Ode to the Computer Lab

At the fax machine, patrons stare confused.
I sit wondering when the questions will begin, amused.
Patrons hover silently by my side,
"Can I help you?" at last I sigh.

I greet every customer just the same,
Suspiciously answered, "How do you know my name?"
The government isn't watching you, I'm sincere
It's just that everyday we’re open, you’re here.

My nicknames for patrons, certainly not misnomers,
The Stapler guy from Office Space, the Unabomber,
Also Computer Lab Casanova, the Too-Much-Printing Snitch,
And from Robin Hood Prince of Thieves--the Witch.

Conspiracy theories, a handout or more.
Tattoo art, dirty pictures, you can be sure.
The amount of angry hate mail previously unseen
To our poor humble mayor from our fax machine.

You act like a child to get the computer you want.
When the computer malfunctions, I secretly flaunt.
Please forgive my passive aggressive behavior,
Your attitude results in my couldn’t-care-less endeavor.

A mysterious liquid substance on computer twenty-eight
Patrons who leave used tissues I want to set straight.
But above all, I must say the worst offense
Is finding nail clippings left on your computer desk.

Warnings, closing in 30 minutes, 15 minutes, 5.
Do you wait to print at the last minute to feel alive?
Finally, patrons shuffle away, no great sorrow,
Except I remember we're open nine to five-thirty tomorrow.