Quintessentially Quilly

Some days are diamonds, some days are stones.
Sometimes the hard times won’t leave me alone.
Sometimes a cold wind blows a chill in my bones.
Some days are diamonds, some days are stones.
John Denver

I bought a beuatiful Lexmark 3 in 1 laser printer. I was thrilled with the quality of my printed projects. I loved being able to easily scan items. I tried the fax out. It worked great. I will probably never use it again.

My wonderful new machine created many magical projects, then the ink ran out. I went to buy new cartridges. I found them easily enough. I reached for the color cartridge and my gaze settled on the price tag. My entire body froze. My breath suspended in my throat. I know I was screaming but not a sound emerged from my body.

I looked at the price tag for the black ink. It was slightly less daunting. I quickly calculated. If I sold one kidney, I could probably afford to purchase both cartridges.

I picked up the cartridges and put them in my basket. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I felt my purse shudder. I couldn’t stop to console it, I had groceries to return to their shelves.

Here I have to explain that I ran to the store to buy cartridges because my machine quit printing in the middle of a big project which was due in just a couple of hours. I got home, changed the cartridges and resumed printing. All went well.

Then about a week later, I needed to print another project. The black ink cartridge began acting up. I barely made it through the project in time to meet my deadline.

Disgusted, I took the cartridge out, checked for damage and replaced it. I ordered the software program to clean the heads. Cleaning did not work. The black ink cartridge had developed a severe stutter. I contacted Lexmark customer service. They told me to change the cartridge and see if that would clear up the problem. They also suggested I send them the defective cartridge, and after examining it they would send me a replacement.

Well, a couple of weeks passed and I hadn’t bothered to get a new cartridge. Why would I want to spend another kidney on something that might not work? Finally yesterday, thinking of lesson plans, I decided I’d best get the machine in working order. I opened the storage drawer on my desk and reached for the instruction manual for the cartridge number. There, on top of the manual, rested the brand new black cartridge, still sealed in its box.

I am happy to report that the machine is now operating at full capasity. The owner, however, is somewhat deficent.