So I am doing this thing with the typewriters. I place typewriters around Governor’s Island and let people type whatever they want on them to make an “Analog Internet.” I finally have all the typewriters I need, but now I must get typewriter ribbon. Real pain in the ass. However this is New York. You can get everything here. From seventeenth-century Russian tea cups to Chinatown turtles that have salmonella.
Anyway there’s this stationary store next to my office that’s been there for, I dunno, a thousand years. It’s kind of charming. Very disorganized. I think they have a cat. There’s a big sign in the window that says WE HAVE FILOFAX REFILLS. I mean who has Filofax anymore? Maybe the kind of person who ALSO has typewriter ribbons! Ah, I am smart. I go in.
“Hi there, do you have typewriter ribbon by any chance?”
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!”
“OK nevermind.”
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! A TYPEWRITER? ARE YOU KIDDING?”
“No, I’m serious. I need just the ribbon.”
“HAHAHAHAHAH! WHO USES A TYPEWRITER ANYMORE? HAHAHA I’VE NEVER HEARD ANYTHING THAT FUNNY IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!”
“Yeah that’s great. Do you know of a place that might have….”
“HAHAHAHA! A TYPEWRITER! ARE YOU FOR REAL? WHAT? YOU LIVE IN THE ICE AGES?”
“No, it’s for a project…”
“A TYPEWRITER! TYPEWRITER RIBBON! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. WHERE DO YOU WORK? THE MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY?”
“Alright, thank you.”
“No, no we have it, it’s on that wall.”
I look at the wall. It’s not the right typewriter ribbon. In fact, it’s INK CARTRIDGES.
“Uh no, that’s not it.”
“HAHAHAHA I KNOW THAT’S FOR PRINTERS. MAYBE YOU SHOULD GET ONE.”
“Thanks, have a nice…”
“NO WAIT! Let me make some calls.”
He calls up someone.
“PAUL? YOU THERE? PAUL? HAHAHAH SOME LADY HERE NEEDS TYPEWRITER RIBBON, CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? YOU DO THAT KIND OF STUFF RIGHT?”
So the people who advertise proudly that they have FILOFAX REFILLS cannot even BELIEVE people use typewriters. This is insane. I mean does anyone use organizers anymore? Not even soccer moms use that shit. At least typewriters, you know, look cool.Hemingway wrote all of his books on a typewriter. You know Hemingway right? He used to work for the Museum of Natural History.
Anyway, the douche sends me to Paul. Paul’s ‘store’ is not really a store. More like an office on the fourth floor filled with crap. Paul’s place is wall to wall typewriters. They repair typewriters. The antique, dope kind. The kind that I have. I get my typewriter ribbon. This is ALL THAT FIRST GUY HAD TO SAY. “Sorry lady, we don’t carry typewriter ribbon here, but why not visit Paul, down the block. He specializes in antique typewriters.” That’s all he had to say. I mean really, how hard is that?
Then on my way home, I was behind a guy who was smoking and then he FLICKED HIS CIGARETTE BEHIND HIM which then HIT ME IN THE LEG. And he had absolutely NO idea. I wanted to sucker punch him. I just stood there kind of shocked. I mean who flicks a cigarette BEHIND them. No one does that. This is how fires get started and San Diego burns down. This is also how people catch on fire. Just saying. Plus it’s rush hour, there should be no flicking of cigarettes in a crowded street. I mean just throw it down and step on it, right? So there’s this guy standing near me and he was like “Make him apologize to you! Go!” But by that point smoker was gone. The guy was obviously smoking pole since he was such an enormous dick.
So today, I got a double-helping of douchery. A double-helping! I was trying to cut down on the douchery, you know, to look good in a bathing suit this summer. (Ha ha ha JK I avoid the beach because I hear there is sunshine there and I don’t really do well under those conditions.) So, in short, once again, people are dicks. I know I’ve said this before and I should expect it, but really it just constantly surprises me. I guess this is the “mystery of life” people are always talking about.