Listen to Jim’s 6-minute podcast: https://youtu.be/jHNUTru2IJU
or read the transcript below:
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Life, actually…
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THREE DAYS A SPIT APPRENTICE
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Remember back some twenty or so years ago when we wrestled with imperfect desktops and cranky printers?
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I remember:
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HOW TO CONVERT ELECTRONIC-SCREEN-IMAGE PRINT INTO GOOD OLD-FASHIONED INK-ON-PAPER PRINT IN THIRTY OR SO STEPS WHILE KEEPING BEPTO-BISMOL HANDY
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Got to print as many copies as possible before the machine revolts again…
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Must cross fingers and hope for a miracle…
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I’m right in the middle of trying to produce a bunch of copies of the Alabama Writers’ Conclave brochure announcing this year’s seminar, using my trusty HP Deskjet 940c Hewlett-Packard printer, when the damned thing stops printing and flashes this little yellow light while at the same time producing on the computer screen a message that basically says, “You’ve got the wrong toner cartridge installed, so un-install it and install the correct toner cartridge, you imbecile!”
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The machine stops printing the brochures, which means that I can’t meet half the writerly deadlines I’ve imposed upon myself, so that I hand-deliver what I have managed to print thus far.
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I cleverly un-install the printer cartridge and install one of the old cartridges (one that’s supposed to be out of ink), and the little yellow light immediately stops blinking.
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There is hope.
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I start printing more brochures, but then a sign comes up on the screen saying, “This cartridge is low on ink. Replace it. That means un-install it, you imbecile!”
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I continue running copies anyhow, keeping a close eye on the brochures so that I can stop as soon as the ink gives out, which it never does, except now the message of the screen tells me, “You’ve installed this cartridge improperly, so do it again until you get it right, you imbecile.”
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Where does a machine like this learn a term such as imbecile? I wonder.
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I make the screen message disappear and the machine keeps on printing. Wanting to stay ahead of the impending demise of the cartridge, I again place a new one in the printer and get that damned blinking yellow light again. So…I go downstairs and next door to Kinko’s and purchase a brand-new cartridge (paying premium price), thinking that perhaps the old one is faulty. As soon as I’ve tried the new cartridge and found it not working, I return to Kinko’s and get another one—which also does not work.
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Now I have to face the inevitable Fork in the Road: Do I call the local printer-repair company and pay for a house call, or do I contact Hewlett- Packard’s “help” center and sit around for hours listening to really annoying music while another computer places me on hold with some message like, “Just sit there like the imbecile you are and listen to this irritating music while a techy finishes his bologna sandwich and recreational pharmaceutical out back…then we’ll get with you.”
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The next day, having had no success in contacting either the local printer repair company or the internet technical help department, I go to Office Depot and purchase yet another cartridge, just in case the two at Kinko’s are part of a conspiratorially faulty pack. No luck with that cartridge, either. After calling and talking with three different printer repair staff members over a period of three days, none of whom is a technician and none of whom gets the message I’m leaving correct, I’m ready to give up. But I call back one more time and try to see whether a technician is available. The operator says, “You said we delivered the wrong cartridge to you?”
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“No!” I say, “I just wanted to get the printer working again.”
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“Oh,” she says, “I thought you wanted to talk with a technician, but they’re all out.”
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“I don’t care whether I talk with a technician or not,” I say, “I just want the printer repaired so that I can use it.” I’m getting snippy by now, and I’m suddenly turning four years old.
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Meanwhile, a Hewlett-Packard guy calls back (after charging me $30 via credit card) to see if the problem has fixed itself. “Well, as a matter of fact, it did fix itself,” I say, which is true, since about a half hour ago, a technician from the local printer repair company walks in unannounced, to look at the printer person-to-machine, so to speak. I tell him the problem, he takes the offending cartridge out of the printer—exCUSE me, he un-installs the cartridge—and licks his right thumb, then runs the wet thumb over the copper-colored contact surface of the cartridge. He sticks the cartridge—uh, INSTALLS it—back into the printer, and the printer starts working immediately. I try the other cartridges I’ve bought and sure enough, they don’t work until I’ve rubbed an even compound of spittle onto the contacts with my thumb.
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The technician gives me a philosophical, “Well, our job is done here, Tonto, we’d best be moseying along” look and leaves, not charging me a thing for his visit.
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When the internet Hewlett-Packard guy I’ve paid $30 calls up, I tell him what happened, and he just says, “Remarkable. I’ve never heard of such a thing,” to which I reply, “Maybe you should add this instruction to your list when making suggestions about printer repairs.” Then, as an afterthought, I say, “On the other hand, it might not work where you live. Southern spit is probably unique in its healing qualities.”
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He can only agree.
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My printer works fine. Now, I just have to un-install my attitude about printers and try to make friends with this one. After all, I’ll be spitting on it regularly from now on
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© 2024 A.D. by Jim Reed
