My Copy Machine and Me

I have very stressful relationships with electronics and technology.  I was mocked into upgrading my flip phone a couple months ago to one with a touch screen and I still have not recovered.  Everyone kept asking me what type of phone I bought and all I could come up with was— a purple one.  My computer is a slut (let’s all the viruses just hop on board) and my I Pod likes to freeze a lot.  But the very worst of the all, the grade A mother fucking asshole, is my company’s copy machine.

I don’t really ask a lot of it on a day to day basis, but 4 times a year prior to my company’s board meeting, I really need it to go above and beyond.  Yet when I want it to perform, it wants to break.  When I got shit to do and a deadline to meet, that little red light flashes at me mocking both my patience and inability to put an inanimate object in time-out.  It just doesn’t care about my feelings. 

The copy machine when I first started here, Old Bitch, was first high volume copier every sold and you could tell.  There was only one other still in use on the whole Eastern Seaboard.  When the mother board crashed, they had to ship in parts from China and that was after they spent a whole week just trying to figure out if the parts still existed in this world. 

That thing broke down so many times that I was on a first name basis with the repairman, James.  I recognized his voice when he called.  I knew he preferred orange juice to cranberry.  That he was not a morning person.  His health and recovery process after a recent minor stroke.  Every time he left my office, another crisis repaired, we’d give our customary, “hope to see you soon, but not too soon” good-bye.  He showed up so often that jokes were circulating around the office that I was sabotaging the machine because I was in love with James (he was well into his sixties). 

And then a magical thing happened.  We decided to buy a new one.  Upgrade into the modern era of copy machines.  $40,000 for my happiness prior to board meetings.  It had a touch screen, software that would print the tabs for you (which was in fact fucking amazing) and half the size of the old one.  We were very excited!  Board books were going to be easy!  And then the mother fucking thing broke 24 hours before the February board meeting!  A month after we bought it!  A $900 Kinkos bill and 2 repair people later— neither as nice as James— the new printer earned the name New Bitch. 

Now NB and I have since made up since that brisk February day.   She was tuned up prior to this large May board meeting endeavor.  She is 16 board books in and has 34 more to go.  She is performing nicely. I have high hopes for our immediate future together and my blood pressure.  And yes, I assume you are all very bored right now, but I think it is important to know what a $100K education and an entry level job can get you— your very own relationship with a copy machine.  May you have a long and loving union. 

TGIF, Bitches.  And cross your fingers NB makes it to the finish line.  For my happiness and NB’s safety. 

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