why i hate photocopiers

I have just had the mother of all photocopier related accidents. The tiny room I call my classroom has an even tinier storeroom. In it are all kinds of things I never use and a photocopier. You cannot imagine how good it is to have my very own personal photocopier. Gone are the days when I'd rush down the stairs along the corridor, bumping into language teachers and knocking down year eight pupils, through the foyer, bounce into the bizarre tree trunk thing, run into the reprographic room and beg the technician to run me off thirty copies of something for a class about to start any second. Now I just run into my store. It's bliss. Of course I miss the inane banter I have with the photocopy guy as he pretends he has three thousand copies of something to do first. And my photocopier doesn't do all the cool things his does - double sided printing, stapling, booklet making, basic origami, fortune telling - but I love it none the less.

I should have said loved it none the less. The thing can take a running jump past the bizarre tree trunk thing in the foyer for all I care now. I was in the middle of copying 40 sheets for exam concessions when it ran out of toner. It won't do anything until it had toner. I found the instructions and set about replacing the toner.

1: Remove the cover from the new toner bottle... removed

2: Slide the cover below the toner bottle in the machine... hmm, doesn't really slide very well

3: Edge the toner from the machine whilst sliding the cover over... not working

4: Slide the new toner bottle in and remove the seal...

It is at this point that I realised my mistake. I had removed the plastic seal from the new bottle, not the cover. Not a problem, I'll take the cover off now. I took out the old toner and went to tip the new one upside down to push it into place. Except with neither cover nor seal there was nothing to stop the toner being affected by gravity and coming out of the bottle - which it duly did.

Evil black clouds of toner billowing through my tiny room. Black dust covering everything including me. The clouds were so thick I literally couldn't see my way to the door and tripped up three times trying to make my escape. As the dust settled the full horror appeared. Everything in that room was encased in black powder - and not easily removed powder. I could have cried. Then I caught sight of myself in the mirror - I did cry. My face - covered. My shirt - covered. My tongue - covered (how did that happen?)

I face the humiliation of walking through a school full of cruel children covered in black soot for the rest of the afternoon. Its enough to make me curse Chester Carlson and his demonic copying invention. Will it prevent me from stopping for a coffee on my way home? Not a chance.

So if you see someone doing a very good impression of a shirt and tie wearing chimney sweep in Coleraine this afternoon - give them a sympathetic smile.