i want it back

so, a person a few offices down the aged, drooping catholic halls of where i work, walks into mine to inform me she has no power to any of her office equipment. like ... i'm a man, so i should be able to instantly fix all this.

"ok, you have no power."

she sort of stares at me. waiting. "no, i don't have any power."

- - -

Sigh.

- - -

And so, after a look at the fusebox down at the end of the building - and a few moments of deciphering 7 or 8 decades of penciled, erased, scratched, re-penciled notes on which fuses attach to what outlets in where rooms? - I give my best guess and switch 'off' and then 'on' the prehistoric fuse, it "snicks" into place like a rusty hinge closing.

I've no idea if this will work and, as I say so, hope like hell it will so I can get out of this bit of male obligation. Why in the world would she think I'd know how to restore her power? Is it mine to give?

We walk back toward her office and she stops to jabber with another worker popping a head out the office one up from hers. I wait patiently as this 'good morning' ... 'oh, good morning' straddles on. They surpass my 20 second bubble and figure I'm released from obligation at this point, grunting something about coffee as I extricate myself and leave her to her own devices. Sweet dark liquid sloshing into my cup, a meditation on chocolate donuts and late afternoon workouts ringing round my head ~ when from over my shoulder, "I still don't have any power."

cringe.

Ah well, might as well check out the office since it's readily apparent there's no outlet for me if I don't get hers working. And since I'm man-kind, I guess I have to go in and fiddle with something ... maybe give a few "hrmmmssss" and "uh huh..." to appease her. Secretly, knowing that I'm going to google me up an electrician to mess with this crap (lord, i hope it's a woman).

And so, following her in, she points to her computer, her printer, her phone - as though I wouldn't know where to look- and sure enough, each is cold and lifeless. Without power.

To the side of her desk I go, pushing past stained coffee mugs and struggling plant life to try and spy out where her pluggins are plugged in. I find it, one of those expander-doodaas that exponentiates the number of gadgets you can juice up off of a single source o' lectricity. It's an aged monster, dulled with dust and smudged with grime, the outlets sprouting out fraying wires ... looking like the sad, futile hair implants of an old man's leathery head.

i sigh again and nose down for a closer look.

No shit.

The lady had plugged the power source cord of the surge protector into itself. It wasn't hooked into the wall socket.



kill me.