Substitute Xerox Toner Salesman Thinks He’s Better Than Me
by Selma Jensen, guest blogger
I have been a crossing guard at Woodrow Wilson Middle School in Glendale California for eight years. And during that time, there is one lesson I learn over and over: Give people an inch and they will take a mile!
Every now and then, the xerox toner salesman pays a visit to the school. Carl Marks (the toner salesman, not the Russian dictator) and I get along fine, it’s his lackey substitute I’ve got a bone to pick with.
This reject from the Xerox typing pool came driving his 80’s Cadillac through the crosswalk yesterday and rolled down his window at me.
“I’m here to repair the Xerox machine,” he says. “Where do I park?”
I should have told him the street. My mistake. “Anywhere past that gate,” I tell him. “Just don’t park in the Faculty Lot.”
Attention: Substitute Xerox toner salesman! Why are you such a moron?
What did you go and do? YOU PARKED IN THE FACULTY LOT!
Did you somehow manage to get that black powder in your ears?? Maybe you heard me, but figured I wouldn’t notice.
Wrong bucko!
Oh, she’s just a crossing guard, what does she know? Yeah, you think you’re better than me, don’t you? Maybe you didn’t get a good look, Sparky, but I’m a public servant! I’m a safety officer charged with protecting the city’s youth, while you’re the bench warmer for the xerox B-team.
You drove right past the faculty lot sign in that big pimp car of yours acting like you’re Gods gift to toner when all you really do is play second fiddle, living in the shadow of Carl Marks and the other legitimate toner salesmen.
I guess it’s a good thing Mrs. Crenshaw had already parked in the handicapped spot to unload her Rascal or you probably would have parked there, wouldn’t you!
It’s all about you, isn’t it?! I guess you’ve got to park extra close to the front door with that six pound case of toner of yours weighing you down. Next time let us know you’re coming and we’ll break out the red carpet and serve finger sandwiches for Your Royal Majesty!
You’re probably illiterate, but I’ll give this a shot anyway:
The Faculty Parking Lot is for FACULTY only! If you come back to my school and park in there again you’d best have a teaching certificate in that paw of yours, or mark my words—I will slam that bald head inside that suitcase of yours and you’ll find yourself back in the company mailroom eight days from last Tuesday, believe you me!
You have been warned!
I have been a crossing guard at Woodrow Wilson Middle School in Glendale California for eight years. And during that time, there is one lesson I learn over and over: Give people an inch and they will take a mile!
Every now and then, the xerox toner salesman pays a visit to the school. Carl Marks (the toner salesman, not the Russian dictator) and I get along fine, it’s his lackey substitute I’ve got a bone to pick with.
This reject from the Xerox typing pool came driving his 80’s Cadillac through the crosswalk yesterday and rolled down his window at me.
“I’m here to repair the Xerox machine,” he says. “Where do I park?”
I should have told him the street. My mistake. “Anywhere past that gate,” I tell him. “Just don’t park in the Faculty Lot.”
Attention: Substitute Xerox toner salesman! Why are you such a moron?
What did you go and do? YOU PARKED IN THE FACULTY LOT!
Did you somehow manage to get that black powder in your ears?? Maybe you heard me, but figured I wouldn’t notice.
Wrong bucko!
Oh, she’s just a crossing guard, what does she know? Yeah, you think you’re better than me, don’t you? Maybe you didn’t get a good look, Sparky, but I’m a public servant! I’m a safety officer charged with protecting the city’s youth, while you’re the bench warmer for the xerox B-team.
You drove right past the faculty lot sign in that big pimp car of yours acting like you’re Gods gift to toner when all you really do is play second fiddle, living in the shadow of Carl Marks and the other legitimate toner salesmen.
I guess it’s a good thing Mrs. Crenshaw had already parked in the handicapped spot to unload her Rascal or you probably would have parked there, wouldn’t you!
It’s all about you, isn’t it?! I guess you’ve got to park extra close to the front door with that six pound case of toner of yours weighing you down. Next time let us know you’re coming and we’ll break out the red carpet and serve finger sandwiches for Your Royal Majesty!
You’re probably illiterate, but I’ll give this a shot anyway:
The Faculty Parking Lot is for FACULTY only! If you come back to my school and park in there again you’d best have a teaching certificate in that paw of yours, or mark my words—I will slam that bald head inside that suitcase of yours and you’ll find yourself back in the company mailroom eight days from last Tuesday, believe you me!
You have been warned!
posted by "Harold" at 3:08 PM
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