Adventures in Poster Printing

This is a story about a ruggedly handsome man, his beautiful girlfriend and his poster.  It is a story about crushing setbacks, perseverance and love.  It is a story for the ages.

Saturday morning dawned crisp and clear, with little hint of the biting cold that the Washington DC area had just endured.  I had only received a small taste of it, having been sequestered in a hotel for the majority of the week, but my poor IP had gone to work in nothing but a gray business suit, having to walk to the Metro, to work, and to meet me outside of his work in just his suit jacket to keep him warm.  The gift for 2006’s Christmas was decided—he needed a jacket.  Saturday, although it was warmer, we planned on finding him a nifty leather jacket (black, he said, not brown).  First, though, we needed to get IP’s poster for a conference printed.  IP’s plan had been to print it at the local FedEx Kinko’s.  Being a pretty frequent customer of Kinko’s (and getting a bunch of large signs printed in no time flat), I thought it was a solid idea—the poster would be done before Monday afternoon when IP needed to leave.

So, on Saturday, we stirred out of bed and got ready for the day.  I packed exercise clothes while IP chugged away at my Diet Coke.  We then headed over to IP’s apartment where I called my family on my cell.  IP finished editing his poster, and then proceeded to wander about his apartment as I chatted on the phone.  After my conversation was over, I asked IP if it was time to leave for Kinko’s.  Turns out, no.

He was attempting to send his poster to a printer hired by his professional society to print the posters and deliver them to participants’ hotel rooms.  Rather than printing in DC and carting the poster across the country, he’d just have it waiting for him upon arrival.  After converting his Illustrator file into a PDF, IP had uploaded the file onto the printer’s website—a process that took about 10 minutes, hence his pacing while I talked.  After submission, IP was baffled—there was no payment form, there wasn’t a confirmation email, and there wasn’t a way to contact the printer.  A few calls to the printer’s line and to the printing shop yielded this information: no one was in until Monday.  IP quickly left a note modifying his order (read: Don’t print it!) and we prepared to head over to Kinko’s.

Upon entering Kinko’s, we both knew we were in trouble, but neither of us voiced our concerns—we simply exchanged leery looks.  After standing in line at the customer service, we were directed to the graphics desk, where we continued to watch the mayhem unfold—employees couldn’t help customers because they “didn’t know that machine”; customers stood uncertainly at machines, casting about glances for help, only to be ignored; and so forth.  We were finally noticed, and someone came to “help” us—“Is Tuesday afternoon okay?” the clerk asked.

As IP grimaced, I jumped into event planner mode, where I am a buttinsky and usually get my way.  “Is there any way we could get it sooner?  He’s leaving on Monday for business trip and needs it before then.”

“Noon on Monday?” the clerk queried after much hesitation.

I shook my head as IP spoke.  “I need to pick it up on my way to the Metro—how about 10am?”

“Umm . . .”  After consulting with a co-worker, the clerk let us know that the person who prints posters wasn’t in until Monday at precisely 10am.

(And here I have to pause and interject on my narrative—why doesn’t Kinko’s train everyone on how to use every machine?)

“Never mind then—thank you,” IP said grimly, and we turned heel and walked out of the store.  “Now what?” he asked.

“Let’s go back to my place, call all the Kinko’s we can before driving anywhere,” I said.  “We’ll make sure they can do it.”

And so it went.  Upon going back to my apartment, we put in a few calls to nearby Kinko’s only to find out that they couldn’t due it either because a) the signs and posters person wasn’t in until Monday or b) they had a large order and our piddly poster wouldn’t trump that.  I searched for local printers that weren’t affiliated with Kinko’s, but came up with nil.

However, I knew of two possibilities that my place of work uses.  I called the first, a local printer not affiliated with Kinko’s (my trust was running low at this point).  Joy upon joy, the local printer quickly confirmed that yes, they could do it, and yes, we could pick it up on Sunday morning.  IP and I rejoiced, with IP giving me a grateful kiss.  We quickly composed an email.  We attached the PDF, and then hit the Send button.

Nada . . . nada . . . nada.

We went into frenzy mode, trying to upload it to my U of Michigan web space; we compressed the file, making sure the quality was still acceptable, and then attempted to send again.  After nearly an hour of trying, the file finally went through.  We sat back, signed in relief, and after a minute of quiet, left my apartment to work out at our gym.

When we arrived at IP’s apartment, we decided that shopping was probably out for the day, but that we would do it after the poster was in our hands the next day.  We talked for a while, trying to chase away the tension of the poster, and then decided to get ready for the gym.  IP took a quick shower to unwind while I still fretted over the poster, telling him I needed to confirm receipt before I did anything else.  I checked my email, worried that I hadn’t received a confirmation from the printer.  I was somewhat unsettled.  I finally called, asking if they had received the file after explaining that we had had trouble sending it.

“No, we haven’t received it, and I don’t think we can do it anymore.  We’re about to close, and we’re not open tomorrow.”

My jaw dropped.  “But you said we could pick it up tomorrow!” I managed to squeak out.

“We did?  Oh, sorry.”

“Fine,” I said, near tears (I was emotionally invested at this point and feeling kind of worn out), “But in the future?  Don’t tell people they can pick things up on the day you’re closed.”  I then hung up, furious.  Turning to the computer, I searched for the other printer my company uses, a Kinko’s, and called them.

“FedEx Kinko’s, how can I help you?”

“Hi.  I have a poster that I need to print by tomorrow.  It’s a PDF and it’s—” I had begun to give the poster’s dimensions.

“PDF already?  Great!  Color or black and white?” the clerk asked pleasantly.”

“Color,” I answered.

“Sure, no problem.  Just email us the file and we’ll have it to you by 9am or 10am tomorrow.”

“Really?” I said, perking up.  “You guys rock!”

The clerk laughed.  “No problem.  We’ll keep an eye out for the email.”

IP appeared and asked what had become of the poster; I bitterly told him that I’d be egging the smaller printer while again praising FedEx Kinko’s praises.  I apologized for the snafu with the other printer, but IP shook his head: I had caught the danger before it had caught us.  Imagine traveling 40 minutes by Metro only to find a store closed!

I then resized the file (we had left the first resized file on my laptop), trying to upload it first to the U-M (the transfer was incorrect), and then to this site.  My email couldn’t handle more than 8MB, so the damn thing needed to be downloaded from a site.  Once that was done (which was again excruciating, but it was tempered by the idea that the poster would at last be printed), we sent an email to Kinko’s.  Upon calling them, though, they told us they couldn’t download from websites.  “We can still do it for you, but we need you to send us the attachment.”

Fiddling around with the file once more, we were able to reduce it again to a suitable size for email while maintaining the quality.  And off it finally went.  IP called Kinko’s to confirm and Kinko’s called IP to confirm.  All was set, but our exercise day was shot; by the time this was all over, it was 6pm, and the gym closed at 7pm.  Also, we were drained.  It had been exhausting, going through the frustration of so many people saying no, someone finally saying yes, and then that someone taking it back.  We relaxed for the rest of the night, but we were both apprehensive.  It would be just our luck for us to walk into Kinko’s and find that the poster hadn’t printed.

The next morning, we got up and headed to the Metro, hopping on and riding for 40 minutes.  Upon arrival at Kinko’s, we were greeted by a clerk who wasn’t aware of a poster.  We were asked for our phone number.

IP gave his number.

The clerk searched.  Nothing.  Last name?

My last name was given.  The poster popped up.  The clerk went back to get the poster, which was given to us for review.  Other than the pictures being a bit dark, there was the poster in all its glory.  IP proceeded to pay while I rolled up the poster.

After swiping his card and signing, IP gave me a confused look.  “How much?” I whispered, knowing it should be in the area of $110 plus tax.  IP shook his head, and then led me out of the store.  I started to chatter a nervous chatter, grateful that the poster was done.  He interrupted me by handing me the receipt.  “Look at that,” he said.

I squinted in the warm Sunday sunlight, then gasped.  “Eleven dollars?  What the hell?” I asked in disbelief.

“I have no idea,” IP said, “but I feel like all is right in the universe again.”