Against my better judgment, I have been forced by circumstance to use Kinko’s to meet my printing needs this week. For those of you who don’t know, I am the Graphics/ advertising/production dude where I work. I usually use one of two print shops that I have grown to trust over the past few years, and rarely stray from them. Finding a good print shop is no different than finding a good plumber, mechanic, or girlfriend. It is a long, painful, frustrating, and expensive search, and sometimes your print shop needs time to itself, which is total bullshit code for “I have a better customer”, but when you find a good one, you’ll be faithful. Kinko’s is to the professional image production industry what AOL is to the computer world. Seriously. That comparison should be used as an SAT question. Kinko’s is where Joe blow goes to have a cute calendar made of his cats to give away as Christmas gifts to relatives who won’t invite him to dinner because he smells like cats. AOL is the computing equivalent of safety scissors. Oh, wait. That’s Macintosh computers. AOL is the internet equivalent of color by numbers, complete with the little dried out blocks of pigment that can be safely ingested by their user, although it is not recommended.

Back to the Kinko’s issue and why I am forced to place my files in their hands. I am supposed to be on my way to Florida for the annual family shindig where we rent a big house on the beach, fish, drink beer, fly kites, and act like the sickeningly functional family we are. I look forward to this every year and plan for it months in advance. This year a series of events conspired to keep me from getting this project finished before I left, and the only option I had to get it done on time and cheaply turned out to be Kinko’s. Okay, I do get to fly Doug’s 340 to Florida this afternoon, so it’s not all bad…

I had the files ready last night, and waited in line for about 30 minutes to talk to a “friendly, knowledgeable customer satisfaction specialist”, who turned out to be a young, exasperated, easily confused customer dissatisfaction expert. I place my disk on the table, and say “I need to get these display graphics printed”. At this point, I expected him to very nicely say something like “Okay, what’s the size, format, and when do you want them finished, kind and startlingly handsome sir?”, while reaching for a form of some sort on which he could accurately write down my instructions. I had no such luck. Instead, he looked at me like I had just done something deeply offensive like grabbed his mom’s naughty parts, and he expected me to do something extremely appeasing to avoid his imminent asskickery. He said, “Okay, is it a book? Do you want it bound? What size is it? I mean…” While saying this, he gesticulated, palms up, indicating that he was completely lost and it was all my fault.

Why do people have to be assholes? Why indeed?

I said, “No, It’s display graphics. Large format, except these three, which will fit on ledger. All are built CMYK, linked files are attached, fonts are converted. The files are full size on the disk.” (All of this information, in theory, should make his job much easier while letting him know that I speak his language, but only served to escalate the matter)

He sighs a little too loudly and turns to find a computer with which to decode my request. As he’s walking back, he says something to his fellow printmonkey, who laughs and glances my way. Pissed me off a little, too, so I start planning exactly how I can make this guy look and feel dumb. He’s back there somehow coping with the impossible task of placing a Compact Disc into the proper slot on the computer and opening the files that are on it. These files are pretty big, too, so when they take almost a minute to open, he yells “Hey, man, what kind of files are these?” “EPS” I respond. He says “Why are they taking so long to open?” I said, “Because they are around 200 megabytes each.” He comes back up to the counter, even more bewildered and frustrated (in passing his friend, makes another comment that elicits a snicker and seals his fate). “Why did you tell me they were all 8 ½ x 11?” I look around at the other customers who are about to be entertained at his expense and say “Tyrese? (The name on his badge- saying the person’s name often during conversation is a great way to throw the balance in your favor) Are we having the same conversation? I never said anything about 8 ½ x 11. I have files on that disk that need to be printed on a large printer like that one (point to large printer). There is no magic involved. The files are full size. You need to open them and click on ‘print’. I will pay you for that.” Tyrese responded with a well composed “Dude, you don’t EVEN know ‘bout…pshhh.” and shook his head while looking down at the floor, trying to keep from stabbing me with a pen. He then said, “Okay, what size do you want them printed? That’s what I need you to tell me.” All condescending and such. The fact that a badge that says “Tyrese- Kinko’s Customer service specialist- team member since 2002” and a blue apron gives anyone a sense of authority stuns me.

At this point I had to collect myself. People around me were laughing that barely audible laugh that says “Man, am I ever glad I’m not Dusty”. I said, “The size they are on the disk is the size they are to be printed. They are all different sizes, but that doesn’t matter, because they do not need manipulation. I took the time to set them up so that you would have to do a minimal amount of work. (Now I see a manager walking by, so I step it up a bit) If you and your genius friend captain funnypants back there can’t handle that, I’ll take it somewhere else.” Captain funnypants shot me a look that was neither funny, nor pants. He has the look of a serial killer, and I think my body will be discovered under his porch sometime soon.

This is the part where the manager steps in. He is a night manager, and exchanged some kind of secret handshake with Tyrese. When the manager is on the side of the employee, you have a recipe for disaster. He was fully ready to tell me how right his buddy was and how impossible my request was. Tyrese did a really shitty job of explaining the request to him, and when I interjected, Michael the night manger said “I’m talking to him right now.” And gave me the palm of the hand, which pissed me off to an extent that can cause property damage. I picked up my disc and said “okay, I’m going to go ahead and take this somewhere where competent people work. My goldfish could understand these instructions. Better yet, I’m going to schedule a meeting with the manager here tomorrow and see what we can come up with.” Michael the night manager proudly puffed his chest out and proclaimed, “I AM the manager. See the tag?” “No…you’re the night manger. The real manger gets paid more money to think. If you could think, you’d get more money, too. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He mumbled something that sounded like “You just don’t…pshhh.”

I called and spoke with the real manager this morning, who to my surprise had already heard about the incident. No doubt by Michael and Tyrese, telling him how unreasonable and out of control I was. Fortunately, he was much smarter than they, and invited me down to see if we could solve the problem. Terek was his name (weird name, but a good guy), and he very easily understood what I wanted and how to do it. At a discount, no less. He was pretty baffled that they had such a problem with it, but said he had had some complaints about them before. I suggested firing them. He said he’d see what he could do. So in the end, I guess Kinko’s reputation was as salvaged as it could have been in my eyes. Michael and Tyrese are welcome to wash my car while they are looking for work. See? This is the kind of crap I write stories about. Pshhh…

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