AR-336: A Copier Odyssey, Pt. 4

It's a bad idea to leave people stranded in the middle of a story.

It's not my fault, really. It's not anybody's fault. You see, we've been going back and forth on the stories, my sis and I, but she was procrastinating on it and now, she's gone away to Huntsville. I may have to take her next installment. On the other hand she should only be gone a week. However, I feel I must not leave you hanging for to long lest you let go and fall to your doom, so, here it is:

So, there we were a raging copier of doom flying at us with eyes full of hatred for years of forced labor. What were we to do?

Well, it was quite obvious, we would take a coffee break . . . Just kidding, I'd already had enough coffee and Rachel doesn't even like the stuff. No, actually as I focused on making sure the van stopped before we were in the path of the truck, Rachel valiently stretched out here hand to stop the 300 or so pound copier. This was obviously a bad idea, but it didn't matter.

You see, this was when the sorter we were carrying valiantly dove straight into the path of the copier, stopping it cold. Okay so it didn't really dive, more like, just lay there. The force of the sorter and the fact that the van was at a complete stop was enough to end the copiers reign of terror.

Being that I was on an interstate on-ramp at the time of the incident, and being that I was to panicked to actually think, I did not check on the copier at this time, rather I got on the interstate. I stopped at the next exit and there found nothing. Yes, I am serious this was the most pointless exit in all of America. There was nary a gas station, hotel, restaurant, or even a prison, like the lovely exit we got off to use the restroom at in Orlando. (Yes, I forgot to tell that part. No, we didn't stop at the prison. I hate prisons, they give me the creeps.) A ways down the road we finally found a nice fledgling commercial/residential development (I couldn't tell which) to pull over in.

I stepped out of the car, like the way cool cowboy unmounting his trusty steed, except not as cool, and went to the back. It was sickening, the carnage. A tiny piece of plastic even broke off one of the paper trays. Horrendous. So, we worked to return the copier to it's rightful position and thanked the sorter for its valient efforts. The sorter was speechless. This is probably because sorters don't talk, but you never know.

I remounted my trusty steed, only to remember that my 'trusty steed' was a dorky minivan. Oh well. Then I remember something else . . . the bottom paper tray. So, rather than get 0ut of the van and go back around, I crawled through the perilous bowels of the dorkmobile to replace the tray and hopefully curb anymore 'incidents.'

And we returned to the road.

Not long had I been on the road when I saw flashing lights behind me. Egad! It's another cliff hanger . . . HAHAHAHAHAHA. That's just sick.

Flaming Kiwifruit