Don't Push The Big Red Button

There have been any number of pseudo-intellectual quotes about the human tendency to want to do whatever you're told not to do. I am such a fidget that I'm more likely to do something I'm not supposed to out of sheer idle fiddling than any kind of nefarious intent. That being said, when confronted with an obstacle of the Stern Warning variety, I usually at least take a moment to, you know, figure out what's in play and whether I am comfortable with proceeding. Not so, my coworkers.

Of the many exhilarating activities in my daily life, one of the more exciting is riding herd over a giant postage machine. It's one of those long, sleek, hardcore looking machines that gives you the general impression that it could handle any contingency, and also probably teleport. 99.9999% of the time, people go in and either print postage on their own without incident or they have some kind of issue and bring the mail to me so I can handle it. It is a good system, and the relationships thrive.

The other 0.0001% of the time, the person using the machine goes into some kind of hyperactive fugue state and takes their best shot at completely fucking up the machine. On the first of the month, all the accounts need to be reset and a report gets printed out. Therefore, you go to put an envelope through, and the screen tells you that this needs to be done. This is one of those situations where I personally woud step back and think "hmm. I don't know what the hell is going on here. Mayhap I will inquire of the receptionist seated eight feet from my current locale about the best way to proceed." Flo, however, would apparently start stabbing random buttons until she finally hit a section protected by a password, then yell "Josie, it says I need a password!" Jesus Christ on a stick. I go into the mail room and she starts babbling about how she doesn't know why it's saying it needs the accounts reset and how she's never seen that before. Okay, so...why would you throw caution to the winds and start pushing buttons like it's fucking Merlin?

Flo has been responsible for such other enjoyable adventures as Incessantly Commenting That The Front Desk Cut Flower Arrangements Need Water While Apparently Missing The Fact That Cut Flowers Eventually Die Whether They Have Water Or Not and the thrilling and not at all obnoxious Pushing Open A Door I'm Leaning As I Try To Shoo A Bird Out Of The Foyer Thus Potentially Allowing The Bird To Visit New And Exciting Locations Like The Cafeteria And The Marketing Department. While these adventures have mostly been to the benefit of the manufacturers of blood pressure medication, they have also afforded me the opportunity to learn how best to get her the hell away from me, which mostly consists of acting like a nervous mother hen by talking fast and getting up in her personal space until she leaves. I used this tactic to get her to leave and got everything squared away, then sat down to work on my sweet, life-giving coffee.

Ohhh except not, because it's a full moon tonight. About fifteen minutes later, someone else rolls in and the machine is running low on funds. Not surprising, a couple mailings went out this week. Not a problem, either, had Flo not apparently told this other woman about how the mailing machine is just like fucking Merlin and she should come give it a try! WHAT THE HELL?! Luckily, it was even easier to disperse this person, since to add money the machine makes horrid modem noises. But come on people, what is with the pushing of random buttons without game plan or knowledge??

Ugh, God. Bombay martini, barely dirty please.