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The new thermal printer promised to revolutionise the label printing required by the Warehouse. It was silent, quick and produced beautiful quality print. It was easy to set up, and the paper loading was clearly displayed. Lizzie, the long-suffering office secretary, was delighted. The old, noisy dot matrix was launched on its way to oblivion.
With a sigh of relief I returned to Eerie at network control. Everything seemed to be OK All workstations were present and correct. The Accountant had stopped pointing his mouse like a remote control at his PC and complaining it did not work, all printers were on-line. Even Jean Paul, the ghastly French salesman, had momentarily ceased to complain about his workstation.
Now I don't consider myself as a totalitarian network manager. I try to allocate resources with due regard to need and funds but he is seriously beginning to get on my nerves. "But", he would complain, "Zees is so-o-o-o-o-o slow! 'Ow can I do anyzing wiz zis?"
I refrain, heroically I feel, from pointing out he does not do anything anyway. I reply vaguely about system finances and refer him to the Accountant. The Accountant tries pointing his mouse at him but Jean Paul will not go away. Finally he is referred back to me. Jean Paul's portly frame fills my office and he blows ghastly French cigarette smoke dangerously close to File Server 1.
"C'est tres difficile," he whinges, "Je suis tres important ici Je demande..." etc. Privately I resolve to put him last on any upgrade list going. I smile winningly. "This is a non-smoking office so go away and please don't come back until your cigarette is out." He vanishes in a puff of smoke and indignation.
But today, it's good. Today, even Jean Paul is happy. Outside the resident blackbird is singing his heart out in the spring sunshine. I begin to relax in the rare appearance of order.
The phone rings. It's Lizzie. She is in tears. Suddenly its all going horribly wrong.
I find Lizzie and the warehouse manager gathered around the splendid new printer. He is embarrassed by Lizzie's misery, but adamant. "It's simple!" he keeps telling her, "It won't take much time at all."
The new printer had used up its demo supply of thermal labels specially printed on treated paper. Lizzy had made the mistake of asking for more.
"More?", responded the Warehouse Manager in terms reminiscent of Mr Bumble. "You want more? But we have boxes of labels." He pointed to the boxes containing thousands of continuous labels which had been ordered for the dot matrix.
I pointed out they were perforated which meant they would not go through the new printer. The Warehouse Manager handed Lizzie a pair of scissors. "All we have to do," he said, "Is trim off the perforations. After all we would save 0.0001p per label."
Stunned Lizzy began to cut into the sheathes of stationary. I return to my office and order new labels. I wait for the phone call. The MD bellows, "Why the !***** are all the deliveries being held up? Why isn't the new printer producing labels for goods out? What! What's that?! Well order new labels then!"
He hangs up. I take the new labels to the warehouse. I go back to my office and bang my head very hard against my desk.
