Confession of a Well‑Meaning Smellfungus.

I know, I know...I tend to be a smellfungus - I can't help talking too much. You see, my mouth just opens on its own accord and begins to confess - it just started explaining, in excruciating detail, how none of the situation which unfolded was technically my fault.

Which only made me seem completely at fault.

I admit - though only under protest - that the situation theoretically went wrong the moment the office coffee machine made that faint wheezing noise. You know the one: the sound of a small appliance trying to communicate distress but being ignored by everyone except me, the only person in the building with the moral courage to intervene.

I should note, before we go any further, that I am not a certified repair technician. I am, however, someone who once watched a fifteen‑minute video titled “How to Fix Literally Any Coffee Maker Ever Invented.” It had upbeat music and a man with a reassuring face. So I felt prepared.

The first mistake - if we insist on calling it that ( I was merely trying to keep the office fully awake and caffeinated) - was opening the back panel. I only meant to peek, but the screws were loose, which I took as a personal invitation. Inside, I found a tangle of wires that looked like a plate of spaghetti having an existential crisis. I tugged one gently. It came off in my hand. I tugged another to see if that was normal. It was not...the whole plate of spaghetti disintegrated.

At this point, the machine made a squeak like a dying mouse and expelled a puff of steam that singed my eyebrows. I considered stopping, but stopping would have meant admitting defeat, and I am philosophically opposed to that. Just ask my therapist.

So I continued.

I attempted what I believed was a “reset procedure,” which involved unplugging the machine, plugging it back in, and tapping it three times on the side. This did nothing except cause the lights to flicker ominously, which I interpreted as progress.

Then I remembered the video’s advice: “If all else fails, check the water line. Plug it out and plug it back in.” I checked it. I did the standard advice of plugging out and back in again. It seemed fine. I checked it double harder. It snapped clean off, spraying water directly into the electrical panel, which - if we’re being honest - responded exactly as one might expect when introduced to water.

There was a spark. Then a pop. Then a small, polite fire.

I tried to blow it out, but the fire only grew more impolite, as if fueled by my breath and possibly my shame. I grabbed the nearest liquid, which happened to be someone’s half‑finished caramel latte, and threw it onto the flames. This did not extinguish the fire. It caramelized it.

By the time the smoke alarm went off, the machine was making a low humming noise that sounded suspiciously like resentment. The break room filled with a smell best described as “burnt sugar and unemployment.” The fire department arrived, which I maintain was an overreaction, though I understand they have protocols.

In the end, the coffee machine was declared “beyond repair,” which is unfair because it was technically beyond repair before I even touched it. I simply helped it reach its natural conclusion.

So yes, I confess: I tried to fix something and made it worse. But I also maintain that my intentions were noble, my logic was sound, and the coffee machine was emotionally unstable long before I got involved.

If anything, I should be thanked for revealing its flaws before it hurt someone.

And yes, I could have burned the entire building down...but it was just one little break room. I have no idea what all the fuss is about.

The question is....DO I STILL HAVE A JOB.