Donald glanced over to his now broken printer. It suddenly dawned on Donald that unless he could fix it, he’d need to buy another one. The boys would need it once school started back, and there’s no telling what other various things they might need it for before then. They don’t come cheap, either. He could totally fix it too. Probably just, you know, a paper jam, or something.
He jerked it free from the computer and tried to open it. “Darn thing must be stuck…” He looked around to see if there was something wrong with a hinge or something, but everything looked normal. He pulled harder, this time using his feet for added leverage, but still no luck. Banging it on the ground didn’t seem to help either.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a notification pop up on the computer screen. Temporarily abandoning his printer efforts, he clicked to read Mickey’s new message.
“Aww phooey. If you ask me, they should spell it the RIGHT way. You’re right, kids are different. They all want their own cell phones so they can text people instead of actually talking, but then they can’t even spell something as easy as ‘tumbler’ correctly.”
Having sent the message, he turned his attention back to the printer. No silly hunk of machinery was going to get the better of him, no sir.
Mickey had sat there for a full five seconds before letting out a loud groan and allowing his head to fall back down to his keyboard. Mickey was an active sort of person, one who could not just simply sit and do nothing. Especially after his day was halfway gone, and it was spent in less than a good way. He needed to fix it by leaving and going to do something constructive, just like, whether he knew it or not, Donald was doing. …Or perhaps destructive was the correct word.
Unbeknownst to Mickey until he made his appearance, Pluto had heard Mickey’s audible sound of frustration, and had come running to his aid. The dog, seeing his master slumped over his desk, whimpered and sat up, placing his paws on the mouse’s lap. Startled by this, having been distracted by his train of thought, he hadn’t noticed the dog making his entrance. “Gosh, Pluto! Ya scared me!” He told his companion as he sat up, placing his hand on top of the dog’s head. “Don’t worry boy, I’m fine.” He assured, smiling delicately down at him.
“Just thinkin’ is all.” Now scratching Pluto between the ears, Mickey returned to said activity. “What to do, Pluto?” He asked, more so to himself than his pal. As if to answer his question, the red notification popped up on the upper right hand corner of his screen. That was it! He would visit Donald. Being with a friend was a good way to end the day, right? He would just change his voicemail, explaining to Minnie that he had left to go see Donald, that is, if the duck said yes.
Clicking on the envelope icon, he read the message, giving another small chuckle as he made to reply.
“Gee, Donald, I don’t think it’s that bad. There are still some good kids out there, but I don’t know if I would pay to have my kid send tons of messages a day talking about nothing in particular. Do your nephews have cell phones? And I’m sure that it’s some kind of hit new thing to take out letters like the radio was back in our big break. Anyway, I was wondering if I could come over, seeing as nothing’s really going on here.”
A full five minutes to type that message.
Time to break out the big guns: a tool kit. Donald was pretty sure there was something jamming up the printer, somehow. If the stupid thing wouldn’t open on its own, he’d make it open. Pulling out the tools one by one, he paused briefly at the hammer before deciding maybe that wasn’t the best way to go just yet. “Ah,” he said, pulling out a screwdriver. “Here we go.”
Trying to twist the screw left didn’t work. Trying to twist it right didn’t work either. It wasn’t working on any of the screws. “Why you little…” he muttered through gritted teeth, trying as hard as he could to get the screw to budge. He slipped, and the screwdriver went flying out of his hand and across the room, smashing into a picture of Daisy. The frame fell from the wall and the glass cracked. Donald started yelling, alternating between shaking the printer and trying to yank it apart.
After a minute or so, he dropped the printer… and it popped open! Donald stopped his tirade, blinked, then smiled. Problem solved! “That wasn’t so—” his words were cut off as one of the cartriges squirted black ink into his face, before the lid slammed shut once more.
He started jumping on top of the printer, then banged it on the ground a few times, before finally throwing it against the wall, where it lodged itself. Donald stood panting for a few moments before he saw Mickey’s message.