The Sarcasm-Proof Sage of Office Appliances

Penelope stared at the coffee machine, which had just coughed up a sad, brown dribble instead of her much-needed espresso. "Fantastic," she muttered, "just what Monday needed."

Gary, a man whose internal monologue seemed to be narrated by a motivational speaker on a sugar rush, ambled over. "Problems, Penny?" he chirped, his smile so wide it threatened to dislodge his ears.

"No, Gary," Penelope said, giving the machine a gentle but firm kick. "I'm just performing a modern dance interpretation of the grief cycle. This particular movement signifies the denial phase regarding the imminent collapse of my caffeine intake."

Gary chuckled. "Ah, I see! Well, have you tried turning it off and on again?"

Penelope paused, turning slowly to face him. Her eyes, usually a calm hazel, were now sparkling with a dangerous intensity. "Gary, you absolute visionary. What an utterly groundbreaking suggestion. I had truly planned to dismantle the entire contraption, consult an ancient scroll of coffee-making rituals, and then sacrifice a small goat before even contemplating such a radical solution."

Gary beamed. "Glad I could help! Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best, right?"

"Oh, unequivocally," Penelope drawled, picking up a stray coffee bean. "Your insight has, once again, peeled back the layers of complexity from my technologically advanced existence. I'm practically bathed in the golden glow of your wisdom."

Gary nodded, taking this as a genuine compliment. "Anytime, Penny! That's what I'm here for." He then proceeded to press the 'on/off' button himself, producing the same sad dribble. "Huh," he said, genuinely surprised. "Guess it's really broken."

Penelope sighed, a sound that could curdle milk. "Indeed, Gary. Your diagnostic skills are truly unparalleled. Perhaps you could now offer some equally profound advice on how to survive the next eight hours without a single functioning brain cell."

Gary tapped his chin. "Well, you could always try decaf?"

Penelope just stared at him, a single tear of despair and profound sarcasm rolling down her cheek. "Gary," she whispered, "you're a national treasure."