We've all been there time and again. Midday rush hour down at the Viaduct coffee shops in the full sun. Seagulls loitering on the balcony. The patio looks like it's just been water blasted to squeaky clean perfection by Scrubby McTubb and fishes are jumping up and down in the harbour for good measure. You're having a pleasant debate with a friend about how often you should take your Remington in for typewriter repair in Auckland's new Clackers Clinic workshop in Onehunga. Blue sky. Everyone's chirpy. That kinda vibes.
Then, like clockwork, it happens.
Dark clouds blot out the sun. Off screech the gulls, in caw crows. A bloody great sea monster pulls up and gobbles down the happy lil fishes in one fell gulp and descends again into the bowels of the deep. A muted trumpet begins languoring away as the now darkened downtown port dives are dimly illumined only by the buzzing glow of such broken neon lights as have yet to taste of the self-sacrificing consummation of the love of the moths who adore them and of bankers lamps which conspire with the bright pelicans to form a green and pink spotlight on an empty table in the centre of the joint, now soaking in smoke, slinking with alley cats, and crawling with people who say 'vinyl' instead of 'record'. A saxophone throws some Mixolydian into the mix for even more good measure.
These shadows form a writhing sea which parts for the passage of a sullen silhouette in a long coat and Stetson which makes its droopy way to the table and places a case down with a thud which causes one of the tom cats to growl.
Gasps fill the smoke as he clips the case open. The muted trumpet jumps right back out of the pocket it was getting into and there is complete silence.
From outside come sirens, two loud bangs, one splash. But the only thing cheaper than life in this town is a brand new typewriter ribbon from Clackers Clinic and no one looks up. They are all staring down at the seafoam green Hermes Rocket the shadow man has produced.
They all start back in shock as he presses down on a key with a shaky index finger and repeats this effort until a whole sentence appears. The bell goes bing, the audience gasp again, he pulls out his phone, pushes a hipster out of shot with the butt of his microcassette recorder, stares up at the phone and, balancing a freshly sparked Gitanes on moist, pouting lips, snaps a photo, and uploads it to the interwebs.
In a few seconds everyone in the café gets a notification on their phone and see, in their tiny screens, what they had just witnessed in the flesh. Along with his picture they read his caption:
"Silly me. Accidentally snapped myself casually typing away down here at Café Chopin Les Onions. I use a typewriter because it gives me a chance to use the word 'tactile'. WD-40 is bad. Peace. Memo: I need to build another yurt because I have covered my last one in stencils."
This gentleman is the Collector and, though we love him to death and wish him all the luck (and likes) in the world, he is not our target customer and so we must bid him a fond adieu and leave him forever sitting in his neon haze where he is currently spluttering and coughing because he accidentally inhaled some of that Marlboro.
Collectors serve the noble function of promoting typewriters and preserving them from destruction by way of the tip. We shudder to think of all the typewriters discarded over the decades and we commend the foresight of all who have kept them safe for a future use that was imagined in faith but never guaranteed. We owe such people many thanks.
At Clackers Clinic we distinguish between collectors and our target customer – the actual typer – because we believe that a collector is better served by an antiques dealer.
A collector is likely to want a flawless (or near-to) specimen of a machine looking as close to new as possible. A collector is likely to care about visual condition while not necessarily taking functional condition into account – the function being something of a novelty. A collector will care – beyond its functionality – about the state of the typewriter's case. All this is entirely understandable and fair enough and all power to the collectors say we.
However, we serve typers. These are the people who don't care as much for visual perfection as for the enthusiasm for typing that the general appearance (colour, shape, size) of a machine may cause in them. These are the people who pay more attention to the typing action of a machine, knowing that they will be spending many hours stationed in front of it. These are writers.
Want to get a typewriter for the first time? Have a look at some of the machines we have serviced here and take a look at our general typewriter buying guide here.
Happy typing!