Horny-Handed Wholesaler Salesmen: Oh, deeply purple-robed one, hear our plight and save us from the tyranny of sense and knowledge, we beseech thee.
EM: What seemeth to be the problem lads?
HHWSs: Yea, verily, during this very night shift, our iPads which we sometimes use as sales consoles cannot connect to the Tube of You nor the Hamsters of X, whereby we spend what little time we may between bouts of furious selling of the goods. We needeth to restart the wireless device that provideth such signals.
EM: Haveth a butchers at that fuse-box on the wall that controls the router (and all other electrical devices) locked in the office. If you flip the fuse switch, the router will restart and you'll be back wanking like grinning chimps in no time.
HHWSs: Oh, good call, your Imperial Purpleness. It shall be done forthwith.
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HHWSs: Yea, and so doth the fi of wi return. Praise the purple one with great praise.
HHWSs: Holdeth up - the application server that runs our trading system is now strangely dark and quiet.
HHWSs: It was on the circuit that we hath flippeth the switch but moments ago.
HHWSs: Fark.
Boss of HHWSs: Verily, ye shall have to tradeth for the next eight hours with pen and paper and stay after your knocketh off time to render your trading unto the server of applications before ye shall depart this place to your abodes.
Omnes: Curse you, purple hearted tomenter.