A gajillion dollars to the person who invents a way for me to injure someone - on the phone.
Lori sends me an email because the copier in her department is malfunctioning. I rush over to help because I believe that, if you can fix it yourself, it's A) cheaper, B) more gratifying because you learned something.
It turns out that I can not figure out the reason for this paper jam message. There is no paper jammed anywhere, so I turn the monster off - then on again. You'd be surprised how well this works in a pinch for most electronics.
"I guess I'll have to call for a technician," I say after giving up. As I rush back to my desk, I hope we'll get that incredibly good-looking technician who was here yesterday.
Please, please, please. I've been good.
I dial the service number and the surly voice on the other end gives me pause. If my anti-social level is at 92 today, hers is at 157.
"Hello, I need a technician for my copier."
"What is the name of your company?"
I tell her, she waits a few seconds before asking, "Can you spell it?"
I spell it, she finds us in her computer, then I get this:
"A technician was there yesterday," she whines, as if to say, What the fuck's wrong with you people?
"No, that was for a separate issue." I begin to describe the issue in depth because she's obviously retarded, and she cuts me off again.
"What is your name?"
The Grim Reaper is what I'd like to say.
"Your phone number?"
I give it to her. She tells me that she will put the request in the system. Let's see what happens tomorrow. Maybe she'll come in person.