Last night as I was leaving the office, Joanie asked if I would help her move her computer out to the front office and hook it up to my monitor so she could give a presentation. I was like, �Uh, okay.� So I helped, but the whole time I�m thinking, �Dude, it�s after five. I should be gone. I could be in my car right now. Even if I haul ass out to the parking lot and drive home at 60mph, I�ll still get home ten minutes later than I should have.� But whatever. Eventually, we figured out which ports went where, and I got out of there.
This morning I arrive to find out that Joanie never unhooked the cables after the presentation, so I get to spend the first ten minutes of my morning -- time I could be spending checking my email and such-like -- unhooking and rehooking cables. Fortunately, I�m really a pretty damn good hooker, and I finished rather quickly. So I sat down to fire up the computer.
No fire. None. The computer just stared at me blankly and impassively as I pressed the �on� button for the monitor with increasing persistence. I could feel my panic level rising as I realized that my email was trapped inside that cold, lifeless box of metal and plastic, and it wasn�t responding to my touch. I tried to force myself to calm down, and I checked all the cords and wires and plugs and cables to make sure that they were all securely stuck into the proper ports.
Frantically, I racked my brain for an answer. There had to be a reason why the computer wouldn�t go on, a reason that made sense. And that�s when it finally hit me. The circuit was blown. You know�again. Unfortunately, the only one who seems to know how to fix the whole �blown circuit� problem is Zelda, and she wasn�t in yet. So instead, Miranda and I wandered into the back and located the circuit board ourselves. And then we stared at it.
We had no idea what the fuck we were doing. We just kind of chuckled nervously as we flipped random circuits on and off, laughing about the various appliances and pieces of office equipment that would intermittently shut down and then burp back to life as we briefly cut off the power supply. It did nothing for the front office, though. My computer, the printer, and the fax were all down.
Well, there was this one machine in the back that had all these lights on it, one of which was blinking rather urgently, and it was beeping out this SOS, and it had a little button on it that might just as well have said �PRESS ME�. And, hey, I don�t need to be hit over the head, you know? So I reached out and pressed the button, thinking, �Well, what have I got to lose?�
Incidentally, the answer to that question is �all power to the office�. No sooner had I touched the button than the power for the entire place shut down, instantaneously. The phones, the computers, the fridge, the microwave, the water cooler, and my old enemy, the post machine, all crapped out right then and there. So Miranda and I looked at each other, and I hit the button a second time. And then a third time. And a fourth time. And�well, you get the idea. Apparently, the No Take Backs rule had been kicked into effect, because that button was not about to change its mind about the power outage.
Well, Miranda went and got us donuts, and then we just sat down and chatted until some more people showed up and figured out how to fix it. When the phone guy called (and we�ll refer to him as Bob, in honor of Thomas Edison who did not invent the telephone), I had to try and explain to him what happened. He asked a bunch of awfully suspicious questions, though. All, �Who noticed the power was out first? What, exactly, lost power? Where were you on the night of June the fourteenth? Who shot J.R.? ANSWER ME!�
Fortunately, thanks to Dolly, I�ve gotten really good at lying over the phone (�I�m sorry, Dolly�s in a meeting right now. Can I take a message?�), and Miranda didn�t rat me out, so I�m in the clear.
But, really, if your office is equipped with a doomsday button, it really ought to be clearly marked. Otherwise, you�re just asking for it.
Great! I�m�neutral.
