Friday, February 11, 2011

Night 40

Office Space.

Were the blueprints for fax machines drawn up in hell between the minds of Satan and Hitler? I have no other explanation as to why fax machines are so god awful. I finally understand Office Space. I remember I would get mad when my computer wouldn't work and then I would slam down the mouse whenever the screen would freeze but I would never hit my baby because a computer is so fragile and delicate but a fax machine on the other hand is such a clunky piece of shit that when it doesn't work you just feel like beating the shit out of it.


Here it is in all its pig glory. Look how fat and cumbersome it is. It's not even nice to look at, in fact it's ugly and disgusting. I just hate the shape of it. It's so boxy that all you can think about is hitting it with your fists because you think it can take it, but I ask you how much abuse can one fax machine take?
I have found the bane of my existence and it is my fax machine at work. It sits on the desk, stairs at me, making fun of me with the three hole punch and tape dispenser. They are mean, they're mean girls and I don't like being bullied. If I could I would find out where this fax machines family and friends live and kill them all. I wouldn't take them to a field and smash them with a baseball bat like in Office Space, no it would have to be much more torturous.
I would take the fax machine apart piece by piece and not with delicate hands. I would scratch it and dent it as I remove it's rolling balls and tiny little buttons. I would blind it by smashing it's ridiculous green lit screen and I would take enjoyment in burning pieces of it and running over the remaining pieces with my car. I feel like kicking it; really kicking it. I am talking front face kick, soccer kick, curb stomp, back spin kick, roundhouse and drop kick. I want to use so much force when I destroy it. Whenever it starts being a bitch I give it about 10 minutes and then I start hitting it. I hit this machine and I don't care; he can tell his office supply friends that he fell and that's why he has the bruises. I smack it's tray with my fist. I always hear things rattling inside, like it's about to throw up or like I'm breaking it's bones but I don't care; I want it to suffer as much as it makes me suffer.
You say that my hitting makes it worse? No, quite the contrary sometimes when I hit it, it smartens up for a brief period of time and will actually send one to three faxes but never more than three in a row so I am forced to prioritize what must be faxed. The tray that pops out looks like it's sticking its tongue out at me and I hat him so much. I hate him so much, I hate him so much and I hate him so much.


Show yourself to the world you whore, let it see how much of a waste of space your stupid, clunky body is. Do you see how it mocks me? Do you see how I am just one big fucking joke to it? I'll show this fax machine who the real joke is? You won't be so saucy after I rip out your paper try tongue and feed it to pigs will you?
When it refuses to take the paper I shove it down it's throat and make the piggy eat it, I just want him to eat it, is that so much to ask? I hate sharing this room with him all night long. We don't talk and I like it that way. I would rather talk to a giant zucchini with a bad attitude than this fuck face.
This is the process that it puts me through every fucking night. I load the paper into the feeder to be eaten up and it there are two noises it makes. There is one noise where you know it is going to take the paper and the other noise where you know it's not going to take the paper. As soon as I know it's not going to take the paper, I remove it and wait a second and try again but if it makes the noise that it's not going to take it and you leave it in there for a few seconds this message flashes:


These words haunt my dreams. I sit curled up in a cold shower crying and muttering, "Mispick".
I googled what this meant and ways to fix it. It means that there is a paper jam. There is never any paper jammed ever, I don't know what to tell you. It prints fine so there is no paper jammed. Why does this message appear when there is clearly no paper jam? And no matter how many times you re load the paper it's never good enough; it never takes it. Holy Shit I can feel the blood in my veins pulsating, the pressure behind my eyes increasing and my brain starts throbbing. I know how angry I am getting and there is nothing I can do about it. I leave the room most of the time for a break because I don't know what I'm truly capable of when I get that angry.
It's so pathetic how happy it makes me when the machine sends a fax; my heart becomes light, a smile grows from ear to ear and my feet start tapping a beautiful tune. I hate how it toys with me.
This machine works about 10% of the time so I try my best not to use it because I really don't need anymore of an urge to kill someone. I just feel that if this machine was out of my life I would be so much happier. It's hard working with someone you hate. It's kind of like working with an ex-lover except worse because I never loved this fucking thing and I never will.
Burn in hell.


No comments:

Post a Comment