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Legends of the Modern Workspace

stuffnstuff
07/29/05 6:39 PM GMT
This thread is a place where you can put your humorous stories about where you work on the web. Start each story with "Legends of the Modern Workspace Issue #(whatever number yours is)" and let us know what happens when you are clocked in at your job. The stories should be interesting and descriptive about what happened while giving an idea of what the atmosphere of your office is like to someone completely uninformed. Also, keep the general ambiance the same; tell your story as if it were epic instead of a joke; make it real to the rest of us. It is ok to give comments on other people's stories, just be specific about which one you are commenting on and do not change the mood of this thread through your posts. Fill us in on your office myths.
0∈ [?]
-those who hit rock bottom are too concerned with self pity to realize that they are lying on an anvil- Psalm 66:10, Job 10:8

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stuffnstuff
07/29/05 6:40 PM GMT
Legends of the Modern Workspace Issue #1

In the office where I work, most workstations have a printer, some two, but there is one that is different. In one particular office, there is a printer that is above all the rest. It is quick, efficient, creates clean-looking results, and rarely needs to be refueled. Because of these factors, the rest of the company, about 14 or so, tend to use this primarily and their own printers secondarily.

The printer really is a unique piece to have in one's space, and I almost feel bad for the owner of the office to which it belongs. The makers did a marvelous job in every aspect except for one: size. In creating nearly every feature known to man built into one box, they threw the concept of saving space out the window. When you walk into the office, a large percentage of his desk is occupied by this behemoth which completely dwarfs the smaller printer sitting next to it. Now, the printer really isn't that old, it was just designed for very industrial needs while producing excellent results. Giving results is the top priority, but I wasn't going to let the size of it go unnoticed...

When you wish to print from this large, yet very productive, mass, you simply enter your print options and choose the model number "OKI-C7200" from the list of printers on the company server. Not that most need to; it is already generally the default on most computers. It was from the name that registers on every computer that I got my idea.

Calling someone at school a nickname is one thing, and if it is catchy and applicable, you may be joined by many others, but the only way to really have everyone call the person by that name is to go to a judge and ask for a name change. That is just what I did. I went into the computer and accessed the details of the device. I proceeded to change the name from "OKI-C7200" to "The Buick". I felt that it was an accurate description all around; whether you choose to describe its abilities, features, statistics, efficiency, or realistic applicable nature to the consumer, the name still rings true due to its truly massive size.

I have changed the name of the printer as it knows itself as well as how all the computers on the network recognize it, but the name still takes a while to sink in to my co-workers. Already, "OKI-C7200" is done, but it is commonly referred to "John's Printer" about as much as "The Buick". Time is the only factor left, and we will see what lasts longer. I look forward to the day when, long after I am gone, future interns will view me as an office legend for such a bold move against the tyrannical monotony set in motion by those of additional years. "The Buick" explains everything that needs to be said for today. What will the future generations of interns do in my footsteps?
0∈ [?]
-those who hit rock bottom are too concerned with self pity to realize that they are lying on an anvil- Psalm 66:10, Job 10:8
::stuffnstuff
01/04/06 11:15 PM GMT
Legends of the Modern Workspace Issue #2

So there I was, one gloomy afternoon, working somewhat late on some menial task. Just the idea of my highly intelligent mind inside my rakish body being put to no greater use than...scanning...still gives me shivers. Morale had been low all afternoon. Just as dusk was approaching, I started on a new package. As I opened the thick envelope to find the many papers bound in book-fashion rather than their spiraled companions, I realized that this dismal load would take a bit longer than usual. Misery. Misery had been the word of that day. I was looking forward, or at least to the side, to an upcoming spiritual ritual of my denomination that was to take place in a couple hours; if I was to leave this scanning project behind early, then perhaps I could find preparation for this cultic ritual more entertaining...but no. One can only program lights for so long, so it would be just as bad there. Thus proceeded the process of my thoughts. The lights under the darkening skylight to my right suddenly blinked on. Yeah, misery.

Rather abruptly, a dame stepped into my office. She seemed to have a befuddled purposefulness about her along with a splash of the need for humor, but this certainly would be more eventful than scanning. Oh, those shivers again. The dame appeared to be of a pushy variety, but as long as they know what they want, I like that in a woman. As she moved close enough to speak, the currents and eddies of smoke from my cigarette danced about. She said and I quote, "Could you unravel the mysteries of the postage machine?" I was taken aback. I have only been trained so extensively in a few areas, and "postage machines" does not seem to fall into any of those. Still, she had a case, and that was progress. I leapt to my feet, pulled on my coat, and patted my .38 for assurance; some of these jobs end only in danger, and I was trying to make up for not ever being a boy scout.

I began to follow her towards the subject of her visit with mild thoughts of excitement coursing through my mind. This could be the relievement I was searching for...unless the dame was putting me on. As we arrive at the destination, thoughts of doubt filled me. There were many controls, far too many to understand, and none of them seemed capable of the task which she requested. To put $.83 of postage on to a custom made stamp...this could be beyond me. I considered admitting defeat, but that is probably just what the dame was waiting for. I do have my reputation to keep up and I need all the business I can get, so I put on a thoughtful expression to mask my panic. The dame appeared quite bubbly, but it still could have been banter to hide her true motives.

Taking a wild shot in the dark, I pressed one obtrusive button next to an icon that could conceivably get the job done. After a moment's hesitation, the bucking postal machine grabbed a sticker and fed it through its printer, producing a customized $.83 stamp on the counter to its right. The dame's eyes widened and she began babbling on even more wildly. I thought it might have been wise to slip out before she tried to do something drastic like hug me. I mean, really, I only saved the day. That is the excitement of where I work; to have thrills and chills, but only in between my smokes.
0∈ [?]
Consciousness - that annoying time between naps

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