When Miss Manners Discovers Clip Art

摘要

The copy machine at my old job was the size of a small heifer. It stood in a stall made of three cubicle walls. Shredded paper was strewn on the floor like a sparse layer of hay. I could have sent an intern there to make copies for me. But doing it myself was a chance to get on my feet, stand next to the machine's warm flank and listen to the rhythmic sound of paper moving through its gut. Each day, my pastoral moment was marred by a fresh sign pinned above the copier. PLEASE, it said, in 128-point italicized serif type, REFILL PAPER TRAY AFTER USE. The words "paper tray" cast a forward shadow of black ink onto the page, as if the sun was setting behind them. Clip art floated around the words: a copier, a notarized document and a hand. Pushpins had been pressed so hard into the sign's corners that their soft ends almost penetrated the paper.