Sunday, March 11, 2007

Copy Machine paper play- can’t we all just get along?

We had a little trouble with Biz (our new copy machine)giving us the ‘business” and we called our handy dandy service folks. They sent us Mr. Melkin who came soon enough, and stayed and stayed and stayed. He pulled the poor machine apart, removed every cartridge and other removable part, but to no avail. As busy as he was, he seemed to be spinning his wheels. His sighs, and groans told me this. I wish training programs would teach service guys in Servicing machines 101 to just tell the truth.

It was clear to me after a few hours, that the service tech was in trouble. If it wasn’t because he couldn’t figure out the problem, it would have to be that he had no idea how to reassemble the
3,484 machine parts that had taken to the floor throughout the afternoon. I knew this. Our Superman IT guy knew this. The blind piano tuner knew this. (“Mrs. Church chick, you may want to see if you can get your hands on a mega magnet. Whoever is in the copy room is gonna need something to help him pick up all 98 screws that have dropped and rolled in there- oops, 99, no an even 100 now”) but Mr.Melkin? No, he didn’t get it. He was too busy hiding his sheer panic.

When it was all said and done, days later, the diagnosis came in.
“Ms. Church chick?”
“Yes, Mr.Melkin? Done already? Gosh, it’s only been a week, I was beginning to get used to using carbon paper again. What’s the verdict?”
“ Well, the problem seems to be that the copy machine doesn’t like the paper you are using.”
I lifted my carbon covered hands from the paper I was working on. I stood and shook my lovely blue carbon stained sleeves.
“ The copy machine does not get along with our paper?”
“ Yes, ma’am. Color in particular.”
With that, I stepped from around my desk and walked past him into the hallway. I pointed my carbonated limb towards the exit and looked him straight in the eye. “ We will not have any type of color discrimination in this place, paper or otherwise. I think it is time you left.”
Like the ghost of Christmas to come, I held my position and hung my head “ Go”
I heard the loose screws (that he undoubtably could not figure out where they needed to go during the re- assembling of Biz) jingle in his pants’ pockets all the way to the front door.

No sir, I just won’t have it.

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