I indeed took a typing class at Longwood High School in New York, circa … 1989 or so.  We used actual typewriters, as though they weren’t doomed to be obsolete soon after.

Typing was supposed to be a class that the shrewd kids took.  It had a reputation for being boring — but you’d supposedly thank yourself later, because you’d be leagues ahead of your peers either at college or in the workplace.

Oh, God, it was boring.  You never typed out anything interesting like a story about monsters or an Edgar Allan Poe poem.  It was always some inane, saccharine letter about children enjoying a summer camp.  That was one of the most excruciatingly tedious things my mind had ever encountered — made even more so by the fact that I had to navigate it at a snail’s pace.  (Even by the end of this class, I remained a terrible typist.  But you guys know that already know that … youve sene my various typpos right her at this blog, right?)

I can’t believe I still remember that damn summer camp letter.  It’s funny how the mind works.  I guess that letter will haunt me until the end of my days.  Stupid kids and their stupid fictional laughter.

(Via the Do You Remember When Facebook page.)