EDC 101 result pocket multitool

Trying a Screwdriver Pen Pocket Multi Tool That Didn’t Replace My Pen

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. I’d been tightening a loose cabinet pull with a butter knife, which is the kind of thing I do more often than I’d like to admit, and I thought, I should just carry something small that actually fits a screw. Not a whole tool, nothing that asks for space, just something that disappears into a pocket the same way a pen does.

In the morning, though, it didn’t quite disappear. It occupied the same real estate as a pen but behaved differently. When I sat down in the car, it pressed a little more firmly against my chest. When I bent forward, it didn’t flex the way a cheap pen does. It felt like a tool pretending to be something softer.

At my desk, it found its place next to my keyboard out of habit. I always set my pen down there before I start typing, and without thinking I did the same with this. It looked out of place in a subtle way. Not because it was flashy, but because it had a purpose that felt more specific than writing, and my desk is mostly for typing and clicking and the occasional note on a sticky pad.

I didn’t use it that morning. Or that afternoon. The only time it came up was when I reached for a pen to jot down a phone number and had to pause, unscrew the top, and pull out the bit holder before realizing I’d made things slightly more complicated for no real gain. I ended up grabbing a regular pen from a drawer instead, which kind of defeated the whole point.

But later, at home, it earned its spot for a moment. One of the battery covers on a kid’s toy was loose, the tiny screw backed out just enough to make the cover rattle. Normally I’d ignore it or tell myself I’d fix it later. This time I had the screwdriver in my pocket already. I tightened it in a few seconds while standing in the hallway. No searching, no detour to the junk drawer. That small, quiet fix felt like the justification I was looking for.

The next few days were uneven. Some days I carried it without noticing. Other days I took it out halfway through the morning because it felt like it was in the way of something else I actually needed, like a badge or a pair of glasses. It competed with the idea of a pen more than it replaced one. I still needed to write things down, and a dedicated pen is just easier, even if it feels redundant to carry both.

It started drifting. First from shirt pocket to front pocket, where it sat alongside keys and coins and made everything feel a little more crowded. Then from front pocket to the small side pocket in my bag, where it made more sense logically but was no longer within that immediate reach that makes a tool part of your day. Once it’s in the bag, it’s a decision to use it, not a reflex.

I forgot about it for a week. Then I found it again while looking for a charging cable, and I put it back into my pocket almost out of curiosity, like restarting a habit to see if it sticks this time.

There’s a particular kind of satisfaction in carrying something that solves a very specific, very minor problem right when it appears. Tightening a loose hinge on a public restroom stall, adjusting a wobbly chair at a coffee shop, fixing the back plate on a light switch at home. None of these are urgent. Most of them could wait. But having the ability to handle them immediately changes how you relate to those little annoyances. They stop being background irritation and become quick tasks you can clear.

At the same time, it asks for a bit of patience. It’s not as comfortable as a regular pen, not as intuitive, and it complicates something that used to be simple. You feel that trade every time you reach for it and hesitate for half a second.

Lately it’s been living in the car, in that shallow tray where loose things collect. It’s not exactly carry at that point, more like a nearby option. I’ll still use it, probably more often than when it was in my pocket, because I’ll think of it when I’m already dealing with something that needs it. But I don’t feel it on me anymore, and I don’t miss it in that physical way.

Every now and then I pick it up before heading out, clip it in place, and try again. Some days it makes it to evening. Some days it comes off before lunch. It hasn’t settled into a permanent spot, but it hasn’t been fully abandoned either. It just kind of hovers at the edge of the routine, waiting for the day when it feels like it belongs there without me having to think about it.