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| My brand not pictured |
I needed an ink cartridge. My printer was insisting that it could not go on until the yellow ink cartridge, which had run out, was replaced. It insisted on this even though the tax document I was attempting to print contained no yellow.
Unable to convince the stubborn machine otherwise, I headed out for our local office supply store. The printer is not a newer unit (more than two years old...imagine), so the outlets available to buy new ink are limited. Why not replace it with a newer model? It works very well, it's connected to our little intranet and everyone uses it. It also has, what seems to be a vanishing attribute, a straight through paper path. What I mean is, the media that you are printing on does not need to bend as it moves through the printer. This is very handy when printing business cards, clear vellum sheets for overhead projection and other media that is not simple #20 inkjet paper.
I had a different brand of printer that had only two initials as a name and it had a folding paper path. the continual jams, stutters, and waist brought about its sad and untimely demise on the office floor. With a few kicks to be sure the beast was dead, I went and bought the printer we are still using today.
The one that is currently out of yellow ink.
I hear on the TV and radio how poorly the economy is doing and how retailers are struggling to get by with a skeleton staff. Its very hard for them to keep the doors open. You could not prove it by the parking lot of the mall outside the office supply store. Its 114 degrees in the shade (of which there is none) and the lot is full to brimming over.
Cars are parked on any available open spot, marked or not, making the search for an open spot more like the "Dodge-um" amusement park ride than a .. well... search for an open parking spot. After circling the lot and watching the temperature gauge on my old minivan slowly climb towards the red line, I finally slip into a spot that is not completely out of sight of the office supply store.
Victory!
"Too bad for you, slackers," I smile as other cars pass by my old van with heated scowls. For a moment, I actually entertained the idea of realigning my parked vehicle in its spot, just to watch the circling parking piranhas come flying together only to be disappointed as my van slipped back into the same parking spot. Muhahahaha!
But the moment passes and I pause to survey the trek ahead of me across the hot asphalt. I should have brought water.
And maybe a camel.
Crossing the parking lot is no easy task. Pass between parked vehicles is safe enough, so long as you watch where and in what you are stepping. I learned long ago the little green puddles can be as slippery as sheets of ice and catching your balance by placing bare skin on a sun baked, painted car hood can be just as painful as landing on the asphalt. But the most dangerous by far is crossing the streams. Referred to as "access drives" or "lanes" by the uninitiated, they are streams filled with creatures more deadly and unpredictable than anything in the rivers of Africa or the Amazon jungle... impatient drivers. Some are on the hunt for a parking spot, others attempting to escape the mall altogether. Each are equally desperate. Each are equally dangerous should an opening arise with you in between them and their intended target. Having just been one of the pack, I wave them by, patient waiting for my opening to cross.
Sweat is running down my back as I enter the store and a chill runs through me as I plunge my body into 78 degree conditioned air. I'm greeted with a hollow "welcome to ..." by one of the minimum wage drones behind the service counter who does not even look up to see me as she speaks. I make no attempt to get her attention or even reply, but make my way to the aisle with its perforated gondolas filled with ink cartridges in sealed plastic hangers. All the brands are here and even some generic refill kits. And my brand hangs right here....
Hey. It's gone.
"Can I help you" asks a young girl covered in her "Big Box Store" smock.
"My ink is gone," I say pointing to a display now filled with another brand.
"We moved those down here," she says as she leads me to the far end of the aisle.
"But its not here either," I say as my eyes dart from one packaged ink to another, "its the one with a guitar on the box."
"Those are over here," she says point to an opposite row. "Personally, I don't like those because its hard to read the box."
"It has a guitar on the box. Its the only one with a guitar on the box. Others have horses, or butterflies, or something, but only one has a guitar on the box." My explanation failed to impress her. "There are only singles here," I pointed out questioningly. "Where are the multipacks?"
"I don't know," she said, "we might have them online."
I thought of my printer which is stopped mid page and demanding an ink cartridge which it did not need. Could it sit that way while I wait for ink to be delivered? I shook off the thought and resigned myself to paying $20 for a single ink cartridge. I would find the multipacks somewhere else, perhaps online...
Producing the proper "member" card saved me nothing, but it did inform the management that there was still someone stupid enough to be buying ink single packs and just who that idiot was. I maneuvered my way back to my old van and cautiously opened the door to allow the trapped heat to escape without singeing the hair in my mustache and eyebrows. And a mere 20 minutes later I was approaching the exit.
Back at my office I was greeted by my printer, still stopped mid-page, its little green and red lights blinking. I pressed the red flashing button and the ink carriage swung out into the open where I could pop out the old yellow cartridge and snap the new one into place. The printer jumped into life and ran its cleaning cycle to bring the new cartridge online, thereby being ready to not print yellow in the twenty-five page black and white tax form still in my computers print buffer.
Cleaning...
Cleaning...
AH! Here it goes. The print head swings into position, data begins to move, and the computer beeps and stops.
It would seem that the head cleaning was all that remained of the light cyan.
