I Didn’t Kick the Dog and Other Small Victories from Irrational Moments

Exactly twenty three hours after leaving my gym class full of energy and with a task list long enough to use it all, I returned and a friend queried, "How did your day go yesterday? Did you get everything done?" The best accounting I could give of the previous day was, "No, but I didn't cuss or kick the dog." Caught of guard, she quickly recovered and offered, "Well, now we know you are human, and some days are just like that." I AM human. And some days ARE like that. However, looking back I am amazed at the sheer irrationality I brought to the experience.

Just what task could produce this kind of ire? In a nutshell, I needed to complete our guest list and print the labels for my son's wedding announcements. Two or three hours max…check it off…move on to the next task. After all, I had already spent the better part of two days updating family addresses and completing the mail/merge that converted my contact database into labels. Now all that was needed was a few more addresses, double-check the headcount, and print. Of course, I needed to buy more labels first, so when I left my gym class I made a quick stop at Office Depot where a friendly worker greeted me at the door and efficiently pointed me to the label shelves. There I found the clear labels I wanted for the job in packages of 10, 25 and100 sheets with their corresponding escalation of price. Feeling like I would be better off safe than sorry, I grabbed the package of 25 sheets with its prohibitive price of $35 and headed home. I took the time to shower, apply makeup and do my hair, in an effort to please my husband, Brian, when he walked through the door. (At this point, I was also planning a warm meal with pleasant conversation.) I sat down at my computer and used Facebook to send out a few last requests for addresses from my son's high school buddies and coaches. While there I wasted a few minutes and read some postings and requested a few friends since I am fairly new at Facebook.

An hour later I am ready to start printing. I know that my printer doesn't like anything besides plain white paper, so I begin feeding it one sheet at a time. I only need 8 sheets of labels, so how long can it take? About every third or fourth effort the printer decides it likes the label sheet, recognizes it as a printable surface and produces a beautiful set of 30 labels which immediately begin to bleed and run into illegible blobs of characters. I try new fonts: Calibri and Ariel. I try descending sizes: 12, then 10. Nothing helps. Two hours into it I realize that I will have to go back to Office Depot and complain about this product and insist that they exchange it for one that will produce legible and beautiful labels (these are for wedding announcements after all!). I walk into the store with my 15 sheets of illegible addresses and the original package and I am met by FOUR helpful workers – none of them the girl from my first visit. I show them the evidence and tell my tale of woe. They all nod mournfully and agree – laser. I bought laser sheets for my ink jet printer. I bought $35 worth of laser sheets for an ink jet printer, AND I wasted two hours of my time. Frustration mounts as I return to the label shelves and find clear labels for ink jet printers, 25 sheets for $25. I call my husband as I drive home (on a hands-free device, of course) and vent. He listens, sympathizes, and wishes me well. Well of course everything will be fine I think, now that I know what the problem was.

What I don't know is that while I was away, my printer morphed from an inanimate object with a few quirks into a machine with Machiavellian aspirations. As I feed it sheets clearly marked for ink jet printers, it rejects them time and again while mangling their leading edges and sending me messages like, "Re-insert the sheet with the printing surface face down." I had. Or, "Paper size mis-match." I don't think so. Fuming, I open the paper tray, re-stack a few plain white sheets, set my label sheet carefully on top, close the tray, hit OK and watch in dismay as it spits the sheet back at me with another nasty message. Then in an act of supreme contempt, the printer DOES print a sheet (whew!), but delivers a product where addresses are not aligned with labels. An hour passes and I have one sheet of legible, beautiful labels - just enough to keep me in the fight, since I know it can be done. I take a break to fold laundry (yep, I did get another task done that day!) and return to my computer. Open, stack, place, insert, close, Print, followed by sounds of gears meshing and feeds spinning and paper ripping. Paper ripping?!! Does this machine have no scruples? How can it sink so low? At 5 pm I have exactly 1 sheet of labels and a machine as jammed up as my day. I slam my fist onto my desk and begin sobbing. What of my great plans for the day? Labels, lesson plans for the week, dinner, ironing, and a birthday gift off to my son-in-law in Seattle. Like my plans, sheets of labels are shredded inside my printer. Labels adhere to rollers and feed guides. A crumbled ball of backing stalls the ink carriage. It's a disaster. Hot tears wash away my makeup and my fingers pull at my hair as I holler at the printer, "You stupid machine! You stupid, stupid, STUPID machine!"

Reason had long ago lost all sway with me. Reason would suggest emailing the labels to a friend with a reliable printer, ignoring artificial deadlines, moving on to another task and returning to this one refreshed. I instead angrily dig in my heels, determined to beat this machine and have my labels before the day ends. When Brian comes home I am a mess and his suggestions of help ("Email them to my office and I will print them in the morning") are batted away by my suggestion that he retreat to the backyard to work on the garden boxes. The dog gladly goes with him. Doggedly, I return to my efforts to produce legible, beautiful labels for my son's wedding announcements: stack, set, insert, close, Print. Out comes sheet number two of labels that meet the quality control check. Gradually the printer gives in to the sheer force of my irrational will, and at 7 pm I watch triumphantly as the last sheet of perfect labels rolls out of my printer.

I clean up my desk and walk to the back door where I tell my husband, as he works in the chilly dusk, that it is now safe to come inside. I move to the kitchen and assemble a salad, heat two bowls of boxed soup and set two places. By 8:30 we are warm and fed and calm. My lesson for seminary in the morning is written. I feel a peace that three hours earlier I was sure had departed for a good, long time. Even as I write this, I am amazed at how badly the day went and how completely frustrated I allowed myself to get. Am I crazy? I don't think so, but I am human. Did I keep my dignity? No, but I didn't cuss and I didn't kick the dog. And some days, that's the best I can do.