I bought a new computer recently, because my old one, in conspiracy with Microsoft OneDrive, started eating my saved documents alive. I don’t know if I’ll get all those documents back or not. It’s a bad situation. I’ve been avoiding it. If aliens came to Earth tomorrow and said, “Time’s up,” my overall sentiment would be one of terror and grief. My initial reaction, however, would be a little bit of relief. “Oh good. I don’t have to deal with the document problem.”
When I bought the new laptop, I was a little sad to see it didn’t come with a 10-key on the side of its keyboard. I like the 10-key. Didn’t used to—used to never use it, did quite badly on the 10-key game in Mavis Beacon in 6th grade (by my own standards, not by the teacher’s; I was a star pupil because I’d been taking piano lessons for six years by that point and despite my poor overall dexterity was at a major advantage when it came to having developed the neural pathways necessary to move 10 fingers nimbly in coordinated, separate fashion)—but around the age of 22 I started using it and realized it was great. Hence my sadness at the new laptop not having one. My old old laptop—the one whose screen shattered on an airplane between the first and second round of the 2022 NIT because it was four years old and I kept picking it up by its corner—had a 10-key. I liked that.
So, at the behest of my shopping companion who was witnessing this internal conflict, I bought a keyboard. It has a 10-key. Being a Mac keyboard, though, and therefore being tasked with the mandate of creating aesthetic pleasure (they should have mentioned this in the Barbie movie), this keyboard took it upon itself to have a full row of keys at the top far beyond the scope of what was necessary. I’m talking about the F keys. Perhaps you have them in front of you right now, on your computer, if this is reaching you in 2011 and you are reading this on a computer. F1. F2. F8. F12. Others, in between those listed.
What I mean when I say this keyboard has a full row of F keys, beyond the scope of what’s necessary, is that the F’s keep going after F12. They go all the way to F19. This feels like that row of the periodic table that wasn’t fully filled in circa 2012, the last time I regularly looked at the periodic table. It’s like Terminal 4 at O’Hare airport. It’s there…kind of. I assume it’s just holding space.
But, what if it isn’t merely occupying space and holding down the fort for an eventual 19th function, a 19th function which has not yet been discovered? What if the 19th function is already here? I’m gonna click it. I’m gonna click F19. My curiosity has held out long enough. I told my dog I would click it. I’m going to get made fun of if I don’t step up right now and click F19. If this is the end, it’s been an honor.
*clicks F19*
*waits*
*gives the dog a little ear scritch*
*the dog burps*
Nothing happened.
…that I know of.
Maybe F19 stops the aliens.
I’m gonna have to deal with those documents, aren’t I.
