This one’s not about my personality, although my daughter says I qualify. Nor is it about my blood. This one’s about that stuff we learned in high school—in Typing Class and beyond. When I first began writing for my weekly newspaper column, my editor, the soul of tact, mentioned the biggest problem he had with my submissions was deleting the extra space after each period.
“But we ALWAYS double spaced after a period in Typing class,” I cried. To be sure, I checked with my high school pal, also a product of the class. “Of course,” she echoed. “We always double spaced after a period.” Apparently, that’s no longer the case. I lay it at the foot of cost-cutting. One less space allows more words to fit on each page, hence fewer pages.
I’m sure you remember my unkind words about my PE classes. That was the only subject which gave me more trouble than typing. Since I’ve never had stellar eye-hand coordination, Typing Class was a challenge from the get-go.
Sometimes I hit too many keys at once, resulting in a traffic jam at the printing ribbon. Then I’d have to separate them, often getting ink on my fingers. Other times I forgot to capitalize. During one timed test, I had my hands on the wrong keys and the whole exercise looked like this: “yhidluvimouydzc.” The graded test came back with this notation from my long-suffering teacher: “At least you didn’t look at your hands!”
I remember saying to one of my classmates, “It’s a good thing I’m going to college. I could never support myself as a secretary.” Little did I know the number of college reports and essays I’d have to type on that portable typewriter in its sturdy zippered case. I almost cried when I unwrapped the high school graduation gift from my parents, and they weren’t tears of joy, believe me.
Because it was a manual machine like the one shown, I had to hit each key like I was punching out Mohammad Ali. Sometimes that worked and sometimes I ended up with a letter flying in midair, especially the capitals. Other times, I hit the wrong key altogether.
For these problems, I auditioned several mistake correctors. There was Witeout, which I usually managed to drip on the page or paint too big of a glob on the spot, causing it to ooze over into its neighbor letter. Eventually I settled on corrector tape. It took the dexterity of a juggler to fit the tiny piece of tape over the error, and REMEMBER TO BACKSPACE, then type over the incorrect letter. I needed nerves of steel and the patience of Job, and had neither.
I never learned how to change the ribbon on the thing. I vaguely remember two spools, unwinding and rewinding as the ribbon traveled from one spool to the other. Once the ribbon became twisted, resulting in words missing either a top or a bottom.
I usually spent more time correcting my typing than composing the essay to begin with. Let’s put it this way; if my typing had been paid by the hour, I’d have graduated a rich person.
Comentários