap and gown, American flag behind me, diploma in my right hand. In my left hand I am clutching something small and pink. At first you might think it’s my thumb. Upon closer inspection, you’ll realize it is none other than Mr. Blick, on loan from Curtis.
I was not too sad when I left high school forever, but I would often think back on Mr. Blick. Like that girl you never got the courage to ask on a date, Mr. Blick was someone I always wanted to spend more time with.
Unlike a human girl, Mr. Blick is a plastic toy which can be bought at stores nationwide. You just have to find the right one. I never went out of my way to find Mr. Blick; I like to think he found me. I was browsing in a music store a few years ago when I saw him. The sight of him so surprised me I almost cried out in joy. I dropped the half-dozen CDs I was about to purchase and made my way to the cash register with my long-lost friend.
Now Mr. Blick assists me in writing funny comics. When I have a block, I’ll gaze into his tiny eyes until I think of a punchline. He usually has good suggestions. I would write him into my comics, but I don’t know if the world is ready for a pink pill as leading man quite yet.
Here’s to you, Mr. Blick. May you live 1,000 years not in some landfill, but in our hearts and in the stories we tell.