Radio Slack

The laser printer in the office at the store has been jamming with increasing frequency. Last week Perry and I cleared a major jam by removing many key parts of the printer and fishing out the accordion-pleated paper, and yesterday Michele and I cleared another jam and found a scorched mailing label in its innards. This morning Alan was trying to print the replenishment report, and the printer seized up again, so I got out my handy screwdrivers and tongs, cleared the jam, tried to print a test page, and watched as the printer jammed again.

I gave it up as a bad job and decided to call the local computer place (you'd recognize the name immediately, because rhymes with "radio slack"). A sweet little dollie answered the phone.

"Hello, this is Radio Slack."

"Hi. This is P-doobie from Otowi Station Bookstore up the street. Do you repair laser printers?"

"I don't know."

"Well, perhaps you can check?"

"Yeah, hold on." After a long hold, a guy with that fascinating husky voice that's just short of asthma answered. "Hello?"

"Do you repair laser printers?"

"Yeah."

"This is P-doobie from Otowi Station Bookstore. Our printer keeps jamming, possibly because a scorched self-adhesive label may be in there. May I bring ours down so you can take a look at it?"

Heavy sigh. "Well, I don't have any time today, but if you bring it down right now, I'll look at it."

So I gathered up the printer, drove the two blocks to Radio Slack, wrestled the printer out of the back seat, and, carrying the printer in both hands, approached the door. Two workers inside watched as I tried to open the door. When I finally got inside by dint of some intricate footwork, kicking, and using my elbows, one of them said, "May I help you?"

"Well, not anymore." The comment was lost on him. "I called a few minutes ago about getting my printer repaired."

"Who did you talk to?"

"He didn't identify himself."

"Well, it wasn't me."

I thought, "Three people are working in the store. You say I didn't speak to you, and the dollie is out of the running because she's female, so maybe, just maybe, the guy standing in the back is the person I talked to. And we really need to talk about whether you were ever dropped on your head as a child." Meanwhile, my fingers were cramping and the printer wasn't getting any lighter. The guy pointed to the back. "Go talk to Joe," he said, and walked away.

I heaved the printer onto the counter and Joe shuffled over. "I spoke to you a few minutes ago about repairing a laser printer."

"Did you call?"

"Yes, I did. I told you that my laser printer keeps jamming."

"When did you call?"

"This morning. About five minutes ago."

"I don't repair printers."

"Then why—"

He tried to lift the top off by tugging hard on the output bin. Nothing happened, so he tried harder, then asked, "How did you get the top off?" I told him that we didn't take the top off; we worked from the back. "Oh," he said. "Well, you should go to Santa Fe. Maybe somebody down there can help." He shuffled back to his work bench.

I hope nobody comes in and asks for help today.