When forced to leave my house for an extended period of time, I take my typewriter with me, and together we endure the wretchedness of passing through the X-ray scanner. The laptops roll merrily down the belt, while Iβm instructed to stand aside and open my bag. To me it seems like a normal enough thing to be carrying, but the typewriterβs declining popularity arouses suspicion and I wind up eliciting the sort of reaction one might expect when traveling with a cannon. Itβs a typewriter,β I say. βYou use it to write angry letters to airport security.