Hello, my name is Kristen, and I have an addiction to typewriters.
Hello, Kristen.
It all started with my great grandmother's Underwood, a heavy desk typewriter, a beast of dust and metal. When I found out that it was unloved in a dank, under-the-house storage space, I rescued it from sticky webs and wiped a layer of dust from the keys -a place that dust should never collect. "Wait -I can have this?" I asked my grandparents. "Are you sure?"
My grandmother chuckled. "Of course you can have it. I didn't even think we had it anymore, and no one else would want it." Oh, how I love it. The click of the keys, the movement of the carriage, the way it makes the desk shudder...
From there I started collecting. Craigslist, antique stores, it didn't matter. If it was in workable condition, it came home with me and received a loving spongebath (unlike any recently comparable care). So when I bought my latest mid-century Smith-Corona from the Goodwill at a steal for $7.99, it was time to get more typewriter ribbons.
"Do you have any typewriter ribbon?"
The guy in the blue shirt had visible whiplash. "Typewriter ribbon? Whaddaya need that for?"
"For a -um- typewriter."
"Oh. Aaa-aisle one." He paused, then grinned. "You really have a typewriter?"
"Yep." I turned went went to aisle one.
Of course the only typewriter ribbons available were for electric typewriters, and came in the form of plastic cartridges that looked like a gray handle on a Tron suitcase.
As I came back to the front of the store, he popped up from behind the customer service desk. "Did you find it?" The nervous energy abounded.
"Yes and no."
"No?"
"Not the right kind of typewriter ribbon. I don't have an electric."
"Wait- you have an oooold typewriter?"
"Yep. Thanks. Bye."
As if one awkward interchange wasn't enough, then came the next store fifteen minutes later.
"Do you have typewriter ribbon?"
"Typewriter ribbon?" Two guys in red shirts put their hands on their hips and cocked their heads at me as if I'd said something about puppy get the ball or something about taking a jetpack to the moon to become a florist.
"Yeah," I replied. "It goes in typewriters."
"Oh, ah, let us get someone who loves typewriters for ya. He'll love this. He thinks he's the only person left with a typewriter." The tall one in the red shirt walked around the edge of the counter and to register 3. "We've got a girl with a typewriter here."
A brown mop of hair peeked over the plexiglass display of gift cards. "A girl with a typewriter?" He grinned.
"I'm just looking for ribbon."Yes, just ribbon. Not witty conversation. Not a moment in a spotlight. Not a date. Just ribbon.
"What do you have?"
"I have an Underwood, two mid-century Smith-Coronas, and a 1921 Corona 3."
His nerdy laugh sounded like he was starting a car. "Right this way." He pointed to a collection of Tron-handled ribbons varied only by two plastic spools: large and small.
"That'll work," I said, and I collected two of each.
"Do you have a Staples card?" he asked when we returned to the register.
"Nope. I should get one because I buy a lot of supplies for my classroom here, but whatever."
"What do you teach?"
"College and high school."
He flipped out an educator application with a flourish. Did I detect a little soap opera twinkle in his eye? "What's your name?" he asked, his voice seeming to drop a few tones.
"Uh, Kristen Kauffman."
He ducked his head to write it down and then he craned it up again with another Old Spice commercial-worthy expression. "What's your phone number, Kristen?"
Now, normally it would be thrilling for a cute typewriter nerd to ask this question, but it was right about this time when obstacles stopped blocking my view of his right hand -namely the third finger.
Really? You're married? What kind of typewriter nerd are you that you're going to flirt unsuitably with the rest of us? As a typewriter nerd, I am shocked to have you in our ranks. You are the weakest link -goodbye.
*Wow, that was so 2000 of me to mention that.
**Who am I kidding? Nothing in this post is contemporarily relevant...
Meanwhile back at the ranch, the typewriter guy in Mesa called and my sweet little Corona 3 is ready to be picked up. So excited.
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