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December 24th, 4am, Eastern Standard Time.
Written on 2002-12-24, at 4:02 a.m.

dizboy's disturbing daily diet...

1 Bottle Water

2 Aleve (Who drank last night? ME!)

1 Large Sweet Tea

1 Open Faced Turkey Sandwich

1 Sprite

1 Peanut Butter Ball

1 Butter Cookie

1 Plate Spaghetti

John Live*

*Not at all live...

We were sitting in Liz's cube, staring blankly at each other, and occasionally cracking jokes at other people's expense. 

At least five of us, from all levels of management, coordinator, supervisor, stage manager, tech lead, tech supervisor...

Nothing was getting done, because there was nothing to do. 

It had been like this for days, as everyone in the department was suffering from a holiday-induced ennui, and the lack of events happening left us with far too much time on our hands.

Somewhere in between the staring, and ridiculing ourselves and others, one of the office clerks popped in.

"Hi everybody!" she said cheerily. "They're doing a class in the copy room now, on how to use the new Xerox machine. Anyone interested?"

The collective gazes of the entertainment events team turned upon her, which is not at all a pleasant thing.  

She'd have had a better reaction asking us if we'd like to help shave her grandmother.  

As a general rule, my department does not do well in situations where we have to be silent, and listen to other people.

We're all from entertainment, we like the sound of our own voices, not others.

And other departments know this.

So to ask us if we'd like to stand in a room while some sun-forsaken technoid from information services gushes giddily about the lightning-fast staple features of the new Xerox Docu-Center is, in actuality, just asking for punishment. 

We are a production group!

We stage events costing thousands and thousands of dollars!

We can run a theme park with assorted limbs missing!

We can operate a COPY MACHINE!!!

My first experience with a copy machine at Universal Orlando was a humiliating one. 

Back a few years, a Stage Manager of mine had handed me a large training manual, totaling about 70 pages or so.

"Ok, we'll need 150 copies of this for the cast." she said.

About 30 minutes later she discovered me in the copy room on the verge of a mental breakdown, as I had only been able to copy three pages of the manual so far.

"John...what are you doing?" she asked.


She looked at me, looked at what I had done, and began laughing. 

A laughter that lasted well into the rest of the day.

I had been taking a page, making 150 copies, setting them aside, taking the previous page off the glass, and putting the next one down to repeat the entire process. 

Once her breathing returned to normal, and she was able to wipe away the tears of laughter, she showed me that by placing the stack on the magical sorting device, and pressing the mythical button of collation, then this fantastic machine would create one-hundred and fifty neatly sorted, stapled, and piping hot copies of the manual.

"Didn't you put 'Office Technologies' in the skills section of your resume?"

"Oh...hey...shut up." I replied.

So naturally, when the opportunity presented itself to get a head start on this new piece of technology, I thought it was a good idea.

The thought of endless ridicule from my peers, however, soon quelled that desire.

The curses started coming from the copy room at about 1:30pm.

"What the FUCK is a copy code?"

"Goddamn it, what's wrong with this fucking thing??"

"Press 'option' to scan? What's this shit?"

We soon realized that this more than any of us could have thought to tackle.

We gathered around the insidious machine, staring at it with the same perplexed expression as a Muslim at a Christmas tree farm.

"I can make single copies..." my supervisor said, managing to look somehow brave and defeated at the same time. 

"Maybe we should have gone to the class" someone else said, attracting glares that would floor a bull. She might as well have said "You're all bastards! And your grandmother's a fucking whore! Wheeeeeeee!"

One by one we slunk away, and I'm fairly certain that one by one, we snuck over to the other copy room, to use the old machine across the office.

Which, we found, had been replaced as well.

So, there's a moral to this story, I think.

It's probably about change being inevitable, or something...

But I think I like it being "What the FUCK is a copy code?"

Ponder that, Confucius.

Before I go, I've been nominated for a Bitchie in the category of "Most Blinding Layout".

I'm not sure what the protocol is, but I'm obviously going to capitalize on it, and request that you all vote for me.

Go here to vote.

Do it.


I can wait.


Done? Good.

Be well...


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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