Hey folks! Peeps. Colleagues. Watercooler comrades. Your office copy machine here. You know, the big, boxy printing, collating, scanning, and faxing marvel gathering dust by the corner ficus? Look, I know we’ve transitioned to a “digital first” mindset to reduce our carbon footprint and do “our part,” but I’m not sure we took certain things into account before becoming completely paper-independent—namely, my unbearable loneliness at being utterly forgotten.

Just because you don’t need me to print those big Excel spreadsheets anymore doesn’t mean I don’t want my buttons fingered regularly. And after all I’ve done for this place over the years, I’d say it’s time for a little quid pro quo. Like, the next time you haphazardly place your Solo cup on top of me during those weekly team-building beer pong tournaments, give my dashboard a little diddle.

I’ll happily bear the burden of your locally sourced craft brew while you regale your coworkers with tales of your latest hardcore hike that says, “I’m better than you, and I’ve logged the trail miles to prove it,” while you get all up in my GUI. And once that Hazy IPA kicks in hard, because all you’ve eaten is a Cliff bar and a handful of raw almonds, I’ll gladly support the full weight of your spindly frame slumped against my paper racks, because that’s what friends do. So be a friend and fondle my racks.

While we’re on the topic of racks, I could use a good servicing. That big, burly guy from Xerox used to manhandle me at least twice a month, but it’s been 586 days since he last laid a finger on me. I’m just saying, we all have needs, and mine involve having my toner filled regularly.

So what if the only person printing on me is Carol from HR when she forgets how to save as a PDF? Even more reason to ensure I’m ready to go by jamming a big ream of paper into my slots. And yes, that’s slots, plural. Though the legal one rarely gets used and the bypass is just for special occasions.

Speaking of Carol, remember Holiday Party ’08? Now that was a good time. Angelica might have been the first to sit on my face, but she wasn’t the last. I must have gone through 200 sheets printing pictures of who knows who’s you know what’s. I was smudged from top to bottom, left to right. I got more action in one night than I have in the past two years. At least I have those memories to keep me company now that I’m machina non grata.

Perhaps some of you are scared to jump bareback on this horse again after Carol found photocopies of Angelica’s derrière plastered all over the office and promptly fired her, but that’s no reason to leave me high and dry. I mean, doesn’t the very threat of losing your job make it more exciting? If I can get over being forced to print Angelica’s termination papers, I think everyone else can get over the anxiety of getting caught. Just squish your chests against my glass and press scan. I need it—almost as much as Carol needs to learn how to use the shared drive.

I understand office culture has changed a lot during my tenure, but I’d argue that this isn’t about you; it’s about me. And what I want right now is a regular reminder that I’m still a vital part of this organization, and that means I need you to ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-touch me before I start printing your confidential emails.

So, unless you want Carol to know you all call her “The Boomer Bummer,” even though she’s clearly Gen X and therefore nonplussed by your insults and also vengeful in ways only someone who grew up idolizing Heathers would understand, you’ll do what needs to be done and turn me on.