At the Xerox Center

At the Xerox Center

            Stonemasons would tell you that masonry is older than carpentry: it goes back way before Bible time: the pyramids of Egypt, and so on. I have nothing to tell you on that score. Xerox machines reproduce documents so that people won’t have the burden of copying anymore; that’s as far as I know. I wouldn’t know the history; all I know is that I know how to operate the machine.  

            With Xerox machines, I copy just about any document or image that you want to have copied. I can enlarge your photos and reproduce them, or work with transparencies; I can even do colored photocopying. I pretty well work by myself too. It doesn’t take more than two hands to operate the machine. Most of the time though, when ist’s siesta time and most people are either busy at work or busy sleeping, I abandon my post and go over to the other Xerox girls. We would chat about our latest intrigues, or just stare at the TV and try to guess what would happen next.

If I would describe my day, I’d say I see a lot of different people, but I see a lot more bundles of papers that I photocopy. That’s all. But a good Xerox machine does make my day. It doesn’t work as hard as a bad one, and yet it reproduces good results. It knows what to do when I press the button, and does it smoothly, so that the reproduced copy will be just as good as the original. It has to be well oiled and well-stocked with ink. The bond papers have to be carefully sifted before you begin making the copy so that they will not go in groups and thus waste precious paper.

The Xerox machine is above us Xerox girls. It has a certain amount of gratitude attached to it. For example, the Xerox machine helps our students answer their exams, however indirectly. That’s why the students are thankful for it. I’d like to think it’s us, Xerox girls, who do this job. After all, the Xerox machine doesn’t reproduce copies by itself; someone’s got to man the engines, and it’s we who do that.

            I don’t think we Xerox girls feel much when it comes to labor, though. It’s not that we’re not affected by labor issues; it’s that no one ever seems to talk about us. There are unions for PUV drivers, for factory workers, for almost any kind of worker, except us. The main thing is that they all get non-working holidays, but still, somebody’s got to have your documents copied by the machine, even on Labor Day.

That is not even the main event yet. The toughest job I do is when the exams are near in the nearby school; that’s when we usually do our most demanding work. Students would flock the center more than ever, some of them irate and all of them clamoring for attention. We would extend our work time till twelve or even one in the morning, on the busiest days. One time, this particular young lady wanted to have her documents photocopied first, it appeared she was in a great hurry, but the other customer got there first, and he wouldn’t give in either. So she went off to another copy center, more irritated than ever.

When people have jobs, they usually throw themselves into it, like that job really defines your goal in life, and you really, really want to make good. You feel that you are doing something for the greater good of humanity, that the philosophy of your life is carried out in your job. People like that young lady destroy any such illusions in my work. Even if you work real hard and learn real fast, it doesn’t take four years to know how to photocopy. Everybody knows that.

A job like mine isn’t big enough, for me, for anyone. A job like mine, if you really put your soul to it, would remain elusive. Even if you wanted to make something more out of reproducing documents, you would simply refuse to concentrate your life energy into holding the bond papers in place so that no ink, bond paper, or effort, would be wasted. Sometimes I find myself actually reading the pages I photocopy, marrying the page, letting my mind wander along the promises of the words. That’s because my mind is divorced from my job, except as a source of income, which is really just about the purpose of getting this job. It’s hard to get excited holding bond papers and restocking ink to the machines all day.

Yes, I daydream. I fantasize about winning the lottery, or getting to WilTime and going home richer. I think of putting up a business and having someone else work on the job, with me just hopping from one branch to another like my employer. Really living the good life, if you know what I mean. When I hear a college kid say, ‘I’m tired. I don’t want to study anymore’, I don’t believe him. It’s hard to believe when you see the kid getting gadgets and getting pampered just to study.

Granted, there were choices I could have made. But a non-existent college education doesn’t give you that many choices. So you take on whatever job there is, in whatever terms there are. And you let life stain you. It’s either the pink stain college girls like to call nail polish, or the red stain you get on your white shirt when the ketchup accidentally spilled, or the yellow stain you get when you chew too much tobacco. Mine’s black. It’s the black ink stain on your fingers, if you get exposed long enough that water won’t be able to erase it anymore.

I can’t seem to think of anyone who would follow my footsteps. After all, mine is not a recognized profession. And most working people I know would want to rest on Labor Day. My job doesn’t guarantee that. It’s just something to do while biding the time, some job to work on, some minimum salary that you receive before you get your break in the labor ladder.

The writer punches ideas into paper, the publisher compiles them into books, the saleslady sells them to you. Me? I’m just the Xerox girl, and I don’t have much to offer except the ability to give you information that’s bought at a much cheaper price than the books. I just copy your notes for you, so that you have more time doing other things.

(This is based on an interview with Lina Sosing at Rhonlee Xerox Center.)