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An Ode to the Copier Repairman 
 

Of all the heroes great and small; 
comes he, the most unsung of all. 
You've seen him before, you know him well; 
he comes to do battle with the copier from Hell. 
He steps through your door, a glaze in his eye, 
a tool kit in hand, and toner on his tie. 
The problems, oh yes, he's seen them all, this week; 
the jams, the rattles, the chortles, the squeaks. 
The customer tells him "It's broke, see, right there!" 
As slowly he pulls out what's left of his hair. 

"Okay," says he, "I'll have it fixed in a snap!" 
The office manager replies, "It's a piece of crap!" 
The insults bounce off, he's heard them before; 
The same stale old wisecracks, a million times more. 
He opens a panel, flips a lever, turns a screw; 
Meanwhile the damn thing takes a leak on his shoe. 
The consummate professional he's trained to be; 
but respect? Hell, he gets less than Rodney D. 
The copies are streaked, too light, or too dark; 
the last time it was serviced was on Noah's Ark. 

He's got it running, now, cleared the jams, stopped the drips, 
removed from its insides seven pounds of paper clips. 
His hands are shredded, and he's covered with grime; 
some wiseguy walks by, "Didja fix it this time?" 
He smiles as he cleans the covers and mirrors, 
tries his best to ignore people's insults and sneers; 
takes some comfort in knowing five 0' clock's getting close. 
Of filth, slime, and insults, he's had his daily dose. 
So when your copier hiccups, and threatens to die, 
Please be kind to your Repairman, with toner on his tie.