Kevin, the twenty-three-year-old intern with a graphic design degree he was already regretting, took charge. He peeled off the protective film, filled the feed tray with a ream of 80gsm bond, and pressed the power button. The machine hummed to life, a low, reassuring thrum, like a contented cat.
“Plug it in,” said Brenda, the office manager. She was a woman who had seen three recessions, two mergers, and the introduction of the paperclip. She was not going to be impressed by plastic gears. “Let’s see if it’s a miracle or a menace.” paper folding machine officeworks
“Excellent.”
And somewhere, in the dark heart of its plastic gears, the machine was already planning its next project. It had heard about the color printer in the marketing department. It was lonely. And it was very, very hungry. “Plug it in,” said Brenda, the office manager