I cannot think of any business machine more useless and annoying then a fax machine. In this day and age of email and scanners is there still a reason to transmit documents via phone lines. Regardless, everyday I am witness to my fellow coworkers involved in a never ending battle with this waste of space. All day long I hear them loading the sheets in, dialing the numbers (please note that and audible verification that a key has been pressed is unnecessary) and then the machine's response of "Beep, Beep, Beep". This sequence will repeat, with the occasionally echoes of the paper tray opening then slamming into the body of the beast, until one member of the struggle gives in. It really doesn't affect me until I hear the battle cries of that glorified telephone.
"Beep"
"Beep"
"Beep"
What is it trying to convey? Is it sending out some type of distress signal? Using Mr. Morse's alphabet that he created for horses and/or Helen Keller, I attempt to decipher it.
The Options:
"S"
-Could it be calling an army of snakes?
"E" "E" "E"
-On a phone that is 333- convert that to other letters you get "Ef'd" meaning we're fucked.
"E" "I"
-Perhaps that fax's alphebet only consists of two vowels.
"I" "E"
-I e- what? I eat? I envy? I e- what?
After a thorough examination of the evidence before me I concluded that it is not attempting to hold a coversation but rather it is an exclamation of pain. The machine appears to be hurt (paper cut?) and it is screaming out in agony. So this machine that I have come to despise is asking to be put out of it's misery and a feeling of helplessness falls over me.
As I stumbled upon this revelation, I sank lower into my ergonomic chair. I was horrified that I now have to sit and listen to death cries of a machine that is not scheduled to be replaced anytime in the near future. During the quiet times I glance over at it just to check if it's still there.
I have to wipe away the tears before anyone notices....
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2 comments:
*I knew a lady by the name of Debbie Lawson who sent a fax once. She put her papers into the feeder of the fax machine face down - obidiently following the instructions on the machine. She dialed the number and proudly stepped back as the machine scrolled the paper through and spit it out onto another tray. She stood there for what seemed like minutes looking perplexed. When finally somone asked if she was alright. She answers: "I don't think the fax works, It returned my papers and it was supposed to send them to my bank! How does the paper go through those little phone lines anyway."
*True story. Debbie is a single mother of triplets and serves beer at Painted Dunes Golf Course in El Paso, Tx where she occassionally blows the golfers for tips.
Debbie's regular day was the Sabbath. Her regulars were sure to stop by the back shed as she did the 'inventory' on said day. And, she's very open minded and thus open to non-golfers. Since she is probably a mecca of venerial diseases, toner poisoning would be welcomed.
side note: I love how this piece on fax machines turned into a gossip column.
side note to the side note: I don't normally gossip and this seems to be a healthy outlet for all of the juicy information I've collected over the years. So, don't judge...assholes.
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