We have, and I kid you not, at least eight printers at my place of employment.
Eight.
So, I arrive at my station and the sun is shining and the birds they are a-singing and the flowers are in bloom.
I have a document that needs to be transformed from its electronic form to the higher form of paper. I tell my computer to ask the printer nicely if it wouldn’t mind performing this small service for me, as a kindness.
And it goes “uhm, no”.
-? goes I.
-Nope, goes the printer. “Don’t wanna.”
-Why?
-I just don’t feel like it. I have paper. I have ink. I am connected. I am all shiny. Everything on my display is lit up and blinking happily. I just don’t wanna.
Oh, the irony.
There’s something wrong, but there’s nothing actually, you know, wrong. Which means there’s nothing I can actually do about any of this. And no the old “turn it off and turn it back on” trick doesn’t work. On any of them.
There’s a ghost in the machine. In all of the machines, actually, and there’s a tech support which isn’t very supportive and there’s me leaning over the machine going “you have one purpose in life, only one, and if you don’t fulfil that then what good are you?” … which is … well, slightly threatening, I willingly concede. (I did that to the printer, but maybe I would have been better off doing it to the tech?)
One out of eight really isn’t too much to ask, now is it?
Except for how it obviously is.
Balls.
ROL
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