Written for chipscompo 2024: january, in which the theme was "ancient technology"
lyrics
It’s the printer on the third floor!
The time is 5:54 PM. My ensemble rehearsal begins in six minutes. I have forgotten to print my sheet music.
Six minutes is plenty of time, I think to myself. I walk to the elevator and briskly press the “up” button.
(Printer! Third floor! Printer! Third floor!)
It’s the printer on the third floor!
One of my least favorite design choices of this building’s elevators is the display that tells you exactly where the elevator is, and in which direction it’s going.
In this particular scenario, the infernal display shows me that the elevator has, in fact, just left the first floor. It seems I’m in for a wait.
(Printer! Third floor! Printer! Third floor!)
It’s the printer on the third floor!
As expected, the elevator is ascending all the way to the fifth floor. By the time it arrives, it’s 5:58 PM.
There’s still time! I might arrive a few minutes late, but I can set up my instrument quick enough to begin rehearsing on time with the rest of the ensemble.
(Printer! Third floor! Printer! Third floor!)
It’s the printer on the third floor!
I have finally arrived on the third floor. Before me lies the decrepit relic. This machine is so old that it has learned emotion.
Notice how I said emotion, singular. The one emotion this printer has learned is contempt, and today it is feeling particularly spiteful.
(Printer! Third floor! Printer! Third floor!)
It’s the printer on the third floor!
As I reach the printer, I quickly realize that it is not only out of paper but out of one color of ink as well— magenta, naturally. I don’t NEED magenta ink, I’m printing in BLACK AND WHITE! I open the printer’s ink compartment and discover, NO, in fact, it is not out of magenta ink, but the cartridge is just leaking EVERYWHERE.
I gingerly remove the faulty cartridge and toss it in the garbage can. I fumble around for a moment in the cabinet for a new one, grab it, and jam it into its receptacle. I go back into the cabinent for a stack of paper, and COMPLETELY RUIN half a sheaf with my ink-covered hands. I don’t have time for this! It’s 6:05 PM!
I run to the bathroom to clean the ink off my hands. It takes at least 30 paper towels until there is no more magenta residue being left behind. I run back to the printer and realize that the sheaf of paper I tainted was the last one in the cabinet. I start furiously digging through the other storage in the room, desperate for just one more sheaf. I eventually find one, load it into the wretched mechanism, and finally begin printing my sheet music. After a SINGLE page, this godforsaken piece of SHIT JAMS! I frantically tug on the half-printed piece of paper, unceremoniously ripping it as it leaves the printer.
It’s the printer on the third floor!
Finally, my sheet music finishes printing. FUCK the elevator, I start sprinting down the stairs, skipping four at a time. I arrive to my ensemble sweaty, shaking, and looking like I just killed a Danganronpa character. The time is 6:21 PM.
“Oh hey.” my conductor says. “You’re twenty minutes late. Here, come grab your part.”
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