November 7th, 2006

So I'm standing around at work trying to figure out why the damned photocopier isn't printing my pages. It says something on the screen like:

Service Request. Press OK to continue.

But I can't for the life of me find any button marked OK. Until I realise that it means press the virtual, graphically-drawn OK button on the screen. Once I touched that with my fingertip, I get to the meat of the matter:

Print job 49239: Tray 4 out of paper. How could you let things get this way?

Ah, well, that's hardly a new experience, especially for me, since I am a technical writing tree-killing paper waster.

So, after finding out where is this Tray 4 that I need to put paper into, I discover that there are no bundles of paper anywhere to be seen. So what do I do? It should be obvious: I take the paper out of Tray 2 (which is the same size as the paper needed for Tray 4) and put it into Tray 4 where it is needed most. I close all doors, and the photocopier shivers and shakes as it winds up its little paper platforms to the feeder wheels.

But the photocopier is no dummy; it knows what I did, although it looks as though it is going to be gracious enough to allow this little piece of paper cannibalism to occur, but not until it makes me acknowledge the harshness of my actions. It displays a message that looks something like a EULA. I paraphrase (with embellishment):

By pressing OK (below), I hereby agree to waive all rights and claims to the use of Tray 2 in this machine, and acknowledge that its lack of paper is the direct result of my own actions in moving it to Tray 4 just so I can have my damned printout without spending 3 minutes and 200 steps walking to the supply room to get more packages of paper. I further acknowledge that all risks and inconveniences to others—actionable or otherwise—are entirely my own responsibility. Also, I testify that I have consulted a lawyer and been advised of my rights and obligations in this matter.

So I press the OK button and the printer whirs and shakes and I just know it is finished torturing me and is going to give me my printout. Yay.

As I wait for it to finish, two men walk by, and one of them says to me, in a manner somewhere between pitying and insulting:

"I suppose you don't know where manufacturing is, right?" (Huh? What a mindfucky negatively spun little piece of shit that was!)

"No, sorry, I don't," say I somewhat taken aback.

"Well don't be sorry!" He replies, clearly looking as though he thinks he is being generous and gracious. And with that they both continue walking.

(Good grief, what garbage was that? Hasn't he ever heard of linguistic convention? I said "sorry" to be polite ... because we are overly-apologetic in our language so as to not appear rude. Not because I gave the slightest little flying fuck about the fact that he can't find a department in the office building. And busting someone for following little language quirks that everyone does is just assholish bullying behaviour. Go stomp on a puppy's tail or burst some child's balloon, why don't you? But get off your crusading high horse, you meandering buffoon. But I'm getting away from my story here.)

Anyhow, the printer has finished and my warm fresh pages are glistening on the delivery tray just waiting virginally for my rough dirty hands to start pawing through it and getting the corners dog-eared, the text all smudged, and maybe, just maybe, a penned-in comment or two.

But, out of curiosity, I look at the little screen on the printer.

Print job 49240: Tray 2 out of paper! It's not my fault, I swear! That lazy-assed 49239 did it! Go find him!

And I realised I'd have to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. But I hope upon hope that it's Mr. Manufacturing-Seeker's print job that got screwed up.

(Oh, and it's on the first floor near Shipping and Receiving.)

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