The printer gifted to me by the not-Boyfriend finally bit it on Monday. It was having trouble picking up paper, which I had to reload after every 10 sheets. Then I overloaded it and it made a horrible grinding noise and when I pulled the tray out, several plastic parts came with it.
I loved this printer, and it was probably the best present he ever gave me, so I’m actually a lot more sad than I should be. The thing was a fucking beast for printage. It must have printed like 32-35 pages a minute or something crazy like that. I think it retails for $300+ (it was gifted to me refurbed and quirky, so it wasn’t actually worth $300 anymore, but still).
In any case, I never could get it to work on my new machine anyway. However, when Steph brought over my old $30 printer to replace it, which I’d left at their place, I noted it was missing a cable. I realized I had used said cable on my old printer.
So I went out to the dumpster behind the building to fish it out of the old printer. But, alas, somebody was dumpster diving last night, because my old, awesome (but broken) printer is no longer there.
Sucks to be me.
I could order a new cable and have a working (but crappy) printer for the month, or just use next month’s meds money to purchase a new printer all together.
I’m thinking that I don’t need to print anything here immediately, so I guess I can wait to try and purchase something good next month. But man, I’m sad.
And now I don’t know why I’ve written all of this about printers, except that when you’re a writer, printers are a big deal. I loved mine. And I’m sad that – quirky as it was – it bit it. Sadder still that I was stupid enough to toss it out without retrieving the goddamn data cable first.