Confessions of a Slow Typist

I cannot understand anyone who has no ideas for posts. That is a hot topic in posts. Many write about real or imaginary people who don't know what to say. That is not my problem. Even if no one reads these articles? I never have reason to write a brag post about how many views any given post received.

Hell, I wrote about Facebook during the Facebook outage and that article was ignored. If my life depended on the validation of an algorithm I would be forced to kill myself. That is not how I do business.

Want ideas for posts? Leave the house. At the store I was behind a dawdling man. He was young. Be wary of someone who wears Crocs in public. Unless you are on the beach and don't want to burn the soles of your feet? That is a weak option that never looks good on anyone.

None of which has to do with Typing class. I wanted to take actual classes in the summer to get a leg up and make up for lost time. Proof positive that Guidance Counselors suck? They shot that down acting like I would not learn in summer school.

Maybe I would have taken the class with students who failed. That is their problem. If you ask permission to do something different? It goes against what the ones who want you to live in a box want. Was I a boy in a Bell Jar? Guidance Counselors were as ineffective as therapists giving me physical evidence that life coaches would waste my time and money.

Not that I alienated forty percent of LinkedIn users? Typing class did not give me the practice to step up my game. Practice and repetition are keys to success. I learned that in the working world. Barely learned anything in school except how to lie, cheat and steal.

That is not an indictment on private education. The competitive nature of school inspired many to cut corners. It has no bearing on my current vocation whatsoever. As for the class? It was decent. It would not lead me to become a fast texter.

I hate texting. I want to get as far from the "I talk and you listen" mode of my father in the era of the divorce. Texting is not a dialogue and not my communication of choice. I never found out how many WPM (Words Per Minute) I typed.

There was no certificate and the teacher who was good said it was alright to miss time because of vacation. She was not as rigid as teachers in the school year. Since I actually learned in this class? Her technique was effective.

So what, pray tell, does any of this have to do with waiting in line at the supermarket? The slow man ahead of me was served. He dawdled as he bagged his groceries. My cashier worked around him. I love it when an irresistible force plows through an immovable object. I mentioned her technique was good and "The quick red fox jumped over the lazy dog" which, of course, reminded me of typing class.