327 Market

More from the Luddite Chronicles

Hopped on my trusty bike in search of typewriter ribbon. I found a large storefront on Ocean that says "typewriters" and I thought they might have what I am looking for. I was politely informed by the nice man that the typewriter-man only comes on tuesdays and thursdays. Manana, then.

My grandfather doesn't need his Nikkormat FT2 any more, so my uncle passed it on to me. Nikon occupies a a hollowed spot in the Brand Pantheon of my family (right next to Mercedes and See's Candies), so I couldn't just let this little dusty bugger take up space in my "camera collection." Its begging to be used.

Given: The last time I called about camera repairs, Bay Camera and Wolf directed me to the Man in Scott's Valley (although they advertize "repairs" they really just pass em on to the MSV). I looked in the phone book and he wasn't listed! So I tried the only other listing, a Man in Santa Cruz. I called, he was at home, I drove over there. After ringing the bell on his gate, he buzzed me into his secret garden. I stepped carefully over the mossy stones, throught the bamboo and over the miniature oriental bridge. He met me at the front door of his vintage rancher. He was old. He took my camera and cradled it in his hands like it was an old acquaintance. He set it on a special table that was bolted to the wall. He asked me questions, like a doctor probing his patient. He twisted the lens and popped it off (I had spent a goodly amount of time earlier, trying to get the thing off), inspecting the light seals. He told me that this particular model had lots of "tricks" and that I had better read the manual before I did anything. He filled out the form, gave me an estimate (very reasonable) and dismissed me all in one breath.