If you’re in the typewriter business, you don’t have a lot of competition. You have some—but not much. And for that reason, those of us who have dug in, are allowed to make some of our own rules. We don’t have to play all the corporate games because some people have no other choice than to deal with us. Well, almost no other choice. What I’m getting at is this: a typewriter seller or technician gets to set the tone, and even bad decisions won’t destroy his businesses.

Take me, for example. During the mask craze (even during the mask mandate), I refused to wear one. I lost ONE customer—that’s it. And that customer probably wasn’t going to spend much money anyway. But since people had nowhere else to go, I stuck to my guns.

Maybe it was a bad decision. Maybe it was a wrong decision. But I’m still in business, and I don’t feel like I’ve crossed any major ethical (or moral) lines. I guess I’m a little smug.

But this smugness—it can lead to some very bad habits. Sometimes habits that not only give our business a bad name, but could give our industry (if you want to call this an industry) a bad name.

I would urge other typewriter enthusiasts (especially people who have turned enthusiasm into a lucrative hobby—thus creating a business) to watch out for this. To guard against it.

Generally, the norms of the business world are not arbitrarily created. At least, not in America. They develop out of intense competition. They develop specifically to attract customers. They are, in the end, what’s best for the customer. And just because a customer has nowhere else to go, that doesn’t give us rogues an excuse to forsake their interests.

A short while ago I needed a service related to typewriters. One that gave me only a few options to choose from—because, like the typewriter repair industry itself, there wasn’t much competition.

After navigating through a poorly structured website, which gave me almost no information, I started with an email asking for prices (seems like a reasonable way to start a professional relationship). But my question wasn’t precise enough—the price would depend on two other factors, leaving me with 3 different possibilities.

Instead of just listing the 3 possibilities along with their prices, the ‘vendor’ sent a curt email back asking for the specifics.

I sent specifics.

The answer was so poorly worded, that I still don’t quite know what the final price was going to be. But on top of that, it gave me no instructions for the next step—nor did it tell me how to pay. In fact, by now I got the feeling that the vendor’s heart really wasn’t in the spirit, and that every transaction was going to somehow violate his peaceful demeanor.

In short, I felt like a bother.

We’ve all been there. The store clerk who is angry that we’re intruding on a smoke break. The waitress (or waiter) who can’t be bothered with filling drinks. And of course, that giant bureaucracy we’re all forced to deal with: the BMV (DMV for some). It’s unpleasant—and all we want is what we’re paying for.

Against my better judgement (remember—I have very few choices), I persisted. My next email was simple. Yes, I want to buy! What should I do? Do you take paypal?

I got another email chewing me out, because apparently, somewhere on his poorly designed and even more poorly worded website, he had put a giant red sign that said that said NO PAYPAL.

He complained about my asking, then he made an arbitrary complaint about paypal in general, and finally complained about his long, miserable career—making sure I understood that he’d rather not do business at all.

Well, if he wanted to drive away business, he succeeded.

I’ve been in business for 35 years, and I admit I’ve broken some rules. But there’s one real business rule that kind of tops all others:

Every customer ought to believe their vendor is absolutely thrilled to interact with them!

Now it’s not hard for me to follow this rule, because I genuinely am thrilled to serve my customers. That’s why I’m in business for myself. But if I wasn’t, I’d sure as hell fake it. And I’d encourage others in the industry to fake it as well.

There’s a reason that not many typewriter technicians exist in America today: we’re simply not needed. If we want to be any more relevant than we currently are, then we have to encourage more interest from the general public. And when we do encounter ignorance or misunderstanding and are asked to take a few seconds out of our busy days to explain something, then it should always be with a smile.

Just remember: being one of a few doesn’t make someone an elitist.

Let’s welcome in the newbs. Be approachable. Spread the joy of typing.