Sadly, I must report that I have become “the printer guy” at work. In an unfortunate change in cubical assignments last January my location is right across from the printer room.
At first it wasn’t really a bother, all the noise and traffic of people going by because I am hardly around. But as of late, it has become a bane to my existence. You see, we have a new printer.
The old lease ended and they brought in a new brand and make. Of the five days it has been here, only two have shown operation. Things get jammed, the emergency malfunction 800 number pops up, people begin to curse and complain.
For those whose witty riffs are spoken as they sulk back to their desk, I have heard that same joke several times today. For those who stop to ask if I have called the repair number, oh yes, I have. Most amusing are those who try to fix it themselves (as if I had not already tried to check for paper jams and loose scraps.) They stand around for a minute, scratch their head or something worse, and slap the panels closed in frustration.
If this were my job, to take care of the printer, it would be fixed or out the door. But since I have no where near the expertise or directive to look over this machine, I can only take delight in the way others suffer. I only sit near the printer, proximity does not provide mandate.
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