I warned you several times. . .
You have one job. One simple job. It's bad enough that you're wildly inconsistent at your sole responsibility.
Sometimes you like to be the burning laminator of doom. The plastic encased paper I feed you gets chewed up and spat out looking like those melting clocks in that Salvador Dali painting. That acrid stench of fried plastic in the air, my materials warped and suddenly very three-dimensional, I'm forced to wait for you to chill out...
|This can't be good...|
Sometimes, lets face it, you just phone it in. I don't know if it's because all of our other laminator machines died last year and you know you're the only option I have; or maybe I was interrupting you from a nap; or you know I already blew the this year's budget on magic markers (again); or because I was critical of the anti-Semitic jokes you told at last year's Christmas party... but there are days when I'd get better results leaving my papers to bake in the heat of the sun than giving them to you. I could probably do a better job just breathing the papers, because when you don't even try my materials come out with so many air bubbles I'd be better off using it to wrap fine China. I can literally float my materials down the river and rats could use them as rafts.
|You want me to laminate that? Phhffffttt... Whatever dude...|
Oh, and the noises you make. When you first came to us you made a nice little whirring sound. It was the closest thing to therapeutic that you'll find in a school that isn't a foot massage from the nurse. But now you choke and wheeze and make these strange grinding belches that make you sound like you're auditioning for the evil death contraption that James Bond has to escape from.
But my biggest bone to pick with you is your ravenous appetite. Somedays you just binge eat on anything and everything I give you. The first time it happened I didn't know what to do. I gave you my paper and you ate it. I waited and waited for it to come out your other end, but all you expelled what the stink of burning and eventually some smoke. You have a button that says "release" so I pressed it and nothing happened. Just more burning smell and smoke. Finally, I realised I was going to have to go inside you to get my paper back.
Of course your underside was labeled with a very clear sticker saying not to unscrew any of your screws. I'm sure I voided your warranty and possibly even violated the Federal do not remove tag if you had one, I didn't check. It took me a good fifteen minutes that first time to figure out where to put my screwdriver. It was painful for both of us, too, I know. I made so many mistakes, fumbling around, lost and confused. I didn't really know what I was looking at... But I popped your hood and eventually after burning my fingers a few times I found the still smoldering remains of my materials and extracted them.
|Bad laminator! Bad!|
I closed you up, plugged you back in and you promptly ate the very next sheet I gave you, but I realised what was happening before it was too late and with all my strength I ripped the sheet back. It was quite the tug of war, but you are a laminator and I am a 70kg adult asian man.
But I'm busy and you're sneaky. You'll obediently work and work and work until I let my guard down and then the minute my back is turned... nomnomnomnomnom!!!!!
So it's come down to this. For some reason, whatever idiot designed you and slapped that "do not use a screwdriver to open me" on your bottom, decided that you needed eleventy million screws to keep you shut. I disagree. Breaking into my roommate's safe back in college was so much easier and faster than opening you. So now, every time you ruin something for me, every time I have to take you to the storage-room and sit on the concrete floor and tear you apart to rip out whatever mangled, melted, and burned remains are preventing you from continuing to do your primary (and sole) function, I will take one of your precious little screws from you. And NEVER give it back...
|You're so screwed...|
This is both a punishment for you and it will make it easier on me should you test me again. And it will continue to get easier and easier for me the more you materials you eat. When we get to the point where you are screwless, I'll feign ignorance and you will get replaced...
So when laminator jams there's nothing we can do?
I'm not a genius,
but taking apart a laminator isn't exactly rocket science...