The man kicked and stomped and raged at the poor copy machine, forcing it to pay for his mistakes. I watched from the safety of the reference desk.
"Why is that man attacking the printer, Mommy?" a small child asked.
"Shhh, don't point. That's a copy machine, honey."
"But why is he attacking the copy machine?" the child said.
"Let's go see Monkey George," the mother said, looking at me.
I sighed and stood and walked to the copy machine.
"Can I help you, sir?" I said.
"You can get a new copy machine," the man said, kicking another scuff into the already scuffed machine.
"What happened?" I said.
"What do you think happened? I put my money in the little slot, pushed the green button and the damn thing just sat there."
"Try the black button that says 'copy'," I said.
"But I want to print," the man said.
"Trust me," I said.
The man trusted me as he would a dangerous animal, but pressed the black button nonetheless. The machine whirled and clicked and spat out a copy of a page from the Joy of Sex, the part where it gets very interesting.
"It didn't do that before," the man said, "Damn library."
He slammed the lid to the copier down in a plastic clap and left the library vowing not to return. I went back to the circulation desk waited for the man to return, for I knew something the man did not.
When the man returned, I handed the man his keys with a smile and the man said not a thing of thanks.