226. Multiple copies

It’s 7:00 AM.

I am sure to be first this time. I walk up the street and there are very few people around: a few stragglers, a  dog walker, early risers for no reason. There are quite a few clouds in the sky but the sun is putting up a brave fight and winning. There is no wind. There is no noise. It is pleasant to walk to work this morning. 

‘Go there early, and you can be first at the photocopier.’

I cannot remember who gave me this very sensible piece of advice but it saddens me to think my life right now revolves around the photocopier. Africa seems so far away. Calling me but I am not answering. Yet I’ve got to do these copies or I will have 30 teenagers with nothing to do. And after all; like it or not - this is my job.

‘And you’ll have the new one all to yourself!’

That definitely got me going.

I doubted this as no matter how hard I try there is always someone beating me to it. Some super conscientious hyper professional, ultra organised type of colleague. One of those who work from early in the morning till late at night. 

I get there and I have to use my special pass to open the massive blue door. As I get inside the grounds there is nobody but me. The feeling is great. I can do what I want: climb up a tree, sit and meditate, dance, jog around but the copier is calling me.

I get inside the building and notice I am first. I am first in school this morning. I get a medal. Yet something is not looking good: the old copier, tiny and white, is still there. The new one - disappointingly smaller and less modern than in my imagination (in fact not in my imagination at all - I did watch as the lorry was unloaded with 11 brand new copiers and this is not one of them). I approach the machine with a strong urge to kick the damn thing (after all I am alone in here) when I see the thing is not even plugged in. The cord is dangling to the side and on top there is a sign:

DO NOT USE

These guys must have been desperate to get away on Friday night, dumping the thing like that in the middle of the room.

I have no choice but to use the old machine. Attempting to plug and install the new machine would be time consuming and probably unsuccessful. 

My thoughts are with the people who were desperate for their Friday night drinks and as I can relate to that I instantly forgive them. I sigh - deeply - stretch and utter a couple of loud swear words to get the frustration out of my system. They echo nicely around the empty room. And this is when someone walks in.

Of course I feel stupid. So I start to pretend that I'm dealing with the machine. But I have not even started on the copying so I quickly shove a test paper in there and press all the buttons in quick succession. The machine whirs and purs and sighs even deeper than I yet nothing comes out. I open the drawers in rapid succession to see if there is any paper left. Of course there is. I bang the drawers shut (I love the metallic clank which sounds as if this is a perfect piece of technology and also and old rattling mechanism sometimes I even bang them shut just to get my mood up). I press an other button and try to look as if I am waiting patiently. Still nothing. I start swearing again to keep up with my persona. I start drumming my fingers on the side as despite the whirring and humming and all the wheels and cogs in motion in that useless bit of equipment is not doing what it is supposed to do: make copies. My colleague after having been offended is now worried.

‘Please, don’t break it! This is the only one we have!’

I make a noise. A kind of noise a big huge grizzly bear would make if you tried to stop him from eating the honey he has just got his hands on. And now, much to my surprise and to my greatest satisfaction some printed sheets of paper are starting to come out.

‘At last!’ I say to the grumpy colleague. She is not impressed.

The printed sheets are coming out at such low speed that for a while I thing we are in slow-motion mode. No, there can’t be different speeds. It’s just me being stressed now. All the good feelings of the early morning walk through town gone.

‘I hope you don’t have too much to do?’ My colleague sounds a little stressed too. 

‘First come, first served.’ I want to tell her too get out of bed earlier if she has copies to do but I don’t. Karma and all that. I just turn to her and grin.

‘No, I’m done. … I’ll do the rest later. … There you are.’

This is good. Professional, caring, sharing, I tick all the boxes.

Yet the machine won’t stop. I have more than enough copies of my test by now. Why won’t it stop? 

My hands hover over it as I do not want to press any more buttons yet I need to stop this constant flow of papers. But how? Should I kick it? Bang it? Slam it?

My colleague glares at me, grabs her bag and her folder and leaves the room as the bell goes. 

I get to class and the kids sit nice and do the test. I have far too many papers. I am on the ground floor and the door is open and across the playground there is the staff room with the copier in it. Am I imagining it or is it still purring and turning out my test papers? When the test is done I tell them I have to go and check something and I run to the staff room. An other big wad of test papers has come out! Oh no! I quickly grab them. Should I stay and wait until it is finished? I stare but as the papers keep coming out I need to go. At break time I release the kids a touch early so I can go to the staff room and remove more papers. I get the last papers as the machine seems to have stopped. I am relieved and I rush back to the safety of my own classroom.

Back home I shove the excess paper in the recycled bin hoping the fire crazy won't strike again.

The following morning someone says to me:

'Has the copier been installed in the annex?'

'Yes! Thank Goodness! I was having so much trouble with the old one.' 

'Oh! There were yours then, all these test papers!'