An insect that makes a chirping sound by rubbing its wing casings against combs on its hind legs.

Power Saving?


The Brightest BulbAccording to the corporate offices that oversee the retail copy center I work at, it is cheaper for us to leave our copiers in power save mode all night than it is to shut them off when we close the store.

Go figure.

POTD: Corn!


This cartridge once dispensed corn, apparently.


An economic role for which a person is paid


A copierAfter four months of unemployed bliss and non-stop coding, gaming, and loving on my fiancée, I am once again employed at a retail printed document reproduction center. That is, I’m working at a copy shop… again. However, it is at a different national office supply store chain1.

This time, however, I’m not working at the regional hub. No more 50,000 click2 jobs with binding and collating due in a week for me. I get to send that crap3to the hub! <insert evil maniacal laugh here>

For those of you playing at home, the title of today’s entry is the Wiktionary’s definition of the word “job.”

  1. I am being intentionally vague to protect myself and my employer from any litigation that may result from my ramblings posted on The Cricket Log. []
  2. A click is industry terminology for a printed side of a page. []
  3. Well paying crap, but crap nonetheless. []

I’ll Spank You… I Will!


The Scream“Billy Jean, I’m going to count to ten… no twelve. If you’re not sitting down by then… One… Two… Three… Four… Billy Jean, sweetie, sit down please.” Meanwhile, the child in question is running around screaming “No!” repeatedly at what sounds to be the full force of her lungs.

The preceding re-enactment occurred today in the copy center at which I work and is reproduced here nearly verbatim. Why the mother decides to give her child ten seconds to comply—never mind twelve seconds—boggles my brain. I never received a grace period of more than three seconds from my mother. I generally never misbehaved past one and a half seconds when facing a ruler or fly-swatter poised to strike on the count of “three.” I behaved because I knew that she would follow through with her threat, be it a stinging whack from an implement or a simple privilege reduction. I knew she would do it, because she had never backed down before.

I assume little Billy Jean never listens to her mother because her mother very rarely, if ever, follows through.

People With Money


I often think that the people that live in the area I work in have too much money for their own good. I work at the print center of a certain prominent office supplies store in a quickly expanding and increasingly upper-scale “town.” I don’t just mean the town’s population is growing. The town is enveloping and annexing the surrounding countryside at an astounding rate. Interestingly, the most popular grocery store there also happens to be the most expensive grocery store in the region.

Today, a forty-something year old woman visited the print center to pick up an order she left with us. I retrieved the order for her and rang the total up on the register. It came to somewhere around $46. She swiped her credit card and accepted the charges. Her card was declined—no reason was given. That happens sometimes. A second swipe of the card is generally all that’s necessary to complete the transaction. When I aksed her to try the credit card again, a look of horror came to her face. She asked me if she really had to do it again. I’m thinking, “Well, you’re sure as hell not leaving with that stack of printed paper without giving me some moolah…” She proceeds to relate to me a disjointed story about being charged twice by my employer because she once had to swipe her card twice. After a bit of reassurance she gives in and swipes again. What she said next has me rather disgusted. She never confronted the company about the doubled charge and was out twenty-three dollars. Apparently, she never found the time to get it fixed.

Twenty-three bucks could keep me driving or fed for at least a week. If I’d ever lost that much money due to a 3rd party error, I would have made time to get it fixed.

I’m not upset that this woman obviously has much more disposable income than me. Good for her. I’m sure she (or at least her husband) worked hard for that money. I simply can not get behind being that irresponsible with your money.

Hummina, hummina, hummina!