I trusted my typewriter. We shared. Alright, at some point, it became affection. The tactile sensation of pressing the keys combined with moving the shift lever in one graceful, yet authoritative motion, left me, well, aroused.
Do not judge, young people, until you’ve experienced this particular pleasure. Find one of these machines in your grandparents’ basement; clean it off, slip in paper…
Yes, sliding a pristine sheet of paper behind the roller, adjusting, lining it up perfectly, turning that knob so that it rolls into place. Gently, but firmly; complete control.
Changing the ribbon is another intimacy I miss. Sure, I got ink all over my fingers, but what parent complains about dirtying their appendages when changing diapers? Shall we discuss the disciplinary aspects of the white corrections ribbon? Click, click—entire words, sentences erased, white out. Oh, the power.
The syncopated clacking of keys represented profound thoughts and maybe exotic recipes, all flowing from my fingers.
Then…then came electric models. It was easier to press keys, almost a caress now, accompanied by that constant, low hum. Sleeker, streamlined, exuding sophistication, these machines pushed manual typewriters into the shadows. This saddened me. If you brought a manual into a bar, it would order tap beer. The electric upgrade is all about vodka or gin and tonic.
I want to make this clear—I never dated any of my typewriters, but I can’t deny there were feelings.
Then, briefly, word processors were born, the Hummer of the species. Here and gone, never mourned, all business, no intimacy, good riddance.
I suppose my computer provides more services, but I can sense it has other interests besides me. I’m told this is healthy for both of us. But there is a void, which I’m trying to fill with my digital camera.
The downside is the growing isolation that my old 35 mm film camera has to be feeling, buried in my car trunk under anti-freeze and a lounge chair. It must feel so used and abandoned.
You’ve maybe seen my photo on Facebook, so don’t dare mention my now totally useless hair dryer. Now THAT was a relationship. – Joe Del Priore