The Insurance Nazis who emailed me some important documents today demanded that I sign them all and either fax or scan them back over to their offices.
Those were my only two options here.
And so begins the conundrum…
Since last time I checked it wasn’t the year 1995, I knew I would not be using my non-existent fax machine to fax them in. Also, since I am a broke-@$$, very recent college graduate (SHUT UP, everyone. Two and a half years is still recent), sans the funds and technological prowess for such a luxury machine, I also knew I would definitely not be scanning them in.
Therefore, I realized I would now be forced to venture out to the nearest Kinko’s to take care of this mess—and this is how things would play out once there:
- I will insert my credit card into the little timer box and watch the seconds tick away and the money add up as I sit and watch the sand trickle through the Hourglass Of Doom while the public PC from the Clinton Era takes seven minutes to boot up and open my documents.
- I will attempt to scan these documents in and, upon realizing I have no idea how to actually do that, I will then give up and make my way over to the fax machine (which is securely chained to the desk because, obviously, fax machines are a hot commodity these days).
- I will then commence faxing while simultaneously bursting a blood vessel in my left cornea out of frustration. (Are there really that many wrong ways to work a faxing machine, you may ask? Yes, yes there are. And that was with the directions typed out in big, bolded letters and duct-taped mockingly to the wall in front of my face.)
- After witnessing my palpable distress, the prepubescent Kinko’s employee boy behind the counter will ask me if I need help, and I will obviously tell him no, because at this point it is imperative that I prove to this sweaty Noxema case-study in Keds that I AM NOTHING if not competent of feeding a few papers into a slot and dialing a few numbers on a keypad.
- Minutes will pass. Tempers will flare. Buttons will be pressed threateningly with much more vigor and force than necessary.
- Finally, an eerie peace will settle over the Green Hills Kinko’s as the little scrolling fax screen tells me timorously: “Faxing…Complete?” (My violent nature has apparently caused this skilled, finely-tuned machine to question and doubt it’s own abilities—and rightly so.)
- Blood pressures will then begin to lower, but only momentarily, as I eject my credit card from the charge box to see a grand total of $4.50 for the entire endeavor. Four dollars and fifty cents for a mêlée with technology and a couple of documents which I was pretty sure I’d signed in the wrong place anyways.
Then I tripped over the welcome mat as I was exiting the store.
And there you have it, everyone. All in a day’s work.