The Man Who Copied

How much is it so far?

$8 and 25 cents.

OK.

- How much?

- $11.30.

- How much is the meat?

- $ 3.05.

I'll leave it.

I only have $11.50.

But it's $ 11.30.

But I need to get matches.

How much are the matches?

$ 1.20.

I don't have enough.

Sorry, but I need the matches.

- I've already rung up the meat.

- Can you take the detergent out?

I've rung up the detergent too.

- I need to get the matches.

- What do I do?

And... I need...

- What was it?

- I will have to open it.

- What's the matter?

- I didn't know the meat...

- was so expensive.

- How much do you have?

I have $ 11.50.

But it's only $ 11.30.

But I need to get the matches and

they're not in there yet.

- How much are the matches?

- $1.20.

What are you leaving out?

How much is the detergent?

$ 1.15.

And the sponge?

It's 40 cents.

So?

Ok, you can leave the meat out.

$ .45.

I dropped my coin there.

- Here.

- Thanks.

THE MAN WHO COPIED

My name is Andr.

It was my father's name.

It was he who chose mine.

My mom called me Zinho. But my

father always called me Andr.

Later he gave up and started

calling me Zinho too.

I live in Porto Alegre,

I live on this street,

Presidente Roosevelt Ave.

Roosevelt was a president

of the U.S.

He was married to his cousin.

He invented

the Roosevelt Doctrine.

But I had no time

to read about that.

I don't know what a doctrine is,

I think it's a bunch of rules.

It sounds like an old lady's name.

Granny Doctrine.

From my bedroom window

I see a club, the Gondoliers.

There's a gondola on its roof.

I don't know if there ever were

gondolas here.

I work in this shop.

I'm a photocopier operator.

When the machineJams

you remove the paper.

And throw away the copy.

Usually you only have to press

these two buttons: Start, stop.

I should stop or the Blob will

catch me through his mirror.

He says the mirror

is for our safety.

The Blob thinks I'm a sucker.

Considering what he pays me,

I guess he's right.

The Blob's name is Mr. Gomide.

Mrs. Blob is called Maria.

She comes to the shop to

look at magazines and get money.

Little Blob's name is Rodrigo.

Or Diogo.

They call him Guigo.

He likes the light

in the paper cabinet.

Don't.

This is important too.

- Leave him, Andr!

- The paper must be very dry.

Or it gets stuck together,

Mrs. Gomide.

Get the boy out of here, Maria.

Come Guigo, don't touch that!

Good, Mrs. Blob, off you go.

- I'm going.

- Bye, little blob.

When the paper runs out,

you open the drawer...

and put in the paper.

First you loosen the paper.

Hold, fold, loosen.

Once more.

Then you put the paper here

and close the drawer.

Then you choose

lighter or darker.

It's best to leave it

in the center.

Right, Blob.

In the center.

You tell her how many copies.

You put the original here.

If it's a book, you hold it.

When you press this button you are

saying:
Go ahead, baby.

And off she goes.

This light is the best part.

OK. Now you know all

you need to know to do what I do.

Photocopier operator.

Big sh*t.

That's what I tell girls if they

ask me. Only if they ask me.

- So what do you do?

- Me?

I'm a photocopier operator.

What's that?

I operate a photocopying machine.

Like... Xerox?

Yes, but it's another brand.

You make photocopies in a firm?

No, no. In a shop.

Cool.

Very cool. Start, stop, the paper

with the light, the drawer...

button in the center, how many

copies, and go ahead, baby.

How many brain cells

do you need to do this?

It sucks.

It's for the money.

I work with illustrations.

I've sent some material

to a magazine.

"Material". I don't think

she bought that one.

Girls are smart.

When I'm not working,

I stay home drawing.

It's fun because it's useless,

except as a pick up line.

But it's never worked yet.

Girls are very smart.

Girls can tell a photocopier

operator in seconds.

No girl dreams of spending her

life with a photocopier operator.

Or traveling

with a photocopier operator...

having children

with a photocopier operator.

At least I have never met

a girl who dreamt of that.

She's not home yet.

She lives with her father.

I think it's her father, must be.

By the look of their furniture,

they can't have much money.

But her father works,

he has a uniform.

His shirt has those things

on the shoulders with buttons.

Maybe he's a cop.

Or a public health agent,

who kills mosquitoes.

Maybe he's a

public health agent.

She's arrived.

Beautiful.

She goes straight to her room,

I think she eats out.

Sometimes she gets

something in the kitchen.

Only sometimes,

almost never.

She always arrives after 11

and goes to her room.

I think she goes to night classes,

she carries books with her.

Her window is covered with paper,

but for a small gap.

There are 3 stickers

on the window.

A smiling face,

a drawing, dolls.

A piece of paper

with 4 dots of glue.

A postcard, maybe.

Sometimes she stops

and looks at it.

It must be a photo.

She had blinds, but they

rotted away and were taken down.

Venetian blinds

must be expensive.

In the wardrobe

I can only see clothes.

She has 2 paJamas, tonight

she's chosen the white one.

I can only see

part of the wardrobe.

She often leaves the door open.

It has a mirror.

Depending on the angle of door,

I see a different part of the room.

There's a flowery eiderdown

on the bed.

A tapestry showing a girl.

A TV, but I only see its glow.

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