The sound of typing is making me nauseous. The sickening clicking and tapping. That spewing of words and information. Keystrokes that cause a lurch in my stomach, a tightening in my chest and bad taste in my mouth. I am surrounded by them now. A room filled with typing drones. Of course maybe that's America now. Tap, tap, tap. Disgusting.
I remember when I was a child - just a small dark blur under the St. George sun - being marched down the shiny little pinkish halls of my elementary. You know, arms folded, heads bobbing. The next generation being educated about fluoride and whales. Sometimes they'd herd us into that little room with rows of grey computers across from miniature metal chairs - the hard metal kind that come in little kid colors. Or maybe they were those rubbery plastic ones. The kind you bend back until they have those pale creases in the sides. Forget the chairs. It's the computers. They were exciting then. Screens, games, whatever. When I was there they were a treat, another gadget to play with. Another way to read about the ocean. I imagine by now they may use them regularly.
In middle school you get to walk yourself to the computer room. No more neat little rows. By then you've graduated to a frenzy of bad clothing, dumb jokes, and noisy parading. Now it's time to learn how to properly operate the computer. They teach you that the wrong way to type is the way you are doing it. The "computer lady" puts a dank wooden box over your hands to hide them from your eyes and you type "a lad; a dad; ask a dad; ask a lass; a fall fad;" while trying not to get caught peaking under the board.
Of course it only gets worse from there. In high school you use one daily, and by the time you've been worked into a college you are doing entire courses on them. I work on one at my job, and truth be told even when I don't have to be on, I often am.
I guess I don't really know what I am going on about. I actually like computers. Maybe it the pretentiousness of the internet generation. Surely it's the day.