There are few open photocopying offices Sunday in the afternoon. They are special places, in special moments.
Two students were there to photocopy some notes, for the examination of Tuesday. Behind, a man of some fifty years wanted to spend a fax urgent to North-America.
A girl, colleague of the students, arrived with her father. She asked to photocopy some pages of the textbook. I suppose that to go to the examination not with the photocopy of the notes, but directly with that of the book. The shop assistant said that they could not photocopy books. The girl insisted and the gentleman of the fax put himself beside the shop assistant.
-It would be to steal –he clarified with a smile-. The book has an author, who has some intellectual rights on his work, which if we photocopied it we would not pay him. It would be an injustice.
The girl became infuriated and let a swearword go.
-It is a lot little, of course –the gentlemen added-. But if a thousand persons steal a cent, it is as if one steals a hundred euros. Not has it makes the amount.
The shop assistant felt defended and reiterated that she could not make it.
The girl scolded her uselessly and twisting with her father, they went towards the door. While they went out, the girl shouted: "Gilipollas!." And the gentlemen came back for her: "Thief!."
Then, the father of the creature threw himself about the gentlemen and took him for the flaps: "What had you told to my daughter?". The students intervened to sort him out and the gentlemen, calmer, recommended him:
-You, are the father? Educate her.
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