On Raising the Girls
Someone was overheard complaining about a twisted ribbon and several keys that kept jamming on their old-fashioned typewriter. That reminded me of one of my dad's service calls he had to make to a lawyer’s office, where a brand-new electric was reported to have gone haywire -- a secretary’s new-fangled machine skipped incessantly, the buxom lady moaned.
“Try typing a few lines,” He suggested. She scooted her chair close and he watched as her delicate fingers hovered for a moment above the keyboard. Then suddenly, as she leaned forward to begin her typing, the carriage began to automatically travel to the left, seemingly on its own power.
Dad then asked her go fetch a fresh ream of paper, and while she busied herself with that distraction, he readjusted the height of the overly-endowed woman’s chair, raising it by a tactful two inches.
Naturally, he billed the firm for both his time and expertise.