One of these fun aspects is the necessity to speak to people rather than simply firing off a message electronically. And, when the phones are down, to speak to them face-to-face. Instead of three lines of text saying "please switch off and unplug all delicate electronic equipment because the power is unstable and prone to spikes and dips which can cause costly, inconvenient or heart-rending damage", sent unilaterally, one has an interaction. One reconnects with people long last _seen_, exchanges social cues as well as just information, and one also collects - input, comment, anecdote, feedback. Cautionary tales about Brenda's daughter's hairdryer that spontaneously burst into flame in the middle of the night, or The Atrium transformer that fried, or the husband that received an electric shock on opening the fridge, add texture to formal emails issued from ICTS about the risks of undisciplined power wreaking havoc on susceptible equipment.
Another is the "downtime" that forces one into contemplatory activities rather than the kneejerk automaton mode much of one's working day demands. One suddenly finds oneself with time to read, to reflect, to review. Meaning, as well as action, line up for acknowledgement as products of one's daily labour. The sunset looks different.
But perhaps the most fun comes from watching people's reactions. Most people fray rather rapidly around the edges, and - confronted with their own powerlessness (of all kinds), some project a kind of omnipotence onto others. And so one gets shouted at for things entirely outside of one's sphere of influence, such as ICTS installation schedules, the inability to teach due to infrastructural unavailability, or the apparently conflicting messages one receives from different sources within the Institution.
But perhaps the best part of the outages has been the unplugging of the hideous handdryers, and the reappearance of handtowels, in the cloakrooms.