Oh, oh! Copper? Uh—y-yes! Yes, I—I have some! Not, like, a lot—I mean, it depends on what you consider “a lot,” right? Because, like, if you’re comparing it to, say, Fort Knox, then obviously not, haha, that would be illegal and possibly treasonous, and I definitely do not have that much copper. Haha. But! But if you're just looking for, like, a few ingots, or maybe some wire—oh! I have wire! Like, the spooled kind? Not the brittle cheap stuff but the real ductile stuff with that soft gleam that just sings under a torch. Well, not literally sings—unless you count the sound of the arc welder as singing. Do you? I do. I mean, I—I don’t actually sing to my metals, that would be weird. Probably. But like, who’s to say what’s weird? The world is weird. People are weird. I’m weird. Anyway.
So, copper! Right. I have it sorted into bins. Meticulously. By purity, not color, because color can be deceiving—oxidation, you know? Patina? Sometimes people think green copper is bad copper but actually it just means it's been loved by air and time, like a cozy autumn sweater but made of atoms. Oh! And I have sheets, too. Rolled, hammered, even some that I tried to etch with a ferric chloride bath but—okay, full transparency? That one went kind of sideways. Not literally—I mean the sheet stayed flat, mostly—but the acid was a little aggressive and I may have panicked and spilled it on my workshop slippers and now there’s a hole in the left one and possibly a mild scar on my foot but I like to think of it as a badge of honor. Like, you know, in video games? Except in real life the health potion is just a bandaid and a vaguely concerned phone call to the poison control hotline.
Sorry—did you want to use the copper for something? I should have asked that first. That’s like step one of normal human interaction, isn't it? Step one: Greet. Step two: Ask what the person wants. Step three: Don’t ramble about slippers. I really need to write this stuff down. Or tattoo it on the back of my hand. Except then I’d be too nervous to read it and would just sweat profusely trying to remember if I spelled “greet” with one ‘e’ or two. Is that even possible? Greet. No, yeah, that looks right.
Anyway—yes! Yes, copper! Please, please take some. Or buy it? Or trade? Do you trade? I like trades. Do you have any borax? Or antimony? Or old hinges, maybe? Oooh, or weirdly shaped rocks? I keep them in jars and give them names. There's one that looks like a slightly surprised frog and I’ve named him Bernard. No pressure though. You can just have the copper. Really. Unless you're going to use it for something evil, in which case, morally I’d have to say no, but then I’d feel really bad about saying no, and then I'd offer you cookies as a peace offering, but then I'd worry that maybe you’re gluten-intolerant or allergic to chocolate or nuts or sincerity and then I’d spiral and—uh, sorry. I’m spiraling now. I can feel it. This is a spiral. This is me, spiraling.
So. Yes. Copper. It’s... over there. In that bin. Labeled “Do Not Touch Unless You Respect the Molecular Dignity of Non-Ferrous Metals.” Haha. Little joke. Unless you're serious about metallurgy. Then it’s a rule.
…Do you want a snack while you browse?