The Greater Hillmomba Copy Machine Wars

Perhaps I've mentioned my ire with planning time usurpers who monopolize the Kyocera. The saga continues.

My lunch buddy ceased her copy-hogging behavior after I heatedly informed her that other people need copies, too. And that we are not her paper-feeders, misfeed unjammers, or ladies in waiting. In fact, she now comes to ask me if I will be needing copies that day. And if so, she pauses her copy job so I can utilize my prep time for prepping. I thought we had reached an understanding.

I hoofed it up to the copy room as soon as the tardy bell rang to start my plan time. There was a huge job running on the fickle Kyocera. A multi-paged packet, stapled, that showed a remaining time of 22 minutes. THAT IS ALMOST HALF OF MY 50-MINUTE PLAN TIME! My internal thermometer nearly blew its red-alcohol bulb. I hauled my test to the office. Explained that I would be using that copier due to the other one being in use. I ran two sets of a 3-page test. Stapled. 24 tests in all. Plus 24 single-sided answer sheets. The machine jammed after the third answer sheet.

We all know how to work on the Kyocera. That's because it's so unreliable. We are like greasy mechanics sliding under the carriage on our rolling boards with black-vinyl-covered foam rubber headrests. We know the drill. The order to search for crinkled copies. Not so on the king-of-beasts office copier. It rarely jams. We are neophytes.

My teaching buddy, Mabel, came in looking to make some copies. Because, you see, there was a big job running on the Kyocera. The people's copier. She looked at me and sighed. "I only have 21 singles left. I have removed five papers from the guts of this glorious copier. There is one jam left. But I can't find it." Mabel pushed up her white sleeves. She fiddled with a lever next to the one that the machine showed as jammed. She removed a full piece of paper. My hero!

The copier said to reset the paper. We put in more. It still said to reset the paper. I straightened the left stack. Mabel the right. All systems were go. My 21 pages shot out in no time.

At lunch, as Lunch Buddy approached, I threw her a warning sign. A rattlesnake's got nothing on me. "I hope you brought a rawhide chew toy," I hissed. "Because you are in the doghouse again."

"Why? I haven't done anything."

"Those copies. Again with the packets? I could not copy for 22 minutes."

"Those were not mine. Mine finished before my plan time was over. I had all of mine. Did you look at them?"

"No. They were so big, and so many, that I just knew they were yours."

"Are they still there?"

"I don't know. I ran my copies in the office."

"I'll look when I microwave my lunch." She returned with a smile. And a steaming Michelina's frozen entree. "I knew they weren't mine. Not even my subject. They belong to REDACTED."

Aha! Good to know. I apologized. Lunch Buddy was quick to accept. "I'm just glad it had nothing to do with me." A sentiment she echoed a few minutes later, when another luncher mentioned how many phone calls he'd fielded already this morning. "I can enjoy my lunch. Because I know I did nothing wrong for anybody to complain about this week."

Now I must mount a new attack. Lunch Buddy advised me to mention it to the culprit. "Of course, she'll start crying." Yeah. So I have to finesse my will onto this one. I have an inside track. A battle plan in place. If it does not work, there's always a way around the enemy's flank. I am, after all, closer to the copy room. I can get there first. I can run an unimaginable amount of copies at that time if I set my mind to it. Why should I wait until after school for those big jobs? I want to go home and watch Jeopardy, too. And in a confrontation, I have the reasoning that it IS my prep time. So I'm prepping. What are YOU doing here?

And if all else fails, I will just trot on up there at the beginning of REDACTED's plan time, and set a tall stack to copy before she can get there. Fight fire with fire.

Mrs. HM is one of Hillmomba's finest.