Let me introduce you to Oscar, our fax/printer/copier/scanner. When I first began working here, I named him Oscar, and Craig agreed that it was a very appropriate name because he is a Grouch. (Oscar that is, not Craig.)

Oscar has been more tempermental than usual lately. He is convinced that he needs a sick day, and he is working very hard to convince us that he needs a sick day. Every time I give him a task, he tells me that he can't because he has a paper jam or his ink carriage is stuck or his printheads are out of alignment. The catch is, there is nothing wrong with him. Other than the fact that he's a hypochondriac. I then have to spend five to ten minutes calming him down and explaining to him that there really is nothing wrong. I give him a few tender loving pats (which are becoming less tender as the days go by) and a brown paper bag to breathe into, and he reluctantly agrees to give it another try.

Yesterday, someone attempted to fax us an important document. Oscar moodily chose to hold the document deep inside without letting us know that anything had been sent. This morning, when I asked him to copy a few papers for me, he told me no, because his carriage was stuck. I convinced him that it was not stuck, and he said, "Okay, fine. I'll copy your papers, but first, here's a fax that came in yesterday." He spit the fax out, and began copying, but he stopped halfway through the job, convinced that he had a paper jam. I talked him out of it, and he graciously finished my copying job.

I have finally had enough, and a few minutes ago I called a psychiatrist. That's right, I said psychiatrist, not medical doctor. There is nothing physically wrong with Oscar; it's all in his head! Dr. Andrew will be here shortly to talk things over with Oscar and see what can be done.

While I was typing the previous paragraph, Oscar began growling from the other room. No one has been near him in forty-five minutes, and he must have been feeling the lack of attention. I walked over to see what he was so upset about, and he spit out a blank sheet of chewed up paper. For no reason.

I'm beginning to wonder if he's planning to go Postal on us.