This machine’s bulk and weight astonishes me: if dropped from a plane, it would create a sinkhole that would swallow a small city. It’s not a scorcher in the looks department: the SG1 is far easier on the eyes, whereas the SG3 is all business. It has a no-frills appearance that exudes German efficiency. It’s a hulking beast made for heavyweight writing: You could till a small plot with the carriage return lever.
Though often downplayed when compared to the SG1, I find it very similar in feel. It doesn’t have as many features, but has equally beautiful elite type and authority. I have trouble putting it down (no pun intended).
This one arrived with a few frozen tab keys, something which matters little to me because I only use five spaces for indentations. One of the keys jammed in the slot and wouldn’t improve despite gentle bending. On a whim, I lubed the slot, reasoning it would jam less and, with repeated use, align itself. It worked with this machine and a Royal KMG.
It also had an odd malfunction. When I returned the carriage, the carriage would drop slightly while typing, creating misaligned text at the beginning of the line. The line spacing would also sometimes revert from one space to a half. I lightly sanded the feed rollers and carriage, which didn’t improve matters.
Then I noticed that it had two paper-feed levers. Both were facing toward the back. I brought the left one forward, and it worked flawlessly, though now and then the lever will disengage. Later, when I used the SG1, I noticed both levers were in opposing directions.
This is an astounding machine. It’s made to last, and will laugh at your puny 600-page novel. Then again, it may inspire that bildungsroman.