Every time I turn it on, it prints an ink-heavy test page. It started emailing me, insisting that it needs to be turned on and connected to the internet so the subscription plan can work properly. Then I made the mistake of turning the printer off. Things were fine for the first few weeks. Reading this back, I can only cringe at my naivety. The idea is you are charged a flat fee based on how many pages you print each month, and the printer automatically orders ink refills when it's running low. Three years and a couple of printers later, sick of being gouged for ink cartridges that always seem to run out at the worst moment, I optimistically signed up for a printing subscription plan. To make sure they get their pound of flesh, they focus an inordinate effort on making sure printers only work with proprietary ink cartridges. Manufacturers tempt with unbelievably cheap deals on printers and then nail you on expensive ink. In fact, it's almost as if they've regressed. It feels like printer companies stopped innovating sometime in the '90s when sales stopped climbing. There isn't even any paper in it! More than two decades later, printers haven't improved at all. It tormented me for months, completely indifferent to my cries. It had a door you had to close just so, or it would immediately break again with the dreaded phantom paper jam. Tasked with fixing it, I suffered frequent burns and paper cuts. My first office job involved an evil printer that suffered daily paper jams.
From a column: Printers have been my enemy ever since I can remember. Just when we need them the most, with print shops locked down, online schooling in session, and everyone working from home, they fail to step up.
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