Monday, September 21, 2015

Rage Against the Machine(s)

There are some days I just know, without a doubt, that if I touch something things will go horribly awry.  My powers of fuckupitedness can also rub off on others should they touch any machine after I’ve used it on one of “those” days.  I’m not sure if my hands are too cold, if my case of bitchy resting face, my lack of machine competence or my fear of the monster that lives in the printer rubs off on the machine and is picked up like a virus by others, or if I somehow place a hex on the machines after I touch one.   There are days I don’t even have to touch a machine, the mere suggestion of it is enough to make the poor thing start spewing out gibberish and die before I even send document one to a printer. 


There are times I know, without a doubt I’ve sent one copy of one document only to a printer only to have the thing give me 5 copies of a different document, one that isn’t even open.  I’ve sent one test label to the label printer only to have it print out on the normal printer.  I have no idea how that happened.  After a printer mishap I go back to my computer to look at my logical progression, of events but this answers no questions and often leads me to hold myself and say “why, why, why?”


I tried literally 9 times to print one label a few days ago.  I could not get one scan off it.  Labels must pass with an A, B or C grade.  When I did get an accidental scan it was an F.  Another person, the printer whisperer, got my labels to print from her computer with perfect A’s?!  We both used the same settings.  I had her come over to lay hands on my computer in hopes that she could exorcise the demon that surely must be camped out inside there a long with the little guy who runs the bytes of data back and forth on slow days.   Even her powers of perfection were no match for my anti-machine powers.  I had the manager come over to complain at my computer, berate it and reset the margins.  It worked for her and for me too.  I even got one A.  Then the next batch of labels came time to be printed.  Once again the computer possession was in full force.  I’m not saying that it was speaking in demonic voices or anything but I’m certain that if there is print work to be done in hell that a manual I must have written will be there to instruct all the machines on proper etiquette.   I think I heard the scanner laugh as I approached it with the labels then utter a “None Shall Pass”. None didst pass.  I gamely followed the written margins the printer whisper gave me despite being told that we should never have to change the margins.  



It worked….then the printer ran out of labels.  I learned how to change the labels.  Later that same day, it ran out of ribbon.  Then it decided to skip a few labels.  As the day progressed the printer started taking in papers in a staggered manner printing one page over the span of two because two sheets were being sucked in with a staggered space.  I took out the drawer, reset the paper and went on.  Then it got a two tray one door paper jam.  I fixed that.  At that point I was simply daring the master of machines to strike me down with toner aplenty and douse me in shredded bits of misprinted paper.  I did not care, I had reached a document with 666 in the title and figured that was my best and only chance to zap the demons from the machines and really get them where it hurt.  I would successfully print a group of documents with the currently accepted mark of the beast and dare the printers and computer to harm me.  They printed out fine.  

2 comments:

RJ Veendy said...

At home, I buy my printers from the thrift store for 10 or 20 buck. The first time the give me shit I load their ass back into the car and take them back, and say, "Here, I'd like to donate this printer. Do you have any others?"
I once tried through the printer on the floor, but that didn't make it work any better, so I took it out front and ran it over with the car. I showed that sucker who was boss.
Robert

RJ Veendy said...

Should be throwing not through. Daha