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Not being a woman normally prone to violence, I shocked myself this morning when I shook my office telephone in a turbulent manner AND said a few choice words to it. The reason?  I did not exactly know what my password was so  I was not allowed to use one of my main office communication tools – my phone.  I made several  reasonable attempts to get the password correct. I was so desperate,  I  tried everything – the name of my first pet – “Fluffy” – my father’s first name – “James” – my first boyfriend – “Richard” (Hm-m-m-m . . . I haven’t thought about him in years . . . I wonder what he’s been up to?),  the name of a famous serial killer – “Berkowitz,” etc., etc.  After only maybe five or six sensible word choices, I heard the following:  “You have exceeded the maximum number of log in attempts – you have now been locked out. Please contact customer service.” My first thought was,  How? You’ve locked me out of my phone! Should I try yelling to Cleveland or wherever you people are?”  I was in a quandary because I really needed  to get to that flashing envelope – the one that means I have a voice mail. It’s right there – in that grey box – so close, but yet so far.  I knew it had to be very important because someone left it on my OFFICE PHONE.   I always try to solve my own problems before summoning experts so I calmed down and decided to think rationally. This is what I decided to do:  I shut my office door and uttered  a few not-so-nice words while I grabbed the phone by its throat (some people call it a receiver ). I half expected to hear a voice that said:  “What would your mother think if she heard the words you’re using? You’re a bad girl.” (That phone has obviously never met my mother.) Anyway, I tried to pull it down to the floor so I could kick it, but the cord wasn’t long enough – meanwhile, it kept pulsating “message,” “message” while it was hanging there . . . it was taunting me.  I then got a really creepy feeling – what if the other buttons  – Directories, Services, Settings, Headset, Mute, etc., started  flashing; I knew that would send me completely over the edge. All at once, however, I spotted a button that simply and quietly said, “Help.”  I felt that I had been thrown a life raft. A totally calm feeling came over me and, I swear, I heard chamber music.  I looked to the heavens (actually, my office ceiling) and then hit that Help button like a woman on speed.  This is what I heard -  “You have exceeded the maximum number of log in attempts – you have now been locked out. Please contact customer service.” At that point, I gave up;  I conceded  defeat and beat my head on the side of my file cabinet. I then went into the office kitchen and proceeded to  start eating some of everything that was left over from a morning meeting – huge chocolate chip and blueberry muffins, cheesecake, lemon pie, oatmeal cookies, etc.  I then went back to my office with some serious sugar overload and realized I needed professional telephone help.  After all, admitting you need help is step one to recovery, or so I’ve been told. Other than that one incident, it was a good day.