Intuit QuickBooks Online Notification
︎︎︎ Jiv Johnson
︎ Jan 9, 2025
I’ll be signed out for security purposes if I don’t click the button.
The official color of said button is a branch of Quickbooks Green, Kiwi-80, #00892E.
The shade has limited usage, restricted as the
color for buttons only.
I wish I could tell Zamenhof or Bakhtin of our failures to establish a proletarian lingua franca.
Corporate graphic designers and marketing departments beat us out in record time. Born to lose.
It’s Tuesday in a dead dry city. I stare at the notification. It has a countdown attached to it.
The countdown is set in Avenir Next for Intuit. Their official font.
timeless, yet modern and contemporary, with a large x-height
and accurate proportions.
I write everything, too, in a specific typeface. Georgia, size 10.
Viewable to anyone with access to Google Docs.
Intuit notes they limit size selection for their font to ensure consistency.
I am not allowed size 10 in Avenir Next. I’m not sure what that means for the global proletariat or myself.
The design handbook for Intuit says very clearly: Don’t create new colors.
I try to create a new color but cannot. I try, too, to think of a new letter or word, but cannot.
Where does one go in their mind to create new colors? I understand that the occipital lobe sees.
I know this because of a Death Cab For Cutie song from long ago.
I understand that the hippocampus and temporal lobe store our associations of colors. The grass is green.
And so on. I know this from a high school classroom, also long ago.
I cannot recall, though, where one goes inside themself to create a new color.
With my failure to know, I allow Intuit another win. I do not know how to create a new color.
I cannot harm nor betray you. I think this to myself, in a spinny home-office chair from Amazon.
Corporate entity, what secret do you hold? How may I create a new type of green, to compete?
I cannot compete. I have to click the button. The affirmative selection says: I need more time.
And I do click it. And now it knows what I lack. And now it is better than me.
And it creates more time for me to lose. Which I was born to do.
The official color of said button is a branch of Quickbooks Green, Kiwi-80, #00892E.
The shade has limited usage, restricted as the
color for buttons only.
I wish I could tell Zamenhof or Bakhtin of our failures to establish a proletarian lingua franca.
Corporate graphic designers and marketing departments beat us out in record time. Born to lose.
It’s Tuesday in a dead dry city. I stare at the notification. It has a countdown attached to it.
The countdown is set in Avenir Next for Intuit. Their official font.
timeless, yet modern and contemporary, with a large x-height
and accurate proportions.
I write everything, too, in a specific typeface. Georgia, size 10.
Viewable to anyone with access to Google Docs.
Intuit notes they limit size selection for their font to ensure consistency.
I am not allowed size 10 in Avenir Next. I’m not sure what that means for the global proletariat or myself.
The design handbook for Intuit says very clearly: Don’t create new colors.
I try to create a new color but cannot. I try, too, to think of a new letter or word, but cannot.
Where does one go in their mind to create new colors? I understand that the occipital lobe sees.
I know this because of a Death Cab For Cutie song from long ago.
I understand that the hippocampus and temporal lobe store our associations of colors. The grass is green.
And so on. I know this from a high school classroom, also long ago.
I cannot recall, though, where one goes inside themself to create a new color.
With my failure to know, I allow Intuit another win. I do not know how to create a new color.
I cannot harm nor betray you. I think this to myself, in a spinny home-office chair from Amazon.
Corporate entity, what secret do you hold? How may I create a new type of green, to compete?
I cannot compete. I have to click the button. The affirmative selection says: I need more time.
And I do click it. And now it knows what I lack. And now it is better than me.
And it creates more time for me to lose. Which I was born to do.
Jiv Johnson is an accountant from Kentucky. He currently resides in New York City. He has a father, a mother, and a brother.
Also by Jiv: Plea to Great-Grandmother