Switches are for Switching

I was looking for a part time job my freshman year in college, and running the computer lab seemed like a pretty good prospect. All the guy did was sit at a desk and roam the internet. If someone had a problem with their computer, he would just jiggle the mouse and tell them to restart it.

I paced around the guy’s desk as I talked to him about the job. Often when I am engaged in conversation or thinking about something my appendages go on autopilot. The lab clattered with the typing of keys and the clicking of mice as the 60-plus students inside worked busily on papers an projects. As the guy checked something on his computer, my eyes—and hands—wandered to a large switch behind his desk. It looked like a light switch, only larger and illuminated in red.

Ah, a switch, my subconscious mind thought. Switches are for switching. I will switch this switch and see what happens.

The lab exploded with gasps and groans as every computer in the room turned off and then on again. Every computer except that of the guy running the lab. I flushed and hurried toward the door, knowing that if I was discovered I would be lynched by an angry mob of student’s whose hard work had been forever expunge by my negligence.

“Where are you going?” the guy asked, bewildered and yet unaware of the J.Clark-induced blackout. “Don’t you want to talk about the job?”

“There’s a thing, and uh, I’ve got to go somewhere, so uh, bye!” I stammered. I dashed out the lab and across the campus and all the way home, positive that a posse of bloodthirsty college kids was on my trail, wielding keyboards and mice.

Switches are for switching indeed. If only I could switch off my wandering hands.