ED. Note: This was written at a time when copier repairmen were expected to wear a business suit, white shirt, and necktie while working on the nastiest of nasties, the old liquid-toner copiers (anyone else remember those?). Today, copiers aren't just copiers anymore (they copy, they fax, they scan, they're networked printers, they can even send e-mail), copier repairmen wear business casual, and - thank God - the liquid toner copiers have gone the way of the dodo. The one thing that has remained the same over the years, though, are the inane comments made by the office comedian as soon as he/she realizes the copier repairman is in the house. And then there's the clown that walks into the copy room when you are hip-deep in copier parts and asks if he/she can make "just one copy." And, of course, there are still the same old copier cartoons taped to the wall above the copier. C'mon, folks, the gag about the "critical detector circuit" is 20 years old, for cryin' out loud!
An Ode to the Copier Repairman
by Rod Shelley
Of all the heroes great and small;
comes he, the most unsung of all.
You've seen him before, you know him well;
he comes to do battle with the copier from Hell.
He steps through your door, a glaze in his eye,
a tool kit in hand, and toner on his tie.
The problems, oh yes, he's seen them all, this week;
the jams, the rattles, the chortles, the squeaks.
The customer tells him "It's broke, see, right there!"
As slowly he pulls out what's left of his hair.
"Okay," says he, "I'll have it fixed in a snap!"
The office manager replies, "It's a piece of crap!"
The insults bounce off, he's heard them before;
The same stale old wisecracks, a million times more.
He opens a panel, flips a lever, turns a screw;
Meanwhile the damn thing takes a leak on his shoe.
The consummate professional he's trained to be;
but respect? Hell, he gets less than Rodney D.
The copies are streaked, too light, or too dark;
the last time it was serviced was on Noah's Ark.
He's got it running, now, cleared the jams, stopped the drips,
removed from its insides seven pounds of paper clips.
His hands are shredded, and he's covered with grime;
some wiseguy walks by, "Didja fix it this time?"
He smiles as he cleans the covers and mirrors,
tries his best to ignore people's insults and sneers;
takes some comfort in knowing five 0' clock's getting close.
Of filth, slime, and insults, he's had his daily dose.
So when your copier hiccups, and threatens to die,
Please be kind to your Repairman, with toner on his tie.