The Copier Man

I've spent a good part of the afternoon ticked at the printer. I'd send it a job, have it print half way only to jamb up with a sheet of paper clearly not jambed. I'd have to interrupt the print run, press OK and watch the machine whirr back to life when there wasn't much wrong with it that I could see.

I do work in an office where there is plenty of dust so it is very plausible to me that the printer had simply taken on too much dirt over the past year or so and needed a good professional cleaning. I call the service company and who shows up an hour and a half later but Typhoid Jim.

When is the last time you saw and advertisement on television where the copier man was snorting back post nasal drip with the passion of a dentist's suction tube? The snorts were discomforting, but at least there was some regularity to the noise. The coughs however were nothing short of nerve wracking--seven here, then three, four more, snort, nine coughs, another five, etc. I especially appreciated his effort to make sure how I could next time dismantle the printer and clean certain areas by myself. This instruction could only be carried out with his wet and reddened proboscis but two feet from my face.

I know in a week I'm gonna be coughing up a storm and snorting like a prize bull. Thanks Jim. I'll make note not to invite you to my next pool party.