Just My Type

I love men. In all their hairy, utilitarian, sometimes balding, honest, lumpy, sweet yet apelike splendor. Men rock.


But I also have this other love in all its black and white and retro glory.


I love typewriters so much, I would probably sleep with one if it weren’t for that damn bell.  Plus, my husband might not like it. It would take up too much room and compete with our ever-present BED BUDDY™ in terms of desirability.

(Get your mind out of the gutter–it’s a heating pad for goodness sake.)


But it wasn’t always this way. Our backs and joints didn’t always ache–my bad.

Back to the typewriter and my love affair with it.

I didn’t always love the typewriter. In fact, I hated it. It was the bane of my existence for many years.

Back in the day, high school students were encouraged to take a typing class. Especially females.

Some of my classmates were stellar at typing with their eyes on the textbook and not on their hands. They breezed through class exercises. Miss Hornblatt fawned over them as models to the rest of us who typed like we had suddenly found claws at the end of our wrists.

Hell, I shouldn’t have been surprised. I took five years of compulsory piano lessons, and I can’t play to save my life. My fingers just didn’t want to roam freely over keys.

But I was going to college. I didn’t need no stinking typewriter.Blazing Saddles, No Stinking Badges scene[19].png

Or so I thought.

Of course, I needed to type. All papers had to be typed, and I was so bad at it, I had to begin my research papers immediately to allow myself at least a week to hunt and peck my way through the typing of my final paper.

There was even a case where I had to go to battle with my Health teacher for the “D” she gave me on a paper. She complained about the typing and not the content. Of course, I wasn’t alone in this showdown. My older sister ripped the adjunct professor a new ass on my behalf and the paper was reevaluated. Guess she liked her gig and didn’t want any complaints to the department head or the dean.

And then I moved to California, completed a college internship and independent study, received my diploma from Towson University in the mail, and hit the job market.

It was during the Carter administration and there were no jobs in communications for women–except for secretarial work.

If I wanted to eat and pay my rent, I had to learn to type. And fast.

f3a920da371bbcd95859ec55bdbeea92And so, I bullshitted my way through interviews and typing tests to become gainfully employed.

But things are never that easy. After working a few other jobs, I ended up at a company where the woman in accounting (the owner’s mother and the only other female employed in the company) would go through my garbage at night to see how much correcting tape I used. I shit you not.

The only reason I got that job in the first place is that nosy-garbage picking mother was married to the general manager who hired me for my “beautiful blue eyes.” And yes, he said that out loud. And I was okay with it. He protected me and my bad typing.

I stayed at that job until I moved back east, where I had to bullshit my way into other secretarial jobs until I went back to school to earn the credits I needed to become a certified English teacher–hey, women who were not strong in math and science had few opportunities back then.

So why do I love the typewriter if typing was such a struggle for me?

I love the typewriter because I finally conquered it. I can type like lightning. And so, to me, the typewriter represents persistence and determination.

Plus, as a writer, there’s just something romantic about them. Even though I write on a computer these days, I’m still using the same skill set.

And skills are always sexy. Just like men.



Thanks for reading! XOXO  foxy

Susan J. Anderson

Foxy Writer Chick








Picture Credits:


8 thoughts on “Just My Type

  1. This is hilarious! And I lived the same life. I sucked at typing, but had to perfect it because you needed to type on a manual typewriter to attend Journalism school. Can you believe it? We had to correct our errors with Whiteout while being timed for content and speed on things like obituaries. Ugh.

    I found out much later that creative-types, who are often a little on the ADD side, struggle with manual dexterity. It makes so much sense. I can type pretty fast now, but only because I’m not worried about making mistakes.

    I have an old Underwood typewriter sitting on my bookshelf, and a man in the kitchen. Parallel lives, I tell you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Parallel lives indeed! Too funny! And I think you’re right about ADD. My oldest son has it and he’s a musician, writer, etc.

      I am a lefty as well, and that hasn’t helped my journey to manual dexterity–but I made it so HOO-RAH!

      Love that you have a typewriter on the bookshelf and a man in your kitchen! You are living the dream! It’s a running joke at our house that the only thing my husband can make is a mean Reuben–the kids hate Reubens. Given that Paul was a cook in a restaurant when he was a young man, I think it is a ruse to get out of meal prep. Oh well, at least he helps me clean up. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      1. OMG — I’m your husband! I’m the one who makes weird vegetarian food that no one likes, and therefore I get out of cooking. I feel so guilty. We have people staying for the weekend, and someone eventually says, “What are the plans for dinner?” I look around, as clueless as everyone else. My poor husband resorts to pizza or take-out or one of his specialties, like spaghetti. You have convicted me again, Susan. I will learn to make one thing everybody likes that super -easy and foolproof. Any ideas?

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Ha ha! I can’t help you with vegetarian dishes. I’d be one of those guests who doesn’t like it. For your meat eaters, I found this great crockpot recipe from Betty Crocker that makes great submarine sandwiches. My boys devour these and ask for me to make them again and again. I like to toast the rolls and melt cheese on them. It’s a great make-ahead meal–very hearty.



  2. I remember these days! Male driven work places run by chauvinist attitudes. The typewriter was often a source of frustration for me too, and I was most likely the reason my fingertips developed calluses and nerve damage banging out all of those college papers. I always enjoy reading what you “bang out” on yours every week. Write on!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, Vicki! I never had much problems with the chauvinists. My problem was usually with a hateful woman or two wherever I worked. But then again, I didn’t let the men bother me. It was a Mad Men type world, and I made it work for me. I still would have rather started in the mail-room than the reception desk though.


  3. Love it! I struggled in typing class too, but I knew I needed to learn to type for college, so I put up with two years of getting C’s in typing. Professors would often comment that I needed a new “r”. I bought the typewriter used for $25 and I was going to make it last without repairs for all four years of college. I couldn’t afford tuition, beer, and typewriter repairs!


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