The big green button. Two-sided, one-sided, landscape, portrait, flip-side, top-side, stapled, sorted, unsorted. But always back to the BIG GREEN BUTTON. Because if she pressed the big green button and the machine began to make its usual array of whooshing, whirring noises then, for once, the damned thing wasn’t jammed and she’d be able to make her way through the huge pile of copying without resorting to her perfected routine of opening and slamming various doors and compartments, followed by twisting and turning a multitude of rollers, perhaps a rough shake of the toner bottle and, if all else failed, a resounding kick on the side of the machine.
She knew too much about photocopiers. She was spending too much time in the company of photocopiers. The fact that she even thought of the photocopier as ‘company’ wasn’t exactly healthy either. When she began to think of the BIG GREEN BUTTON as her only companion, that was when she knew that she’d really begun to lose the plot. She spent more time talking to the photocopier than anyone else in the office, taking out her frustration in muttered, exasperated monologues of the “come ON, you BAStard! WORK! Dammit!” variety. Combine these with the irate monologues she had with the printers that were forever running out of toner, the collapsing hanging files and box folders, and the absolute bane of her life, the “BLOODY BINDING MACHINE!” and it might be possible to form a picture of her job. Her temporary job that had somehow turned into fifteen months of gradual brain-numbing-losing-the-plot grind which, as she kept telling anyone who’d listen, “A MONKEY COULD DO!”.
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