Why do they make it so hard?

All I want it to do is print, it's called a printer. It makes allot of noise but still won't print. I take that back, it will print a calibration page like clockwork, but I need it to print a job layout so we can work in the shop. I stare at the display, "warming up" it has said that for weeks now. "Do you think the $&@#%* thing is warmed up yet" I think to myself. We have been down this road before with another printer. We used a hammer to deal with the problem, I guess it would be more like a very large mallet that was created for just such a task. It dealt with the problem very effectively and with a great deal of personal satisfaction.

I fumble around with the back of the printer in an attempt to unplug the power cord. As I got the cord plugged back in, windows signals the connection has been made by making a sound that I’m sure was created to sound like rainbows and ponies. Recent experiences have made that sound bring forth feelings that come from a far different place than ponies and rainbows. The printer once again makes an orchestration of noises, but still, nothing. Then it appears on the monochrome LCD display. As I read it, I can feel the rage build up from deep inside me. My eyes look at it like I am looking at Satan himself. “Bad Printhead”. It is all very clear what must be done.

I pick up the phone and press the intercom button, “meeting in my office” I announce with a calm voice. As the crew files into my office, (which is also the break room, the kitchen, and conference room) you can hear Jeremy’s sports radio radiate from his headphones even before he gets to the door. “We need to have a device ready by 3 o’clock break to deal with this printer”. They could probably sense what had been going on with the printer. I had not been subtle in my attempt to motivate the printer to perform its job by threatening its very existence. “sounds good” Jeremy says as he turns around and heads for the door. The others follow without a word.

A few minutes after three we agree it is time. Blake carries the device, which has been placed in a metal Dewalt drill box. I pick up the printer and with slight pause and a sharp jerk the cords are severed and fall to the floor. As the four of us file through the door and down the side of the building, we are noticed by the guy next door, who is operating a shaper, A smile appears across his face. Without a word being said he offers his lighter. The printer is placed in an area that is best described as a junk yard. The device is placed inside snugly next to the carriage. The fuse is about four inches long and gives ample time for cover to be found, but when it is lit, time seems to be in short supply. Once cover has been reached, time stands still. A constant wisp of smoke confirms the countdown is still underway. The shock wave travels straight through you, then a few stray projectiles tear through the air. A sharp ringing is then left in the ears. We search for remains, but not much is left. A few bits and pieces stir up dust and they land here and there. I turned to see the reaction of the onlookers who came to watch, only to find that they had quickly retreated out of sight. As we headed back to work the feeling of accomplishment raged within us and even effected the style of our walk.



DNTTAH (Do Not Try This At Home)