A few too many printing jobs

Every office has its printer hoarders. Its ink guzzlers who stand around waiting for something to print, fiddling with the paper, faffing with the trays. Towering over that big machine like they own the damn thing. Mr. John White, the subject of today’s tale, is one of those people and he’s in for a nasty surprise. For the printer in this story is no ordinary printer, nor is the office that Mr. White inhabits. Buckle up, you’re in for an odd ride.

Mr. John White is 55, white and balding. He works in the finance department of an insurance company and leads a humble, ordinary life. Twice divorced and recently depressed, John lives for the buzz of office life: the chirping voices, the busy footsteps, the team lunches and drinks. This is his escape.

Like many in his department, John spends a great deal of time printing and has earned the nickname ‘Tree Chopper’, on account of all the paper he gets through. If he’s not printing invoices then he’s churning out finance reports – big, double-sided stacks of words, hot and number-heavy.

Today is one of his busy days in the office and he’s practically camped out by the printer.

‘Seriously John, you’ve gotta stop printing so much’ said Nancy, a colleague of his in sales. ‘You’re killing the trees. Can’t you review stuff on a screen?’.

‘You know I need to print stuff’ John responded. ‘It’s the end of the financial year and there’s stuff that needs reviewing by hand. The proper way'.

‘That’s what you always say’ said Nancy, laughing. ‘You need to get with the times. You’re becoming as bad as Tom'.

John suddenly stops in his steps.

‘Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in ages. Tom – what a legend he was! I miss that guy. We were such friends. He was such a rock in this place’ said John.

‘I know you were close’ said Nancy. ‘We all miss him. Especially that printer. She was his baby’.

‘Haha – very funny!’ said John. ‘Now, will you piss off. I’ve work to do.’

‘Alright, grandad’ said Nancy.

As John resumes his printing, a weird feeling comes over him. A sudden coldness, as if he were suddenly stood in front of an open freezer. At that moment, a sheet of paper leaps out from the printer with a short message on it. John looks down at the sheet.

Hi, John. You called? It reads. John stares at the sheet, bewildered.

‘What on earth’ he muttered to himself.

John picks up the sheet and gives it a closer look. Someone in the office is clearly having a giggle, he tells himself. He puts down the sheet, laughing, and returns to the printer to check on the status of his printing job – five pages to go, it reads.

‘Get a move on’ he bellowed, banging the printer.

A fresh sheet of paper then leaps out of the printer. As John picks up the sheet to add it to the pile, his face drops. It’s nice to know you still think of me, JJ reads the message on the paper.

John can’t believe his eyes. Only one person in his life has ever called him JJ, and that person is dead. Someone in the office is clearly printing these messages and he’s determined to find out who it is.

John straddles over to Nancy’s desk.

‘Are you responsible for this?’ he asked.

Nancy looks up at him. ‘Hey John. Responsible for what?’.

‘Responsible for these’ said John, gesturing towards the sheets of paper.

‘What am I looking at?’ said Nancy. ‘All I see are bits of a finance report and I certainly didn’t print those’.

John flips over the sheets.

‘Wait, these aren’t the sheets!’ he said, flummoxed. ‘I must have left them by the printer. Hold on’.

John rushes back to the printer to look for the sheets. But, to his great surprise, his discovers that the sheets have disappeared.

‘What the fuck!’ he said, out-loud. ‘Where have they gone?’.

Nancy slides alongside him.

‘Is everything okay, John’ she asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

John stares at her, flustered.

‘I…I…I thought I saw something. Something weird. I…I must have imagined it’.

‘What did you see, John? Tell me’ said Nancy.

‘It doesn’t matter’ John responded. ‘It’s nothing. Just an optical illusion or something. Nothing to fret about’.

‘Are you sure?’ said Nancy. ‘If there’s something on your mind, you can always talk to me about it. I’m here for you. You know that, right?’.

‘I know, I know’ said John. ‘It’s probably just the report I’m working on. It’s messing with my mind. I’ll be fine after a cuppa’.

John resumes his printing and eventually prints the report he’s working on, convinced that the messages he saw were just a figment of his imagination. He returns to his desk, pensive.

The afternoon rolls by and, before long, it’s 5:30pm – closing time.

‘A few of us are going to the pub. Fancy coming?’ asked Nancy.

‘Not tonight’ said John. ‘I’ve still got lots to do and I’m probably going to be here late. Sorry!’.

‘Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be at the Star around the corner’ said Nancy.

As Nancy waves goodbye, others start to leave too. It’s usually this way around half five. If people do hang back, they’ll typically only stay until about half six. John being John though works late most days. Today is no exception.

The time is now 6:30pm and the sun is starting to set. Heavy clouds hang in the sky and a murder of crows squawk in the distance. John is the last person on his floor and the office is deathly silent.

Noticing the time on his computer, John decides to call it a day. But as he closes his laptop and packs his bag, it dawns on him that he’s forgotten to print something – his new tenancy agreement. John recently moved flats and he has until the end of the week to sign and return the agreement. The agreement only needs an e-signature, but John insists on printing off the thing to sign it.

As he heads to the printer, John hears a weird grinding sound coming from the machine which he assumes is a jam.

‘This is the last thing I need at this time’ he said to himself.

But as he arrives at the printer, he discovers that it’s working fine and printing as usual.

‘Printers – what peculiar machines they are’ he muttered.

John looks down at the printer’s LED screen. Two pages to go, reads the count on the screen. John starts gathering up the sheets. But as he does, he sees something that startles him – another printed message. John, it’s Tom. I’m here for you, reads the printed message.

John can’t believe his eyes. It’s happening again. Only this time, he’s alone. John drops the sheets in shock and steps back from the printer.

At that moment, another page starts printing. John looks on from a distance, petrified, a sinking feeling developing in his stomach. He leans in to read the sheet. I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment, JJ. I thought you’d forgotten me. I’ve been gone two years now and this is the first time you’ve said my name in the office since that tragic day. Do you remember the day? Do you remember what happened?’

The truth is, John had never forgotten the day. The day that Tom, the company’s IT Technician and his close friend, died at work. Tom had a heart condition that John was well aware of. A heart condition that he kept from his family and friends, that would eventually be the death of him.

Unsure of what to say or do, John responds out-loud.

‘I remember it like it was yesterday, Tom. You shouldn’t have worked that Sunday. You shouldn’t have let it get to that point. You were a good man. You still had years to go!’.

Jon starts to cry. At that moment, the printer starts up again and prints another sheet. John looks down at the sheet, sobbing. Work was everything to me, JJ. You know that, reads the sheet. I was the ‘Printer Guy’. People depended on me. The machines needed me. Where do you think I died in the office? In the kitchen? Pfft! Give me a break.

A chilling revelation suddenly hits John. He steps back from the printer.

‘Why are you doing this, Tom? Why here? Why now?’ he asked.

The printer continues.

As John tries to make sense of what’s going on, memories of Tom start flooding back. Tom was 10 years his senior and John adored the guy. He was everything John wasn’t: warm, passionate, fun, good with people. A man who helped others. A man who could fix just about anything, especially printers.

‘This printer here is my favourite’ Tom would say, gesturing towards the printer that John now stands before. ‘She understands me and I understand her. Our bond is unbreakable.’

John would laugh at Tom’s comments and so would others in the office.

‘What you been smokin, Tom?’ they would say. ‘It’s a bloody printer, not the love of your life. Get a grip!’.

John continues reading the sheet of paper.

I know you’re sad, JJ, it reads. I know you’re down. I watch the way you carry yourself in the office. The way you slump at your desk. The way you mope around the kitchen. You’re not happy, I can sense it.

John’s eyes scroll to the next paragraph. Join me, JJ. Come to me. You’ll like it here. The air is fresher. The people are nicer. We can work together again. We can live together again. Wouldn’t that be great?

John’s head is spinning. This can’t be real, he tells himself. He must be imagining it. John closes his eyes for a second. The printer stops.