Dr. Frankenstein’s Metal Monster

I was walking to dinner this evening when I noticed something sitting at the foot of a lamppost. It was the unmistakable suitcase that holds typewriters. Given my affinity for typewriters, I immediately investigated the scene of the crime.

DCPI Report:
On Saturday, January 23, 2010 at approximately 1756 hours police responded to the corner of West 112th Street and Broadway Avenue within the confines of the 26 Precinct in regards to an unconscious typewriter. Upon arrival police discovered an electric typewriter with lacerations to the body of the keyboard. The victim, a T/B/40’s, was unconscious inside of a trashcan at the location. EMS responded and pronounced the typewriter DOA at 1808 hours. The Medical Examiner will determine the cause of death, the investigation is ongoing at this time.

Family notification is pending for the deceased.

I reached into the grimy New York City trashcan and removed the typewriter as gently as I could. The ribbon let out a long, weezy wail as I plucked the 20-lb. monstrosity from its trashy grave. One end of the ribbon was buried at the bottom of the can, so I snapped the ribbon in two. The ribbon is the lifeblood of the machine. One can mash metal all they want to paper, but without ink, the device is useless. With ink soaked hands I collected the machine like some crazed Dr. Frankenstein set on bringing the beast back to life. I shoved the body crudely inside the battered case and continued on my way to dinner.

After dinner I lugged the monster home, laying it on the operating table for further inspection. I plugged it in and was barely able to turn the machine on. The Off button was broken in half and appeared as though it had been gnawed on by a wild animal. The first time I did, I nudged the side and the pulley system started up. Unbeknown to me old-school electric typewriters ran on a reel that, via a series of gears, transfers energy to a spinning rod beneath the space bar. In the end, I discovered that the machine would not advance when you hit a key, a vital function for any typewriter. Furthermore, when striking a key it did not mesh fully with the ink ribbon, leaving half a letter.

But alas, there is nothing more I can do for the machine. The exoskeleton that hold the guts of the machine is bent. A few of the keys aren’t working and the page won’t advance when you type a letter. Sadly I am unable to resurrect it, although the beast uttered two final words:

hell o    w   or l  d