Friday, June 07, 2002

Printers are a strange bunch.

In my line of shirk, I am often visited by printers trying to get us to use their services. The other day, one guy came to see me, and seemed pretty normal for a while, but by the end of our little chat he was swearing like he had Tourette's or something. Maybe I looked like I would appreciate a little guttermouth action. I don't know. And he proceeded to tell me his questionable employment history and how basically everyone he has ever dealt with he would like to kill. Something told me this was not the printer for me.

And mere hours ago, another one of these peculiar people visited me.

She also seemed pretty normal. Then she showed me a brochure they had done for someone she knows who sells vending machines. Completely out of the blue she starts telling me how this friend of hers was in a terrible motorcycle accident and has diabetes and might have to have his leg cut off. I didn't really know what to say to that. Was I supposed to buy a vending machine to stop this poor guy getting his leg cut off? Was she, in a sense, ransoming her friend's leg? Instead, I made the cognitive leap between Diabetes and having your leg cut off, because I have heard of such things, being a man of the world and all. I mentioned that I had heard of this.

Big mistake. She started telling me how many relatives of hers have had various bits of themselves amputated. I'm not sure it was all diabetes related, either, or even consentual for that matter.

She sighed "I'm not going to let that happen to me."

"Uh." I said. "That's good."

Life is a caravan of delight, isn't it?


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