So I walk up to the copier like I’ve worked in an office all my life (even though I’ve only worked there one day a week for less a than a year). How would it know the difference? It asks for my pin number, which I remember, and then gives me an error message saying something about a paper jam in tray four. I’m freaked out and rolling my eyes, but remind myself that I wasn’t born in the 1800s and bend down to open the tray and remove the crumpled sheet of paper from the machine’s grasp like the picture on the screen tells me to. The error message disappears, but then 700 sheets of paper begin to spit out the other end for what seems like forever.
My sister walks down the hall next to the copy room and smiles at me through the paned glass. I look panicked on purpose so she will come in and help me and because I actually am. “What is it doing?” she asks of the printer spewing paper. “I don’t know! Printing like an entire encyclopedia or preparing to explode!” I tell her, because I am dramatic.
I attempt to look at one of the sheets to see if I can see if it’s printing the same page over and over again, but then the next one bumps into it and folds up, then the next one after that and the next one after that until they all start falling on the floor in a matter of seconds. My sister looks horrified and walks out to find out who might be printing this stack of super important former trees.
Turns out it’s a financial report and I better not un-organize it.
I try to get all the papers back in the right order, make my six copies and get the heck out of there.
In other office news, I also don’t know the appropriate amount of pressure to apply when using a return address stamp.
|my dad explaining something else apparently kind of baffling to me.
There is something kind of exciting about not knowing how do to something, though.