In the event that I lose my job as BART train operator, I’ve decided to pursue a career as an office machine psychic.
Young Susie J. was once quite impressed by the effectiveness of a pet psychic at mending the relationship between two fiesty cats. It turned out that Smudge, who invested hours grooming herself, was offended by Moondance’s dirty paws, leading her to behave in an aloof and dismissive manner. Poor Moondance felt demeaned and inferior, but she really did have some damn dirty paws. There’s a bit of a hole in my memory as to how this information was actually implemented in our lives, but I do remember never having cat fights in the house again. Really, the most impressive part of this pet psychic lady was that she didn’t even have to meet the cats! She did it all over the phone, only knowing their names.
But office machines don’t always have names, so I’ll make house calls. I’ll target those companies with really, really troublesome office machines. I’ll be their last resort, solving only those problems even the best repair people couldn’t solve. I’ll come in, charging 350 dollars per hour, as if I were a bigshot divorce attorney or some shit. Dressed in long, flowing skirts, hair scarves and wearing ever so much jewelry, I’ll be the picture of psychic prowess. Or, maybe I’ll dress bus-pro, just for kicks. Depends on the job, maybe.
Anyway, let’s say I’m called in cause the big old copier in the vault is making wheezing sounds and acting up sporadically. I’ll make a big production of listening to every side, opening each cover and looking inside. I’ll push different bits of paper through to assess the problem. Then I’ll ask to be alone with the office machine.
Now, it doesn’t matter what I do here, cause I’ll be alone with the office machine. But, since I’m a genuine machine psychic, I will genuinely communicate with the copier. I’ll channel it’s innermost being, if you will. And you know what its innermost being will say?
That it’s the typewriter’s fault. I’ll dramatically conclude that if they want their copier to work, they had better get a new typewriter. It turns out that copier is still holding a grudge cause the typewriter wasn’t initially very welcoming, since it had been around since the beginning and had seen copiers come and go. I tune in to the typewriter, and all its energy suggests that its just “too tired of the rotating copier game.” Can’t argue with that.
So, let’s say they take my advice, and get a more sociable typewriter. Then the copier is still having problems! They’ll call me back–especially since I was ever so effective the first time–and I’ll put on the same show. And I’ll dramatically conclude that the reason for the copier’s continued misbehavior has to do with the abuse of a wayward technician long ago. It feels violated, and is having trouble moving on. I suggest that they call my friend, Deseree, the office machine counselor, and I’ll give them her card. Normally, I say, Deseree is able to work through an office machine’s problems–no matter how deeply rooted in its psyche–in only two or three visits. And, I point out, she’s cheaper–only $250 an hour. Everyone knows counselors make less than psychics.
Yes, I think this is a very good plan. Fool-proof, even. I just need a couple of good references.