I just spent one hour, ten minutes and 37 seconds on the phone with tech support. One of my work sites has a malfunctioning all-in-one copier/fax machine/printer. And it’s my job to fix it, dangnabbit.
The situation is complicated because the offending machine is in Kankakee and I’m in Princeville. The employee in Kankakee doesn’t speak English. I don’t speak Spanish (“Mi llamo Jennifer. Donde esta el bano?) and the tech support guy, David, I’m guessing, speaks an Indian dialect and passable English.
Thus, David was giving me directions; I would relay them to Maria, who, on the phone with RosaEmma, would translate them to Spanish. RosaEmma would follow the directions, report back the results to Maria, who would translate them into English for me, so I could relay them to David. For over an hour.
The first step? Unplugging the machine.
The second? Pushing the number six button and # symbol simultaneously with one hand, while re-plugging in the machine. I really think that RosaEmma thought we were fucking with her. Especially since we were laughing hysterically.
The third? Push the one, the four, the seven, while standing on one foot and eating Jello. That one she didn’t believe. Pudding, maybe, but Jello?
By the third time through this multi-step rigamarole of brobdingnagian proportions, the tech guy was laughing too. And finally, finally, he gave up and they are sending us a new copier/printer/fax machine. For free.
So, much like the unintended consequences earlier this week, something that would normally be frustrating is leaving me feeling elated.