Christine just walked into the office, smiling, and said:
'You know what your hot button is? People having hot buttons!'
I thought for a second. 'You're right.'
I had been downstairs, getting a cup of coffee. She'd asked me how my day was going.
'Well, OK. But all these people go off in such predictable ways! It's like a minefield. And we all know where the mines are. Heck, some of them we've set off before - and more than once! And we still step on them! Then wonder why we have to deal with the explosion! How idiotically predictably predictable is that!'
Then I went back upstairs to work.
And a few moments later, Christine walked into the office, smiling, and said that thing about my hot button.
I don't have many hot buttons, you see. I don't want them. Having hot buttons, and having others know you have them, reduces my power and control and increases theirs. It's irritating enough to have someone push your buttons when you're a kid. But to have them do it when you're an adult is a little embarrassing. At least, it's embarrassing to me. It makes me feel easy (which makes me feel uneasy).
Some years ago my then-boss (and my boss again now) was so gosh-darned happy when he found a hot button for me. He'd been probing for years, and finally got a rise out of me, saying something ridiculously reactionary about immigration. I'm an immigrant myself (albeit an involuntary one - I was a baby), and I rose to the bait when he pushed the button. After I'd hotly lectured our little group for a while, Rich smiled.
'I've been looking for your hot button for such a long time,' he said.
At least he showed me where that one was. I hadn't known it was there. So I didn't know it could be pushed.
It's become more difficult, over the years, to push my buttons. But if people pushing other's buttons pushes my hot button, I still have some self-control work to do.
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