Timeline of a Kinko’s Trip.

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.


Or Scan.

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.


2 thoughts on “Timeline of a Kinko’s Trip.

  1. This does NOT help your situation. I’m adding “clumsy, impatient, skeptical, and not machine savvy” to THE list. (You know what list with which I’m referring.)

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