So I’m sitting at my desk, scribbling randomly on my pad. Suddenly, I stop, look down at what I’ve written, and gasp.
It’s not what I’ve written; it’s how I’ve written it. I’m looking down at a perfect replica of Dad’s handwriting.
As if it weren’t bad enough that I sound like him on the phone.
Luckily, further experimentation seems to indicate it may be a fluke; I’m unable to consciously emulate his penmanship. It seems to be something that I’m only able to do when I’m not fully paying attention
In the world of intelligent storage devices, a new unholy alliance has taken form; this time it’s Engineering and Tech Support, rather than QA and Marketing. Still rather unholy, though.