Don't own them…
But they sure are fun to play with.
Typing Frustration
By Pegbronco
Tap. Tap, find the key, TAP!
Hey buddy, you better watch it.
TAP.
"Damn!"
Scroll up, erase.
Scroll back down.
Tap…tap, tap.
"Shit, this damn thing."
Scroll up, erase again.
Back down.
Oh, don't go blaming me. I'm not the one who can't type. And stop pounding on me so hard or else…
Tappitty tap…find the key, TAP.
Jam.
Told you to ease up.
"DAMN IT!"
"Starsk…I could…"
"NO!" A finger went out across the desk at the blond sitting across from him, as the blue eyes stayed focused on the wretched machine.
"This is my fight! I can handle it!"
Scroll up.
ERASE. ERASE.
Scroll down.
TAP!
"But Starsk…"
"Can it Hutch. I can do this. I lost the bet. So I will type this thing."
"But Starsk I can…"
Blue eyes shot across the desk to a matching pair. "Hutchinson, don't 'but Starsk' me…I lost. I type. Even if it takes me all night." The bullheaded, stubborn brunet pressed his lips tight and fought the urge to toss the mischievous machine across the room. His patience long gone with the inanimate object. For him, the thing was cursed.
TAP. TAP. TAP!
"Starsky!" the bellowing from the captain thundered over his shoulder from the office behind him.
"Capt'n." Starsky acknowledged over his shoulder, while looking for the next key.
"That report had better be legible. Not like the last time you tried to pass off scribble to me as a report!"
"I hear ya Capt'n."
Hutch leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, and watched. It took everything in him to sit and watch the battle of wills. Just who was going to win, that was yet to be determined. Right now the manual typewriter was ahead by a mile and the frustrated, dark haired detective was losing ground rapidly.
Tap tap tap…tappitty TAP.
Jam.
I told you. Don't mess with me curly. I can keep this up all night. The ill-natured typewriter wove it's ugly web of misery towards the man that just wanted to end the doomed task and go home.
"You piece of crap!"
Scroll up.
Erase. Erase.
Scroll down.
Jaw tight. Teeth clinched. Eyes focused. Concentration was focused on the keyboard.
Tap… tap…tap…tap…TAP.
Smudge! HAAA! What do you think about that?
Blue eyes closed tight. Mouth pressed to a thin line. Hands clinched into a tight ball.
Hutch got up from his chair, and walked around the desk to his partner. He leaned over to eye the report.
"You touch that thing Hutchinson, and so help me…" Starsky told him through clinched teeth. "I will finish this. Even if it kills me.
Hutch leaned over to his ear. "There's a 'k" in Starsky," he whispered to him through a smile. He turned quickly for a cup of coffee.
The brunet searched through the report.
Scroll up. ERASE.
Scroll down.
'K'
"Hutchinson!" the gruff voice grated to the blond detective.
"Yes Sir?"
"The next time you two bet, it better be for something then who types my reports. I'm making you responsible for those things."
"Yes Sir."
Hutch spied the report again over his determined partner's shoulder. He leaned in again. "Capital 'H' in Hutchinson." He backed off quickly and went back to his chair.
Blue eyes burned at him.
Scroll up.
ERASE.
Scroll down.
'H'
' '
Back space.
'H' Damn it!
' '
"OH, what in the Hell?" The brunet threw his arms up.
Hutch settled back in his chair, coffee now in hand, and watched.
It's going to be a long night.
END