I have a love-hate relationship with office printers. Our relationship flourishes when I remember its access code, and my printout waits patiently for me to pick it up. But our relationship plummets, when I hear beep…beep…beep, and the words ‘printer jam’ display. As I loudly disassemble the printer’s drawers and toner cartridge in a fruitless search of a mangled crumb of paper, my frustration and choice of vocabulary skyrockets.
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