Leila Touati | Don’t scrub away the ink

During my freshman year at Cal Poly, the routine was simple: wake up early, boil water for my Twinings English Breakfast tea in my kettle without waking up my roommate and head to class. 

But if it was the first Tuesday of every month, the routine was different. My tea stayed the same, the roommate wouldn’t even roll over in her bed, but I would head somewhere else. I’d find my way to a green tent on Dexter Lawn with letters printed, “MMG,” grab a thick stack of newspapers and pass them out to students walking by. 

The first time I volunteered  to help run a print day as a brand new news reporter on Mustang News, I wore a white long sleeve. Never wear white clothing when passing out newspapers. The ink bled through, turning my clothing multicolor, so I can still almost read the sports section’s volleyball schedules on my sleeve. In my disarray, I met one of my closest friends — Jeremy Garza. His quick wit and energetic conversations made me look forward to entering Building 26 and sharing journalism classes with him. 

In my sophomore year, I was prepared for the ink. Jumping in to pass out a few papers between my classes, I carried a small bottle of hand sanitizer and put my black tea with a spoonful of honey in my lavender tumbler for easy access. I knew better — no long sleeves, just T-shirts or the classic black polo with the green “Mustang Media Group” embroidered near the collar. 

Despite my efforts, the ink stained. Even with the sanitizer, the stains did not go away until I vigorously scrubbed my hands for 15 minutes. But I got to share my love for drinking tea with Carly Heltzel, hosting “tea time” and adopting each other’s sayings at the end of a sentence or punchline.

When you tell someone you are going into journalism, there is usually a moment where they will speak about the “dying” industry and mention how newspapers in their original form are not going to last. While digital media is a huge part of the present and future, there is something beautiful and timeless about print newspapers. 

In seventh grade, I remember learning new vocabulary words and having to write each word five times on a sheet of paper every week. “It’s muscle memory,” my teacher would say. “The muscles in your hand link to your brain, which remembers all the words you write.” 

I think muscle memory works the same when flipping through the pages of a Mustang News print edition. The ink stains my hands, and I remember fiddling with the left corner of every page, turning my thumb a dark blue. I could scrub the ink away, turning my hands raw until the next time I grabbed a paper, but I’ll remember exactly what I read. Words stay with you — on my clothing, my hands and in my head.

By my junior year, I ditched the sanitizer and grabbed more copies, counting the volunteer hours as my workout, meeting with Archana Pisupati to chat and laugh for nearly three hours about everything under the sun — while talking shade from the literal sun underneath the green and grey tent. 

Four years is never enough, but it has to be. It’s senior year. The best friends I made are all adorned on the print masthead all together. While my work is 99% digital-focused — it’s in my job title as digital manager — I’ll always check when the next print edition is dropping, eager to stain my hands time and time again. It’s a lovable disturbance, the ink, but this time, I hope it never scrubs away.