Episode 1 "Where the hell have you been?!" the Boss snaps as I open the door to Mission Control, letting the PFY in before me.

He almost sounds angry!

"Yes," I reply, turning to the PFY. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I'm talking to you!" the Boss adds.

"Yes," I say, still talking to the PFY. "So listen up!"

"Not him, you!" the Boss shouts.

"Me?" I ask, oozing innocence. At least I think it's innocence. Actually, it might be... No, no, it's innocence.

"Yes. Where have you been?"

"Uh... Holiday?" I suggest.

"I know you were on holiday, but why weren't you back till today?"

"Because..... I.... was.... on..... holiday.....?" I say. Look into my eyes, look into my eyes, the eyes, the eyes, not around the eyes, don't look around the eyes, look into my eyes... >click< you're under. I've been on holiday. >click< and you're back in the room.

"I know you've been on bloody holiday! But what were you doing on holiday?"

"Drinking? Resting? A bit of light engineering on the Myford? Day trips with the Mrs?"

"No, I mean WHY were you on holiday?"

"Uh.. to drink, rest, do a bit of li..."

"WHY WAS NO-ONE HERE?!"

"Uhh... My able assistant was here..."

"NO HE BLOODY WASN'T!"

"Really?" I ask.

"No!"

"So Systems and Networks were locked up like a drum?"

"YES!"

"I see. And what broke?"

"What?"

"What did you need urgently - which broke while we were away - that's annoyed you?"

"Well, nothing really."

"I see. So you're annoyed because nothing broke? I mean we can fix that in no time!"

"No! No, I'm annoyed because no-one was here!"

"And nothing broke. So instead of being pleased that we have a reliable and robust infrastructure you're going to labour the whole being-on-site point?"

"Look, I'm not going to argue with you. You were supposed to be here and you weren't. In fact according to the contract we have with you, you're supposed to give a week's notice of any absence outside of emergencies."

"Well maybe this was an emergency?" the PFY suggests.

"And what emergency would that be?"

"Death in the family," the PFY says, thinking furiously of a less-than-loved relative who could be used at short notice to substantiate this claim.

"As I thought, nothing. So I'm sorry, but I'm going to raise this as a breach of contract."

"But it's only a breach of our contract if we didn't inform you."

"You didn'.t"

"Of course we did. And you okayed it"

"No I didn't!"

"Of course you did, and I have the email to prove it. Or at least I will before you get back to your office. In fact, it's probably also in your online dairy! You may even >clickety< have even agreed to extend my holiday and allow me to telecommute for the rest of January."

"I think he said we both could >clickety<," the PFY says. "Yes, here it is... dated December the >clickety< 19th."

"HAH!" the Boss says. "BUSTED! The 19th was a Sunday! And I was at my wife's sister's birthday in Hull!"

">clickety< Well it looks like the swipe card access logs would disagree with you. You were in several times that day to talk to us. >clickety< >tap< >tap< >clickety< Our meetings are even recorded on the CCTV Surveillance system. Which reminds me, we'd best fill in our overtime for that day. How many hours did we work?"

"27," the PFY replies.

"You can't work 27 hours in one day!" the Boss snaps.

"Ordinary people can't," the PFY says. "But you're right, we must have worked >clickety< two days."

"Good grief! >clickety<," I add. "So we did - but if that's the case then we would have worked more than ten consecutive days!"

"Of course!" the PFY says. "The penalty clause."

"What penalty clause?" the Boss sighs, knowing he's about to be shafted.

"The penalty clause in the contract to prevent you working us unreasonably. Isn't it something like a week's paid leave?"

"Indeed it is."

"This is preposterous - anyway, you won't have a contract once your unnotified absence is brought to light."

"What unnotified absence?"

>clickety<

"Last week."

"But we were here last week >clickety< >tap< even the cctv cameras agree," I say, turning my monitor to show him. "See, the newspaper on the visitor's table has a headline from last week on it."

"As opposed >clickety<," the PFY adds, "to the paper on the desk when you supposedly came in last week - which is from months ago. Looks like someone has made a crude attempt to prove that you were in. I bet >clickety< there's no history of you even coming into the building - apart from this morning..."

"I..."

"Or we could just take that penalty clause week's holiday and forget the whole thing?" I suggest.

"I.."

"Excellent. See you next week then."


Episode 2 So we've been dragged into Beancounter land after a change in purchasing policy means that absolutely all kit is now going to be bought by the IT Purchasing bloke in accounts to make sure that we get the absolute best deal that we POSSIBLY could ever get.

Which means: we're going to get royally screwed by the vendors.

As any IT person knows, IT vendors are some of the nastiest people ever to leave the used car sales business and are like piranha when it comes to someone like our new purchasing bloke who's so green he needs mowing.

Still, we have to put in an appearance and see what special deals he's managed to line up for us.

"We've got a fantastic price from Bruce on LCD monitors," he says, handing over a piece of paper with some prices on it.

"Isn't that just slightly more than retail?" the PFY asks.

"It's more than retail because the retail monitors are a lower quality. These ones are the 'A' model and are far superior."

"How do we know this?"

"Because the A models aren't available in the shops."

"Neither are asbestos face masks."

"What? No, these are good equipment. They're a special new line."

"New? Or does our friend Bruce just get out his Letraset kit and add an A to the model number before he ships them to you?" the PFY suggests.

"No, no, I've been assured that these are the premium quality item," he says, pointing on the page to an asterix and its accompanying footnote.

"Yes," I say. "I always feel more assured when I know a vendor has gone to the trouble of adding a footnote to their marketing information. I mean they wouldn't fake that would they?"

"They can't!" the PFY gasps.

"Ah, but this isn't marketing literature, this is in-house and not for distribution!" he says, pointing to the large watermark image in the background.

"Oh well that's fine then. When I see ‘NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION’ as a watermark I know I'm not being lied to. It's only the one saying ‘WE'RE RIPPING YOU OFF!’ that has me Worried."

"Are you suggesting that the salesman is playing me... for a fool."

"No, no, I wasn't suggesting that, I was implying it. There's a slight difference. But to be completely frank, I think he's..."

"Riding you like a pony!" the PFY says.

"Uh..."

"Taking your ass downtown!"

"I..."

"Pushing you like a pram!"

>KZZZERT!<

"I must apologize for my assistant. It's been some time since he had a reset and so he's probably had a memory leak. Oh, and judging by the floor under his chair, not JUST a memory leak. Woopsy, must turn down the voltage a touch. Now, as I was saying, to be frank I think you're being tucked."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Tucked. As is stitched. They only good thing is that you're probably getting a large number of drinks out of this, which makes up for it in a way."

"Uh.. I... I'm an alcoholic," he says. "So I don't.."

"Ah. Muy bad, as they say. Still, if you were ever to take it up again I'm sure he'd be the man to know and would be most oblig..."

>KZEERT!<

"Sorry about my supervisor," the PFY says, pulling out a screwdriver and giving my cattle prod a bit of a tweak. "Memory leak. And >sniff< possibly a brown out problem. He's right, it is set a little high. Short term effects too. Anyway, so we think he's lying to you and you're either too stupid or lazy to figure that our..."

>KZERT!<

"So, what I'd suggest is that you look at the prices we were getting from vendors before and compare them with the ones they're trying to palm off on you now."

"I did! But these are better quality items and will last longer, which means that over the long term they work out cheaper. And if they last longer they'll need less maintenance which means that the Total Cost of Ownership is.."

"TOTAL COST OF OWNERSHIP!? IT'S A BLOODY MONITOR. YOU PLUG IT IN AND TURN IT ON. WHEN IT BLOWS UP YOU GET ANOTHER ONE! YOU DON'T PROGRAM IT, YOU DON'T VIRUS SCAN IT, THE TOTAL COST OF OWNERSHIP IS WHAT YOU PAID FOR IT, WHICH IN THIS CASE IS TOO BLOODY MU.."

>KZERT!<

"What I believe my supervisor is trying to impart is that TCO in this instance is crap. Now, have you actually ORDERED any of this?"

"No, but I'm planning to email an order in later this morning."

"You mean WERE planning to email an order in..."

"No, we need monitors and this is the best deal we can get from the vendors. And as the IT Purchasing Officer for the company it's my duty to pick the best value for m.."

>KZERT<

"Okay," I say. "Do YOU want to send that order?"

"Yep," the PFY says, "and I won't forget to put the asterix and footnote saying: ‘You have to be bloody joking’."

"And the Watermark with ‘Get Stuffed!’ on it. And then I'll have a quick chat with Bruce about that time he tried to pick up his Boss's wife at a product launch to see if that helps the price any."

"Ooooh!!! See if he has any A+ models coming in soon!" the PFY adds.

You've got to know how to do business...


Episode 3 "So we'd just like you to move these data points from here to over there," the head beancounter says, pointing to a window.

"It's a window," I say.

"Yes, will that be a problem?"

"It's a glass wall.."

"Yes."

"And there's no underfloor data cabling..."

"Mmm."

"So how do the cables get across there?"

"I... Through the ceiling?"

"And from the ceiling to their machines?"

"We could just let the wire hang down?"

"Wire-S."

"Mmm?"

"WIRES. I take it you're going to need power too."

"Oh, yes. Actually, better run two of each."

"Ok, it'll be a big job, as they'll either run a small post or an ugly piece of capping down the middle of the window which the building owner will hate. So who do I charge the work to?"

"It's your area so I guess you'd be paying for it."

"Doubtful. Eighteen months ago when this floor was completely refitted we specified modular underfloor cabling in a raised floor config, utilising, I might add, oversize floor tiles for futureproofing - and your department axed that out of the budget saying it was an unneccesary expense for what is basically a static workplace area."

"Uh, that wasn't our department, that was the auditors."

"Who work?"

"Uh.. Over there," he says, pointing into a small cube farm separate from the rest of the floor.

"Oh, in YOUR department?"

"Yes, but they don't report to me, they report to the Audit Manager."

"Who reports to?"

"Well me, but that's different. It's a whole separate thing."

"And so is asking us to make changes to a budget cabling job after we'd warned you that it'd cost a fortune to change."

"Ok, I suppose we could just run long cables across the floor."

"Till the Health and Safety people notice, yes."

"Oh. So it looks like we'll have to use the ceiling space."

"I suppose so. Unless...."

"Unless?"

"Unless we use the ceiling space of the floor below, run the cables in that, get a bloke with a cement cutter and jackhammer to make some holes in the concrete floor to install some flush mounting power and data boxes onto."

"What'll it cost?"

"Oh, about a grand, fifteen hundred?"

"1500 pounds?!"

"Lets say two to be on the safe side. Course, it's about 750 if you want them to do a weekend job for cash with no insurance, tax or warranty."

"It's a hole! They're drilling a hole, that's all! How can a hole be worth two thousand pounds?"

"It's specialised equipment! They're professionals!"

"Can't you drill the hole?"

"What, with the IT department's little hammer drill and a masonry bit? It'd take about two hours and drive everyone barmy - and we don't have a masonry bit that long."

"I... So how... do we do the... uh.. under-the-table thing?"

"You grab a wadge of petty cash - call it pin money or something - shove it in a brown envelope and drop it off to me. I'll hand it onto them and they'll drill the hole."

"You give it to them BEFORE they do the work? You don't get a receipt or anything?"

"A. They'll be hiring equipment and will want the dosh up front and B. the whole idea of under-the-table jobs is no paper trail."

"It all seems a little... underhand to me."

"The good jobs always do.."

. . two hours later . .

"And it'll be done by the weekend?" the head beancounter says, handing over a brown envelope self-consciously like a crim caught on videotape. Which he is.

"Should do. I'll make some calls later on this afternoon and get back to you."

. . . later on that afternoon . . .

>Ring<

"Hello," the PFY says.

"Want to earn three hundred quid whilst lounging around at the pub?" I ask.

. . . That weekend . . .

"So you've propped the drill up between two chairs with a stack of phone books taped to the handle.."

"To simulate the pressure of a human arm," I add.

"..with the trigger taped on…"

"Yep, and by my calculation the first hole should be drilled in about 4.5 pints time!"

"Best get drinking then!"

. . . 4.5 hours later . . .

"Ok, that's one hole done. Now we need to drill eight more holes around it to make room for the flush box mount."

"How deep?"

"About a pint."

. . . Eight pint trips and a large amount of hammering later. . .

"F - ing magic!" the PFY slurs. "But what's that..."

. . . .

"You didn't run the cables?" the head Beancounter whines, when we get in on Monday.

"No, there was a bit of a problem, so we didn't get a chance to start work."

"Problem?"

"Yeah, they'd done the hole when one of the newer, STUPIDER contractors thought he'd seen an obstruction and rammed the drill in the hole several times."

"Yes, and?"

"And hit the water line for the fire extinguishers."

"Was there any damage?"

"No no, just flooded the third floor. It'll need new carpets!"

"We‘ll sue!"

"You COULD sue, but then you'd have to fess up to the whole under-the-table thing, which would mean the Tax department would probably find out, which given your position in the company would probably mean the whole place would be audited with all the vigor of a dark night at a men's prison, it doesn't really bear thinking about..."

"I....... suppose you're right. We'll have to pay for the carpets."

"You couldn't spring for a raised floor utilising oversize floor tiles for futureproofing as well could you?"

Well, it never hurts to ask. 


Episode 4 "Yeah, I was just ringing because I can't install an application on my machine."

"Really?" I ask. "What application?"

"Oh that's not important, but what is important is that I don't seem to have Administrator access to my machine."

"Yes, that's right, no-one does. Well, that's not completely true, myself and my assistant do, and the support staff have 'Power User' access."

"But it's my machine!"

"No, it's the Company's machine - you're just using it."

"The company bought the machine for me!"

"For you to USE, yes. Like your desk."

"Ah, but I can install stuff on my desk!"

"Sorry?"

"I can install stuff on my desk - like a desk lamp!"

"You already have a desk lamp. A stainless steel one with the company crest. Anything else you might install could be dangerous!"

"You can't have a 'dangerous' desk lamp!"

"Yes you could. One that has the phase wire connected to the metal body instead of the earth wire would be dangerous."

"That's ridiculous, who'd make a lamp like that?!"

"My assistant, if you really annoyed him. And even then it'd be installed by a experienced systems administrator without your knowledge - like most good installations."

"You install stuff on our machines without telling us?"

"Yes, for security reasons."

"Oh you mean antivirus updates and service pack things?"

"Uh.... ok... yeah sure."

"What if I want to install something?"

"You mean like a piece of music playing software?"

"No, there's a jukebox player already installed, but yes."

"We don't permit that. I mean after all, it's a work machine. In fact I didn't realise that there was a jukebox application in the standard installation image. Must make a note of that."

"It's already installed, so there's nothing you can do about it!"

"Of course I can! I could even subcontract the job out to one of the more aggressive of the company's security team with a reputation for brutality and the personality of a serial killer, but that's not the way we do things around here."

"Oh," he sighs, danger averted.

"No, I'll just make a slight change to the group policy that will remove everyone's jukebox application, and when they ask, I'll tell them that it was you that brought it to my attention."

"I.. You wouldn't dare!"

>clickety<

"Already done!"

The next day the wheels fall off as there's a groundswell of support for the jukebox application from people like the Head of IT and the CEO who are among those inconvenienced by the removal.

Sigh.

I get the PFY to make the necessary reversals to the Group Policy then tell everyone to reboot, which causes the network to grind for a couple of hours.

Sigh.

Yet again the phone rings and I notice it's my troublemaker, so I take the call. Wouldn't you know it, he sounds a little pleased with himself...

"So ANYWAY," he smirks. "I'd like that administrative access to my machine now. Oh, and could you come and do it personally?"

"I think you're mistaking the battle for the war," I say. "We're still not permitting administrative access."

"I think you are!" he replies, pulling an ace from his sleeve. "I'd had a little meeting with the CEO and he agrees that I should be allowed to install the applications I need to do my job. Seeing as how you people seem to get confused by all those options."

Double sigh.

"Yeah... no I don't think so," I reply.

"But I insist," he chuckles. "Oh hang on, it's not me that's insisting, that's right, it's the C.E.O!"

I suppress the urge to ring the neanderthal in security and decide instead to deal with this in a much more adult manner - in keeping with my responsible image.

. . . the next day . . .

"I'm waiting..." my annoying user sighs down the phone at me

"What for, I've sorted everything out that you wanted."

"I haven't got admin rights to my machine!"

"Oh, ADMIN RIGHTS, of course!" I gasp. "I'm sorry, I must have got confused by all the options and installed a new desk lamp for you instead."

"I don't want a new desk lamp. Anyway, it's the same desk lamp!"

"Really? I thought your old desk lamp was a bit grubby. With a recently modified 'earthing' system. Sitting on the CEO's desk. Covered in your fingerprints - which, as you probably know, show up awfully well on stainless steel surfaces."

"What the hell's it doing th... I... ... You wouldn't!"

"Course not! Oh look >clickety< the lights have just gone out on the top floor. However will the CEO see what he's doing?"

"Ok, I don't need administrative rights!" he stutters, backpeddling like a madman.

"Wasting valuable CPR seconds here..."

>Clatter!<

"So did you really swap the lamps over?" the PFY asks.

"Nah, he left on a junket with his PA. But his office doorhandle's got some form of wiring problem that probably needs looki..."

A high-pitched scream punctuates the building

"Or maybe not," the PFY comments. 


Episode 5 Things are looking good. It's a dull day with nothing on and I might even get to slide off home early, once I can get rid of this woman from the HR department who wants a favour…

"..and so we'd like you to help with the selection and interview process of the new Consultant for the Finance area," the HR woman drones.

"Really, what happened to what’s-his-name?" I ask "He'd only been here three weeks?"

"Apparently he's been arrested under the new Anti-Terrorism laws."

"Really, what was the charge - looking swarthy?"

"I'm not sure, they wouldn't say. Meantime we need a replacement for him, so we placed some advertisements and need a little help selecting some suitable applicants."

"Ok, I'm your man!" I say, renice 19-ing any remorse processes I might have running for overdosing the guy's coffee with tanning tablets and making an anonymous tip-off...

"Good. I'll send you our literature on the short listing criteria, selection and interview process."

"Roger!"

Ten minutes later I'm looking through the pages and pages of crap that we're supposed to go through to put someone into a job.

"This is bloody ridiculous!" I cry.

"What is?" the Boss asks, wandering into Mission Control.

"All the crap attached to choosing someone for a job!"

"Oh yeah, apparently they tightened things up a couple of months ago," the Boss says. "But how bad can it be?"

"How bad can it be? Look: 'The company prides itself of being an Equal Opportunity Employer'. What does that mean?"

"It means that we we're not prejudiced in our selection techniques."

"Of course we're bloody prejudiced! We want someone who can do that job!"

"Yes, yes, but if two people came in and one of them was… er…"

"A 54-year-old black lesbian hippo with one leg who worshipped chutney," the PFY suggests.

"Er.. yes, then we would appoint the, er, them!"

"Instead of the other applicant?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Well because we're giving them an equal opportunity."

"No I think you mean Affirmative Action," the PFY comments. "Equal Opportunities means that they'd both be considered regardless of who they were. Affirmative Action is intended to address a perceived lack of some group in a company for PR purposes.”

"It's not for P.R!"

"Right," the PFY says dubiously.

"Well this flies in the face of my Unequal Opportunities Policy!" I say.

"Your what?!?"

"Unequal Opportunities Policy. Which is basically 'if you can do the job, you're in!'. Couldn't give a crap about age, sex, race, etc. It's a simple policy, but it seems to work. Unless…"

"Unless what!?"

"Unless you're a thicko. I can't stand thickos. No offence."

"What do you mean?!"

"Thickos, you know, people who can't... well.. tie their shoelaces without assistance. No offence."

"What do you mean 'no offence'!?"

"Well you know, some people get upset when you say something like that - especially if they're a complete 'tard. No offence"

Five minutes later the Boss has company, in the form of the PR woman that'd spoken to me earlier.

"Uh.. there's some problem with our appointments policy?" she asks, oozing diplomacy.

"Well I was just saying that it's bollocks really. I mean down at our level no-one really gives a crap about the whole age/sex/colour/creed thing so long as you're good at your job. The thing we do have a problem with is people who are too thick for their role. No offence, No offence."

"Are you implying that we're stupid?"

"Uh... Lets see, how can I say this best? Ah! An intelligent person would not have needed to ask that question! No offence. No offence"

"I have a Masters Degree in Gender Studies!" the HR woman snaps.

"Ooooh, now there's a degree that's hugely marketable!" the PFY blurts sarcastically.

"I've been published several times in the Journal of Employment Diversity!!"

"And I'm sure both their readers enjoyed it," I add. "However I doubt that this means you have the wherewithal to properly administer a desktop machine."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"We're talking about the position of a desktop support person for the Finance area, someone who'll need skills in desktop support, minor administration, application installation and management, etc - all technical tasks requiring more than a little savvy when it comes to computing."

"Ah," the Boss says. "You were talking about computing intelligence! I understand now. You see, the way you worded it made it appear like you were suggesting that I - and Sheree here - were, well, stupid."

"Oh, I see what you mean," I say . "Unfortunately when you're in a position like mine you tend to see things in black and white as opposed to shades of grey. So whereas you might see yourself as in the upper 90 percents of intelligence, I might see you as in the lower 15s."

"Because of our knowledge of the spheres of computing is much less than your own!" the HR woman adds.

"Yes, that too," the PFY says.

"What do you mean?" she asks, frowning.

"Well, that, and because you're thicko," the PFY says.

And there go the wheels from the going-home-early plan.


Episode 6 "IT WAS JUST A BIT OF FUN!" the PFY burbles. "NO-ONE GOT HURT!"

"Someone could have got hurt," the Boss counters.

"You could get hurt logging in!" the PFY responds.

"No you couldn't!"

"You could if I found you using my username!"

The Boss sighs heavily, which is a sure sign he's run out of arguments and is going to start repeating himself.

"It was dangerous and someone could have got seriously hurt."

"But they didn't did they?" I say, entering the fray.

"That was just luck."

"No, we put signs up!"

"A sign saying Danger, Falling Computing Peripherals is just stupid."

"No, it's descriptive."

"Well what the hell were you doing on the roof anyway? Why not just take the stuff downstairs and PLACE it in the skip?"

"WHERE'S THE BLOODY FUN IN THAT!?!?"

"This is a workplace, not a fun place."

"I beg to differ! We have fun here! Remember that summer we blocked the drains and filled the basement with water to make a swimming pool."

"...And had that Hawaii party," the PFY smiles, recollecting. "And then one of the Beancounters who wasn't invited came down in the lift to get his car! Talk about laugh, I almost bought one!!!"

"I don't know what you got away with before, but this was just irresponsible. What were you thinking?"

"OK," the PFY says, getting serious. "The thoughts were vaguely this: We have an old piece of kit which stays up about as much as an Essex bird's underpants. Everyone in the company uses it, it's complete crap and countless hours of work have been lost pounding away at it."

"Are we still talking about the Essex bird?" I ask, just to keep things light hearted.

Lead Balloon.

"So we FINALLY get to replace the kit, which means we can rip out the box, remove all the aged terminal servers and all the terminals."

"And PLACE them in the bin."

"We had that option, yes. But we thought - rightly so, as it happened - that there would be people in the company who might want to express their discontent in some physical manner by dropping, hurling or in some cases screaming-wailing-gnashing-of-teeth-accompanied-punting these units off the roof into the skip. And it went down a treat"

"No it didn't! It was a complete shambles! The side street was absolutely littered with broken plastic, glass and pieces of metal"

"Yeah, it was fantastic!"

"That street is reserved managerial parking! You couldn't drive anywhere NEAR there with all that rubbish on the ground! Not only that, we've also been fined by the local council for littering, AFTER assuring them that we were having the place professionally cleaned with a magnetic sweeper! And don't think I didn't notice that you put the bin on top of my car park. Some of that glass was embedded in the road surface! Big chunks in some cases! It cost a fortune to tidy up!"

"Yeah Well, No-one said fun was cheap! Anyway, we made a penny or two on it."

"How?"

"We sold the kit to people. 10 quid a monitor."

"What if people wanted to take them home?"

"Ok, so you're on top of a building where you're not supposed to be in the first place, the winds in your hair you feel like king of the world and you've got a pussy old dumb terminal in your hands. Are you going to lug it downstairs, onto the tube and home, or are you going to SEIZE VENGEANCE BY THE BALLS AND GIVE THEM A GOOD SQUEEZE!"

"Y.. I.. How much did you make?"

"Just under a thousand quid," the PFY responds.

"We had 100 terminals?"

"No, but we started auctioning the bigger stuff. The 9 track tape unit went for 120 quid," the PFY replies.

"And the ginormous disk drive went for 150," I add.

"Yes, but that was too heavy to get any real distance from the building. It basically plummeted onto the footpath taking out that parking sign. But if it had had wheels on it like the main CPU unit it would have made the street!"

"How much did the main cpu go for?" the Boss asks, interested now.

"Oh nothing. That was a prize for the best technique."

"Technique?"

"Yeah this woman from Data Entry pool used the cables and did a sort of hammer throw which hit the extreme corner of the bin and the monitor exploded into a ball of bits. It was fantastic!"

"And did she claim her prize."

"She was going to - this morning when a couple of her mates were back at work. It's a bit of a beast to shift and you'd need a bit of a run-up on the ramp."

"What? But I had the skip moved before the cleanup, it's back to car pa...

>CRASH!<

"Bugger me!" the PFY says to the Boss whilst staring out the window. "Right in the driver's side! A good thing you weren't in the car at the time."

"Dodged a bullet there," I say, patting him on the back. "Ooooh, it looks like he might be in shock! And how do we treat shock?"

"More shocks?" the PFY asks.

"No."

"Oh! Sit or lay them down, cover them with a blanket, give small sips of water..."

"And?"

"And... go to the pub?"

"Exactly. But first call the council - there's crap all over the road again." 


Episode 7 "Okay, so we just need you to run a cable across the street then!" the Boss says, pointing to the new set of offices across the road that the company has leased. "Do we just sling a cable across the street to them?"

Sigh.

"To run a service across the street you obtain a consent from the local council outlining what the service is for - at which time they'll tell you that they won't let you run aerial services because they 'interrupt the unbroken skyline' or something equally vague. Interestingly, it's the same skyline that's interrupted every time the local council puts up one of their street banners proclaiming us to be the cleanest capital in the world, the least congested capital in the world or some other form of general misinformation..."

"So how do we get networking over there?"

"Well, you either pay a Telco an arm and a leg or you get a consultant to draw up thrusting plans for a duct and submit a joint proposal with the contractor to identify a route and do the subsequent digging or thrusting."

"What's that cost?"

"About the same price as the rental of the property for the year."

"Ah. Could we use some sort of wireless arrangement?"

"Possibly, but we might run into some bandwidth problems..."

"So we have to run a duct?"

"Maybe. I'd like to get access to their basement for a while and do a simple survey to see if there's any pre-existing ducting - you never know, the buildings might have been linked sometime in the past."

"Really? Well, I suppose I could ask for a key."

"Excellent!"

... much later that night .

"So you're sure this is all kosher?" the PFY asks as we tow the thrusting unit into the sub-basement car park of the building across the street.

"Technically?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Ah. Will we get into trouble?"

"Not unless we hit one of those big electricity feeds to a London Underground transformer. Then it'll be a little touch and go. But very, very quick."

"Ah." the PFY says stepping back from the unit. "So how does it work?"

"Well I'm a little grey as to the full details, but this thing is a big drill, and this joysticky thing controls the direction of the drill. So I just aim it downwards from here for about 2 of these extension pipes, across for about 3 pipes, then up till it breaks ground."

"Riiighhht. So these pipes are.. what.. 5 metres long?"

"Yep."

"Ok so what about 2 pipes down, two pipes across and up, given that the road is about 8 metres wide?"

"Hmm, it's worth a crack I guess."

. . . . one hour later . . .

"What was that?!" the PFY gasps, as the machine shudders wildly and stops about halfway through the crossing process.

"Not sure," I say, comparing the distances with a services map I stole from the council. "Ah. We've either hit a sewer with a slight build-up of gas, or....."

"Or?"

"The front carriage of a Circle Line train."

"F***!" the PFY squeaks.

"Calm down," I say, putting the machine into reverse and turning it over on battery "We'll back this out and redrill it a couple of metres higher and it'll be swe.. Uh-oh."

"What?"

"It looks like the train's bent the front section of the drill pipe which is stalling the thruster engine so we can't pull it back!"

"S***!" the PFY gasps.

"Again, don't worry, we have a spare drill bit."

"Oh," he sighs.

"Yes, all you need to do is sneak down the tunnel and pull the bent section out of the wall. And recover the drill head."

"You're f***ing joking!" the PFY says.

One long argument, several threats and 20 minutes later, my cellphone rings.

"Yep?... . ... What? . . . You'll have to speak up... Oh it's you! Found nothing Eh? Yeah well it must have been the old sewer after all. And I think the shuddering was because it had run out of gas. Pop into a service station and grab us about four gallons of diesel will you?!"

I cut the PFY off in the middle of a particularly colourful stream of abuse and recalculate my directions. By the time the PFY arrives I've got a new plan.

"Ok change of plans! It's too near morning to redrill, so we'll pull the drill sections back and go again tomorrow."

"Right."

. . . Twenty minutes later . . .

"Ok, another change of plans. Grab that rag and stuff it in the hole when I pull the drill head out!"

"Why?"

"Uhh.... it's a secret.."

... The next day ...

"So we decided upon consideration to go the overhead route," I say to the Boss.

"But I thought you said the council wouldn't allow it?"

"They wouldn't. But as luck would have it my assistant and I happened to run into a member of the council staff charged with the installation of street banners, and after a bit of haggling we came to an arrangement where we provide him with a cable to hang his banner on. All perfectly legit."

"But I thought you preferred the underground option."

"Ordinarily, yes, but in this case I wasn't so keen."

"Really, why?"

"I think it was the basement being ankle deep in sewerage that put me off."

"You didn't!" the Boss gasps, horrified.

"Course not, what do we look like, cowboys?"

Must make a note to have my boots cleaned.... 


Episode 8 So the helpdesk lot are being a complete pack of annoying bastards and it's starting to get on my tits. The supervisor's doing this monster push on gathering statistics to make his group seem like the heart and soul of the department in a transparent attempt to get more money for his role.

Ordinarily, I quite like the Helpdesk people in a benevolent (as opposed to malevolent) way as they do some valuable work in preventing us being inundated by every halfwit who can work a phone.

HOWEVER...

In the past week the supervisor has had them logging calls for every simple call that comes their way and injecting these calls into our queue for processing. Even my automated process for resolving calls has failed due to the number and frequency of crap coming my way.

"It's nothing personal," the Helpdesk supervisor assures me when I bring it up. "It's just we're starting to use the software more fully and in the process we realise that we can use the statistics it produces to judge the impact on the company!"

"How so?" I ask, realising that this might be a foolish question with a long and tedious answer.

"Well, take the email outage the other day."

"What email outage?"

"When people said that their mail wasn't working?"

"You mean when we'd published an outage notification for 15 minutes so we could swap in a new MX handler?"

"Yeah, I don't know, it might have been that. But anyway, that outage affected 63 people resulting in 61 logged calls and from that we were able to work out that the company actually lost around 15 hours of peoples' time."

"Not to mention the amount of time your helpdesk people spent logging those calls."

"True, I forgot to add that in."

"And don't forget to add in the time that myself and my assistant wasted resolving all those calls with the text: 'This was a notified shutdown which couldn't be avoided'."

"Oh, yes, I should add that as well."

"So, what you should do is take the 15 hours of time for people who can't read an outage notification and call that number A..."

"Yes."

"And take the time wasted by both your team and my team in logging the fact that they can't read and call it number B."

"Yes."

"And stick them where the sun doesn't shine."

"The company needs to know this sort of thing!" The Boss says, walking in.

"Yes, they do. They need to know that the impact of not reading a well publicised outage notification cost the company A times the average salary and that the Helldesk staff not telling people to sod off cost the company B times the above average salary."

"I..." The Helldesk supervisor burbles.

"Which, if you take into account that the majority of time A would have been spent talking to your people, means that you and your people are a liability of A+B x the average salary. For a 15 minute outage."

"Someone needs to record the stats," the Boss sighs. "It's important!"

"Ok, you've convinced me, I'll say no more about it."

. . The next day . .

"Excellent day isn't it?" the Boss blurts, entering Mission Control on a natural high.

"Your Job number is..... >clickety< 273108B for Bravo," I say.

"What?"

"Your job number for getting my opinion of the day, it's 273108B. I'll add the 'what?' question as a sub job of this job. I'll get someone to get back to you with an opinion of the day within 15 minutes."

"Is this some sort of joke?"

"Joke.... Joke..." the PFY says thoughtfully. "I think we have something about Joke in our knowledge base." >clickety< "Yes, here it is Jon 183977C. Ends with 'Don't call me wooden eye'. Was that what you were asking about?"

"No."

"Ok, so this is a new job. >Clickety< Number 273108A for Alpha... >clickety< Is... this >click< some kind >clickety< of joke? I'll have someone get back to you tomorrow."

"What's going on?"

"I'll take this one," I say to the PFY. "Job 273109B - What operating system are you running?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"My query there I think!" the PFY says. >clickety< "Job 273109A... And what was your username and password..."

"Look, would you stop this crap and just tell me what's going on?!"

"That question is a subjob of 109A I think," the PFY says, "and...."

>RING<

"...and I'll have to take this call. >clickety<.... . .... Yes, sure. Your job number is 273110A... Who.. am.. I >clickety< talking to? I'll have someone get back to you on that one inside a quarter hour. Another question? I'm sorry, you'll have to ring back if you want to log another call..."

"Can't it be logged as a subjob?" I ask. "We wouldn't want to mix up the stats!"

. . .

Isn't it funny how quickly a policy can be reversed once upper management have time to think about it?

But for now we'll log that as Job 273110B...


Episode 9 So I'm having a quiet lager at a downtown pub whilst waiting for a presentation on wireless networking to start when I notice a brace of Windows geeks all jabbering away to each other. (You know the sort of thing - "I ported Server 2003 to my cellphone in Java in two days - want to browse my file share?" war stories, etc.)

I make a special effort not to meet any of their eyes just in case they try to draw me into their unholy circle with their outrageous claims (i.e. the location of the Steve Jobs glove puppet) whilst simultaneously trying to take on the colour and texture of the wall behind me. The PFY is miles ahead of me and is almost transparent to the technical eye.

As I'm arranging myself to look like furniture I notice something which disturbs me further - if indeed someone with my Machiavellian and sadistic tendencies towards users could become more disturbed - the arrival of a contingent of furry teeth from the Linux Geek bat cave.

"Hmmm," I murmur.

"What?" the PFY asks, the background shimmering slightly like a poor rendition of Predator.

"Critical Mass," I say.

"Hmm?"

"Critical Mass of geeks."

"What?!"

">Sigh< As any Nuclear Physicist will tell you if you feed him enough lagers, bringing two masses of radioactive substances into close to each other is not a good thing. In this case, bringing two bunches of furry teethes into close proximity is similarly not a good thing..."

"I hardly think that's worth worrying about…"

"Not really, but all we need is..."

I halt abruptly with arrival of the entire global OS2 fan club (both of them) dressed in "The one true OS" t-shirts. Size XXXXL if I'm not mistaken.

Luckily they're more like carbon rods in a situation like this and the atmosphere of the pub improves ever so slightly.

It's the Mac geeks sliding in the back way that introduce the cold hand of fear to my internal organs.

Armageddon is upon us!

Slowly, so as not to draw any attention to ourselves, the PFY and I make my way towards the door posing as a German tourists mit eine swartzkopf emergency, but before we get there the PFY stops.

"There doesn't seem to be any trouble," he says, gesturing at the assembled geeks clustered in their groups.

"No, not now. In their natural state fusion won't occur because the elements are too far apart to interact. "

"So we've got time for another lager!"

"It's hard to say."

"Why!" the PFY asks impatiently.

"Generally considerable energy must be expended to bring elements together, however I note that the bar has a happy hour in about 12 minutes."

"Ah."

"Which means they'll be all over the bar like a rash in about nine minutes."

"Geeks and free things," the PFY sighs.

"Ah yes. Oooh, but look - a few of them are going to the bar for an interim drink - or what we in the chemistry trade call a Catalyst."

"Huh?"

"Something which helps facilitate a reaction."

"Ah. And so it's all on then?"

"Not exactly," I say, entering my closet-Einstein persona "The OS2 people are defusing the situation a little because the groups are concentrating their ridicule at them instead of each other - which is stalling the reaction. Add to that the length of the bar which is sufficient to ensure the elements don't get too close together. True, a lesser reaction might occur at another place - the bogs, the door, but nothing with the potential for raw energy as what could happen in this room, if..."

"If...?"

. . .

"Who'd have thought," I say, expelling a meaningless sentence fragment - a tactic which has all the pull of the Death Star's tractor beam in drawing a geek into conversation.

"Beg Pardon?" the Windows geek beside me says.

Told you so.

"I was just saying, who'd have though that Linus Torvalds was Bill Gates' love child? It's so ironic."

"That's ridiculous!"

"That's what I said, but that Linux bloke over there says he's got the DNA match and a 16mm film of the conception. Quite graphic apparently."

. . . Meantime on the other side of the room . . .

"...and he said that Steve Jobs was working for Microsoft THE WHOLE TIME!" the PFY says.

. . . Seconds later at the other end of the bar . . .

"Is it true what those Mac guys said about the Mac moving to Windows OS because Linux performance is so crap?" I ask.

. . . and in the middle of the bar . . .

"Two shandies and 14 packets of crisps." one of the OS2 geeks says.

. . .

"Nothing's happened!" the PFY sniffles. "What a load of crap!"

"Be patient." I murmur "Like most reactions you just need to wait for the elements to come together.. See, there goes a Mac geek to ask about the whole Steve-Jobs-was-a-Microsoft-Spy thing. And there's a Windows geek off to defend Bill's honour by saying that Linus must be a basta..."

>slap<

"AND IT'S ALL ON!" I say, ducking down behind a table. "BITCH FIGHT AT THE OK SNUG BAR!"

Ten minutes and several hundred slaps later, the place is in silence, save for isolated pockets of sniffles and the crunching of the OS2 guys at their crisps.

"Ten minutes till the presentation," I say to the PFY. "We could fit another pint in."

"Or I could tell one of those OS2 guys that the other one has a windows cluster at home.."

"And I'll get the pints in!" I say the the PFY, giving him the nod.

Well, it's God's work, isn't it? 


Episode 10 "...and so I need another battery for my laptop," the PR geek whines, thus ending a 15-minute monologue on how important his work is, what he does, where he goes, who he talks to, what his presentation is like, how it's delivered, how long it take TO deliver, how he processes customer's queries, what he does on his holidays, where he GOES on his holidays, how he packs his laptop to take with him on holidays, how important his work is (again), why he really needs a battery with the capacity of a small geothermal power station, and what he could cope with in the meantime.

"Ah well," the PFY responds, not so much playing the empathy card as putting it into the shredder.

"Well you have to get me one. I need it!"

"But even with a new battery you'll only get.. maybe eight hours tops out of both batteries - IF they're at full charge?" I say reasonably.

"Not necessarily," the geek responds smugly - which can only mean I've stepping into his well laid trap. "Not if I get the 1600QV battery!"

"The 1600QV?" I ask.

"Yes!" he chirps happily. "It's a Swiss-made battery which fits inside the same space as a normal battery and has three times the capacity."

"And 10 times the cost?" the PFY asks.

"I.. " he says, fumbling with a brochure. "Well, it's in US dollars, not pounds."

"The only way that figure would look good is in Turkish lire!"

"It's been okayed!" he said.

"Who the hell would okay an extravaga..." I start, penny dropping. "The Head of IT, yes?"

"Yes, he thought it was a good idea. He said you have a miscellaneous items budget for this sort of thing."

"That, copper bracelets for arthritis, earthing straps for underwear to reduce static damage and rubbing cabbage leaves on your head to cure baldness."

"It's a good battery!"

"And it probably weighs about twice as much as your laptop!"

"But I need to be able to be on the move!"

Despite our sage advice the deal is done and the order is placed. An hour or two after receiving it our user gives us a call.

"My new battery won't work!" he blurts.

"Why?"

"The support website says I probably need to buy a special high capacity charger…"

"Well I think that you should probably consider..." I respond.

"..and it's been approved, so can you organise that, ASAP?"

Ngggggggggg

I find the charger costs about twice as much as the battery which pretty much means that a single laptop has accounted for a month's worth of my miscellaneous budget - so I'm not at all happy.

Less happy a day later when the geek calls back again.

"The thing weighs a ton!!" he snaps.

"We told you that before you bought it!"

"No, not the battery - although that's heavy too - the charger. It's heavier than my carry-on allowance! And it doesn't use US power - and I'm going there next week!!!!"

Nggg

"WE TOLD YOU IT WAS GOING TO BE HEAVY!"

"Yes but it's too heavy. What about a fuel cell?"

"A FUEL CELL!?"

"Yes, I've been reading about them, they're small, easily rechargeable and reasonably light."

"Where the hell would we get money for a fuel cell battery?"

"Your boss says that you have money for R&D. This is an ideal R&D project - you could make an existing fuel cell fit in the battery compartment for me."

"I..."

. . .

There's no point in arguing any further so the PFY and I put our minds to work and three days later have a working prototype.

"Is that it?" our geek asks. "What's all the strange writing all over it?"

"One bit's Arabic and the other bit Greek. It's a fuel cell from a GPS system we paid an extortionate amount for on eBay."

"And it'll work?"

"Only one way to find out!" the PFY replies, suppressing his pride.

He plugs it in with a due sense of trepidation and pushes the power button while the Boss braces himself for the inevitable explosion.

..which doesn't happen...

"It works!" he cries.

"Of course it does! And there was some space left over in the cell so we slapped a small NiCad pack in there so that you can get about 15 mins of runtime when the fuel cell's expended," the PFY adds.

. . .

10 minutes later when they're gone.

"So when do you think that he'll learn that it's just a NiMh battery?" the PFY asks.

"Oh, probably when he's landed in the States and going through customs."

"How?"

"I think US customs will let him know once that anonymous phone call about the guy carrying an unlicensed hydrogen-based explosive device has been received."

"I hardly think that..."

"And after the Arabic translator picks out the words 'Death to Yankee Warmongers' from the side of the battery I'm guessing things will go downhill quite fast…"

"Oh..." the PFY says, the sheckle dropping. "If only our powers were used for good."

If only... 


Episode 11 So the PFY and I have bowled up to a half-day presentation on identity theft which I'd been invited to after the recent security conference. (Well, technically, the boss had been invited to, but the invite was just sitting in his inbox.)

After a little spade work, a phone call and some briefcase enhancements we're all set to go.

As usual it's absolute hell to get a car park around any major hotel for these sort of presentations so I'm almost bound to be given a ticket, have my car clamped or towed. (Well, technically the boss's car – but it was just sitting in the basement unused.)

We get there fairly late as parking on the roundabout wasn't as easy as I'd thought and as bad luck would have it the presentation's already underway. We slink in quietly and go to the registration desk.

"Your name?" the woman behind the desk whispers.

I quickly scan the list, skip my name and just pick one at random.

"Steve Curtis."

"The security advisor for the American Embassy?" she asks dubiously.

YOU LITTLE BLOODY DANCER!!!

"Yes Mam!" I respond, cranking the Texan Accent knob around to 11.

She passes the badge over, not wanting to make a fuss.

The PFY rocks in, checks the name tag and greets me like an old mate.

"Steve!" he blurts. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

"I work in this country, old bean!" I cry, doing the typically shocking American impersonation of a Briton while shaking his hand.

"Still in computing then?" he asks, reinforcing the lie.

"Hell Yeah, Security adviser at them Embassy now, and you?"

"IT Manager at a company in town," he responds giving his name at the desk. (Well, technically the boss's name, but he's just sitting in his office not using it.)

We grab seats at the back of the audience where the PFY fires up his cellular network connection, downloads some appropriate graphics from a US website and prints me some "business cards" on his portable card printer.

SORTED!

As expected, the presentation is as contradictory, confusing and uninformative as a Microsoft Security warning which leaves everyone a little fidgety at morning tea.

"Does anyone else wonder what the hell that was all about?" I drawl loudly. "I mean, it was a little content free."

"What do you mean?" one of the presenters asks, offended at the implication that his life's work is up there significance-wise with the guy who eats bicycles.

"Well, it was interesting to watch, but not all useful. You basically said 'Protect your credit cards, shred your rubbish, don't say anything over the web that you don't have to and never allow companies to share your information.' I mean it's HARDLY rocket science – and I should know, I worked at NASA for five years!"

The PFY leaps in on schedule and takes the fore.

"Which is why we've been so interested in your progress," he comments.

"We?" I ask.

"The Campaign for.. Information Validation and Protection."

"You're from CIVP!" I adlib, realizing the prerehearsed Amnesty International cover story has been ditched for something better.

"Yes, and we're well aware of your operation!"

"Operation?" a crusty from a banking company next to me asks.

"Yes, operation. They submit the biometric data of leaders of business to various agencies, labeling them people who might present security threats so that they'll be stopped at airports, etc."

"You're joking," the crusty gasps. "Why?"

"To introduce an identity vacuum which can be used by secret service operatives as cover."

"Sorry?" the crusty asks.

"It's simple. Say you bowl into a country and someone questions your identity. How can you prove who you say you are?"

"I…"

"Exactly, you can't. So you might be who you say you are, or you might have an endless holiday in Guantanamo Bay to look forward to while some operative lives it up at your expense in southern Hungary. Which is why MY company has decided to provide all this information on a simple card that you carry with you."

"Really. What sort of information?"

"Biometrics, thumbprint, Iris Scan, Passport, bankcard, personal details – all electronically recorded on a chip in one card."

"And that would be safe?"

"Safer than your current passport which is so bulky it ends up in a hotel safe half the time."

I see PFY's tack and jump in with corroborating evidence...

"Yes, yes, well maybe we have done that in the past, but there's no reason to think that we might do that in the future. Third party IDs like this will only confuse matters!" I bluster. "We'll take legal action!"

After an endorsement like that the PFY is instantly inundated with people wanting to pay the 20 quid to get their personal information 'secured' onto a plastic card and corresponding database.

It's like shooting fish, honestly. It's not even sporting!

I mull over the dire legal consequences that'll inevitably befall someone who uses the information the PFY's obtaining for their own personal gain. No to mention the quasi-legal consequences of undermining the security of biometric information.

He could end up in prison for years!

Well, technically the boss will be in prison for years, but he's just sitting in his office... 


Episode 12 "I officially declare this junket season... open!" the PFY slurs, leaning out the pub window and releasing the bottle of lager tied to our office window across the road.

>smash<

"Sh*t, the string was too long!" he slobbers as we watch the glass and lager slide down the side of the Boss's car.

Junket season is a fantastic time of year - a time filled with joy, happiness and goodwill to all.

"I've highlighted all the security conferences," I explain to the pair of geeky helldesk types who are drinking with us. (Told you it was a season of goodwill.) "I think I can back-to-back one in the States, then Aberdeen, then Dubai."

"Three conferences in a row!" one of the geeks says. "How will you concentrate?!"

"I think you're missing the JUNKET point a little," the PFY says. "The Aberdeen one's just a Takedown Session."

"Takedown Session?"

"As in the book," I prompt.

"The... Uh… Shimomura book!?" the helldesk geeks asks.

"Yeah. Looks interesting, but is actually very, very dull."

"I quite liked it!" the geek says.

"Which bit - the bit about his hobbies, love interest and how great he is or the tiny section which was actually about Mitnick?"

"I..."

"So I'm using Aberdeen -and the book - to sleep and adjust my clock to Dubai time," I continue.

"But surely you'll need to go to something to do your report on the Aberdeen conference?"

"You're not really up to speed on the whole junket thing are you?" the PFY asks.

"I..."

Sigh.

"Ok, lets start with the basics," I say "Selection. You choose a junket based on..?"

"Speakers?" the geek says.

"NO! You choose a junket based on LOCATION, SIZE, ACCOMODATION, then speakers."

"Why?"

"Location for holiday potential, Size for the number of vendors and amount of money they'll waste, and accomodation because of the potential of the minibar."

"But if you're going to nothing in Aberdeen, why..."

"Aberdeen is a rest stop," the PFY says. "All you need to do it prove you went there."

"How?"

"Grab the show bag, the documents and the CDs then scatter them around your desk liberally when you get back."

"But surely the Boss will…"

"...do nothing because we'll have already made a pre-emptive strike!" the PFY interjects.

"How?"

"Easy," I respond. "I pick the two largest and most incomprehensible documents, shove a couple of post-its in the really geeky parts saying 'Ideal solution for our needs' and slap them on the Boss's desk for his perusal."

"And what will that…"

"The Boss is as likely to read a large technical document as OS2 is to stage a comeback. As all roads lead to Rome so will all questions will lead back to those technical documents that he hasn't read. The boss won't bring it up and we won't give him reason to. The geeky documents will slip to the bottom of the pile on his desk until ultimately he will 'accidentally' shred them."

"But surely he'll notice the cost of it all!"

"Ordinarily, yes. However, we jiggered our accountancy system to report the 'annual' training budget with period of three months. So within twelve weeks it looks like we've done no training at all this year."

"In time for the next junket 'season'," the PFY adds.

"But the Boss will remember won't he?"

"Not when he travels TWA."

"TWA? I thought they were sold years ago?"

"No, I meant Tragic Workplace Accident. By the time the 12 weeks is up the Boss is likely to have tripped down a stairwell, experimented with lethal voltages or had a mental breakdown."

"My favourite," the PFY chirps happily, raising a glass to some of his fondest memories.

"But surely someone would ask…"

"And risk opening Pandora's box of retribution?" the PFY says. "Never!"

"I... Oh. So how do we get.. uh.. training?"

"Let's not be coy, it's called a junket. You get it by establishing a 'training' precedent."

"?"

"You go on some training this year, a bit more next year, more the year after, until junkets just become the norm."

"So by 'next year' you mean in three months?"

"In our case, yes, but in your case by 'year' I mean every four years"

"But didn't you..."

"There's a limit to how much money you can get your hands on in one fiscal year. So we have to 'borrow' it from other cost centre's annual budget on a quarterly basis."

"Like the Helpdesk training budget..." the PFY adds helpfully.

"So we can't do any training because you've stolen our training budget?"

"Yes, that about sums it up."

"But why even bother giving us a budget every 4 years then?"

"Ah well, fair's fair. Besides, by that time we've racked up so much contractor's holiday allowance it starts to get a bit embarrassing."

"And you're not worried that we'll tell someone about this?"

"No more that you should be about stairwells, voltages or mental illness," the PFY says, winking. "And get us a couple of pints will you, before the Boss finds out who chucked a beer at his car."

"But you… I..."

Ah well, looks like the goodwill season is over. Still, it was good while it lasted and probably did a lot for morale... 


Episode 13 So the Boss has resigned (which in itself isn't a great occurrence) except that neither the PFY nor I had a hand in it (which is). It seems he was made an offer he couldn't refuse which didn't involve horses or handguns but instead a large amount of money.

The first thing we knew of it was the abusive leaving message taped to his desktop machine when he failed to turn up after the weekend.

So the Head of IT is calling the usual slave traders in an attempt to track down a replacement - only they seem to be a little thin on the ground as a result of the buoyant market in the field this week. The life expectancy of bosses may have something to do with it, but I'm not too sure.

Some form of plan has to be made so as to give the using classes the assurance they need that the health and welfare of our systems and networks are running well. Or, in other words, they need to know that someone will lose their job if we're ever caught reading the contents of their email. I could digress to discuss our plug-in to the modulated output of the package scanner, allowing us to "read" some parts of snail mail as well - but I won't.

The Head of IT is pacing which can only mean one thing. Well, two things if dumplings were on the menu at lunchtime - but for today we're in the clear - he's thinking.

The majority of the IQ not devoted to walking and scratching his genitals is now concentrating on the problem at hand. The PFY and I look up as a noisy gust of foul-smelling air from his nether regions signals a conclusion has been reached - much like smoke from a Vatican chimney.

"How about you take the job on - till we can find a replacement?" he suggests.

"I'd love to, but as you know I have a position here."

"You could do both - it's only an interim measure - all you need do is answer a few calls, attend the odd meeting..."

"And supervise...?"

"Well yes, there's an element of supervision to the role - you two, the helpdesk supervisor and the Technician guy. Come to think of it, where is the Technician guy?"

"Dave?"

"Hmm?"

"Dave, the Hardware Technician?"

"Yes, that's him!"

"Retired a year ago."

"Really? Oh well, I suppose that's one less person you'll need to supervise then!"

"I think you'll find that I'm more use in a technical role as opposed to Management."

"Nonsense! A fool could do it!"

"Yes, a fool generally does."

"Wha..?"

"Anyway, there'd be a conflict of interest. I'd be supervising myself for a start!"

"I'd be your supervisor!"

"In the Management role, but as a manager I'd be managing myself in the rest of my technical role. There could be ethical issues."

"I think we'll take that risk - meantime if you could hold the fort for six weeks till we can find someone new..."

"Like I said I..."

"Okay there's a couple of grand in it."

...

So this management lark is a piece of the proverbial! There's three projects which need extensive handholding to keep moving, some budgetary palaver to sort out and some contracts to be signed.

All in all the annual contract negotiation process for the PFY and myself go incredibly well, with management accepting the 25 per cent pay increase without question. The two grand signing bonus was just icing on the cake - I'm just a pleasure for contractors to work with!

With one task down I attack the budget and purchasing problem with the help of a little initiative and several hours on a popular web-based auction system.... The replacement user desktop computers were a reasonable spec, fantastically cheap and we didn't have to deal with disposing of all the packaging. True, we had to pay in cash, take delivery late at night and scrape the asset labels of another company off them, but that's just the new world of electronic business for you.

With the cash left in the kitty I managed to also acquire something truly meaningful to improve staff morale - a ginormous plasma telly for the staff lunchroom. ***Bonus***

The only fly in the ointment is the project stuff which is so onerous it would ordinarily have had me eating my desk blotter with frustration. Still, I've devised a plan so cunning it'd qualify for a research grant to obscure the fact that I'm not contributing in any meaningful way.

"So how does it work?" the PFY asks, peering over my shoulder at the email I'm about to send.

"Simple. I send an email to each member of each project team asking them how the project is going and if they have any questions. That'll buy me about a week."

"And?"

"And then in a week, I'll send the question asked to every OTHER person in the team for their comments."

"And?"

"I quietly feedback the comments expressed in the worst possible light to each team member whilst implying that the team thinks that they're the weakest link."

"Ah, and so the teams implode before you have to devote any time to managing the projects."

"Precisely!"

"Sneaky. But you realise you'll end up in your systems engineer role having to support all these half-arsed projects when they come back to haunt us?"

"Yes well, ordinarily I would, but I fired myself this morning."

"What!?"

"Yes. I saw myself working in the computer room without hearing protection and dismissed myself."

"But that's not grounds for dismissal!"

"EXACTLY what I'll be saying in my personal grievance claim!"

One could really get used to this Management stuff! 


Episode 14 So it turns out that one of the company's financial traders was spending a little too much time (i.e. 100 per cent) playing minesweeper and not enough time (0 per cent) taking up some important share options that the company was counting on - resulting in a teensy bit of financial loss. Nothing that the company couldn't recover from now that they've outsourced the entire trading department of course, but as a result there's been a little bit of discussion at upper levels about what people should and shouldn't be doing during their working day and a hastily crafted memo has been distributed threatening instant dismissal for any staff member - no matter who - caught playing games.

To complete the knee-jerk reaction, the Head of IT's been called in to assure the board that we'll leave no stone unturned in the search for an early scapegoat as an example to ensure staff compliance...

As there's a high probability that someone will get upset the Head's passing the job down the chain - me being next in line....

"A.... uh.. word if I may," he smarms, sidling into Mission Control.

"Mmmmm?"

"I'd like you to find out who in the office plays games and how much time they spend doing it."

"Are there games on the computer?!" the PFY asks, failing miserably in his attempt to sound sincere.

"What are you after precisely?" I ask, using the PFY's interruption to hide Solitaire.

"There's been a bit of a stink from the top floor," the Head lies. "Apparently someone made a suggestion that we could increase productivity by up to 50 per cent by removing games from the desktops of our users. I'd already mentioned this to your previous manager before the whole issue exploded but he suggested that he didn't think he'd have much joy in getting you to action this for him. But now that you're in his role... perhaps you'd have more success in..."

"Convincing myself that we should track down game players to increase company productivity?"

"Yes."

"It's ridiculous!" the PFY states, full of bravado now his gaming keypad is out of sight.

"Yeah," I add. "You'd only get about 15 per cent from games."

"Really?"

"Sure. You'd pick up another 15 per cent from blocking porn, maybe 10 per cent blocking internet email services, another 10-15 from online auction sites, 10 per cent from banking and other personal finance and 15 or so from online newspaper and movie preview sites."

"I… How much time does that work out to?"

"About 75-80 per cent."

"I hardly think it's that bad! Nothing would get done!"

"I beg to differ. When that roading crew severed our internet fibre the place was like a ghost town!"

"And the pub across the road ran out of lager," the PFY adds.

"Ah, I.. err.. I'd still like to know who's running games."

"Well, I suppose we could run some remote desktop stats, see what's running and what percentage they're running."

"Excellent."

. . .

"Smooth Boss-Keying," the PFY says once the Head of IT has departed.

"Actually a KVM switch. Press F12 and it switches to or from my Linux box."

"Useful," the PFY nods.

"Unless I've been perusing a PHO-TO-GRAPHIC site on the Linux machine and forgotten to exit the browser."

"Ah!" the PFY says. "I just configure my browser's home page to the OS2 discussion blog site," the PFY counters.

"Yeah, I think I'd rather be caught with the porn," I sigh.

... Later that day ...

"So have you found the game players yet?" the Head asks, looking a little bit harassed.

"Not really - we haven't connected to people's desktops remotely yet because it might be construed by some to be some sort of invasion of privacy."

"Nonsense! They're company machines and the company has access to the data on them. Anyway private data shouldn't be on home machines, not work ones!"

"So we've got your permission to connect to people's machines?"

"Certainly! And can you put a rush on it - I've got a meeting in half an hour to show a few of the Directors."

"Show them what?"

"The... ah.. statistics."

"Oh right," I say dubiously. "You want the statistics, not a list of game players for you and the Directors to creep up on till you find one poor bastard bending the rules?"

"It's not like they weren't warned! We have to be seen to be fair and determined, no exceptions."

"They won't do it," the PFY says. "They're all P&V."

"P&V?"

"Piss and Vinegar," I explain.

"Like the crisps," the PFY adds. "They won't do anything."

"I... u.. They will!" the Head of IT says. "It's company policy now!"

"So if the list happened to have my assistant's name on it you'd have no hesitation in firing him?"

"What?!" the PFY gasps.

"If he were caught playing games it would be out of my hands," the Head sighs.

"So you're basically making us company axe men?"

"Oh for Pete's sake, it's only one person. There must be someone in the department you don't like who plays games!"

"Ok, we'll have a look."

. . .

The world of executive promotion is a funny business. Within the hour I'm a stand-in Head of IT as well as a stand-in Boss as well as a Systems admin. Course the Head of IT did claim that he didn't play games, but the game of Spider running on his desktop (uncannily similar to the one running on the PFY's screen) when the Directors arrived was fairly damning. The porn they discovered when the boss closed that was pretty much the last nail in the coffin. They didn't even make it to the OS2 blog…

Course, explaining the game of Wolfenstein Enemy Territory they'll all be running Monday week will be another matter.... It would seem that only thing that can break this upward climb would seem to be Birnam wood and a test tube baby…


Episode 15 Life as the Acting Head of IT, Acting Manager of Systems and Networks as well as my normal role as Systems Administrator has its ups and downs, and as such I'm starting to appreciate the complexity of the roles which I've disparaged so greatly in the past.

At one time I may have heaped scorn on my seniors, but now that I'm in an “acting” capacity for both roles I'm forced to admit that I now appreciate the intricacies involved in the day to day running of the department and the important decisions that are required of one...

"..Just ONE!" I snap, in answer to the first important question of the day, "and I don't care what my predecessor thought was appropriate. One sugar in my coffee is more than enough!"

"Be back in a jiffy," Michael replies, bless him.

Having ones own PA does have its benefits and I'd be remiss in not commending Michael for his devotion to the tasks at hand. Whether it's filing important yet damning reports in the shredder, block booking meeting rooms so that the only possible venue is the pub across the road or simply stopping a bullet for me when a vendor calls, Michael has proved himself invaluable. It's almost a shame to destroy him.

Still, he does know too much - and trying to outbastard a bastard can be rather career limiting.

My suspicions were aroused when I noticed that his handling of the 100+ page report into “questionable” content on fileservers (commissioned secretly by one of my predecessors) didn't seem to result in a change in the level of shredded paper in the rubbish bag as I'd expected. A later test document printed on colour paper didn't result in the appearance of coloured paper in the bag either, so I'm treating the issue as low-grade mutiny. A quick rifle through his desk while he was out reveals that he's logging my arrival and departure times with the obvious intention of presenting it as evidence in a review of my performance.

Sigh.

That said I may as well drink deeply of the cup set in front of me before the inevitable workplace accident, so I set about giving him the tasks that any manager gives any staff member who shows signs of having initiative.

"What sort of tasks are you talking about?" the PFY asks, when I fill him on the treachery.

"Overseeing the recording - in quarter hour intervals - of the time spent by each employee on their various projects," I reply.

"Ooh, I hate that!" he responds. "It just ends up being a greater work of fiction than the timesheets. What else?"

"I'm getting him to implement pointless security initiatives."

"Long passwords and password complexity?"

"Partly that, yes, but also the typical inane suggestions that managers want people to implement because they read about it somewhere."

"Not..."

"Yes! Paper recording of root/administrator access, one time password pads stored in a special safe. No suggestion is considered too stupid!"

"Nasty," the PFY says, shaking his head. "But won't that just affect us?"

"No. And yes! I plan on putting Michael in charge of the safe combo, then changing it when he's not looking - which should be exciting."

"Smooth," the PFY concurs. "Is that it?"

"Well to pass the time I am doing the all-time hated occupation of new managers..."

"Incompetently commissioning reports on topics that no one gives a rat's arse about!" the PFY replies.

"Yes, but also...?"

"Repeatedly widening the scope when they're almost complete?! You bastard!"

"Yes. My plan is to drive him nuts before he can gather enough evidence to have me fired or imprisoned. And if that doesn't wo..."

>tap tap<

"Sorry to interrupt," Michael chirps. "Here's that report you wanted on people who use their middle names as passwords."

"Their middle names, or their wife's middle names?" the PFY asks helpfully.

"Good point!" I say "Best do their wives as well."

"I'm sure no-one would us..."

"Never Assume," I say sagely. "That just makes an ASS out of U."

"And ME," Michael adds.

"I thought we just mentioned you?"

"I..."

"Thought so. ACTUALLY, here's a thought, why not make it first names as well as middle names!

"Shouldn't that be a separate report?" the PFY asks.

"No I was thinking that INITIALS would be a separate report, because it's not names as such. And Phone numbers."

"How about we just combine all the reports into one?" Michael suggests.

"It's a good idea in theory, but there are so many variables, you know - like floor wax."

"Floor wax?"

"Yes, I was reading in a magazine where floor wax can reduce the build-up of static electricity - or was it increase? - and I was thinking perhaps you could wax the tiles in the computer room with various waxes and produce a report on which is least likely to cause static electricity - but that doesn't really fit into the passwords report."

"Isn't static caused by a combination of man-made fibres and movement?"

"They'd like you to think that, but secretly it's probably just floor wax."

"Although that idea about man made fibres would make interesting reading," the PFY prompts.

. . .

"...and he came at me with a stapler!" the PFY blurts later to security. "But luckily I happened to have one of those tazer guns which I was.... uh.. repairing for a friend.. uh.. in the security business.. and I can see why it needed repair - I think it scrambled his brains a little."

"Perfectly justifiable force in the light of the situation though," our security bloke concurs. "I'll have him and his stuff chucked out onto the pavement."

"Unfortunately he may have some confidential information in with his personal items," I say, as Michael comes around.

"So we should check it?" Security asks.

"Nah, just take it all up onto the roof and torch it."

"!" Michael sobs.

What a pity. Now I'm going to have to get my own coffee - unless...

"Do us a favour will you?"

"Get stuffed," the PFY says.

Well, it was worth a crack. 


Episode 16 It may be true what they say about being lucky in computing and unlucky in love.

Sigh.

Of course it might just be me saying that but still there's the odd shred of evidence to support it. Take the PFY for instance, who's as lucky in love as Grace Kelly is at cornering. Sure, he can semi-regularly win Spider with four suits but he still can't manage to hold onto a woman between pay cheques.

It can all be a bit depressing for the lad and as both a bystander and a friend I feel obliged to help him out in his time of misery.

"GET HARD YA BIG JESSIE!" I shout, playing the tough love card. "You don't see me moping around the place like a Mac geek at a TechNet gathering!"

"That would be because you and your missus are still seeing each other," the PFY whines pathetically.

"Now, now, you have no proof that the break-up was anything but an ordinary relationship that had simply run its course. Sure, she does spend a bit of her free time with her supervisor, but there's no reason to put two and two together and come up with 69. There may be a perfectly logical explanation for her absences."

"Sure," the PFY says, not believing a word of it.

"Look, you're just being paranoid!" I say. "There's a bound to be some perfectly innocent reason for her spending time in her boss' company."

"Oh yeah, and what's that?"

"I'm putting my money on it being work hours - when she's supposed to be at work?"

"Yeah, it's all a little too bloody convenient!" he snaps.

I can see that I'm going to get nowhere with the PFY and that this is some deeply ingrained upset that may need some special handling.

"Ok, before you get a little too off tangent have you done all the normal post-mortem relationship things?"

"What do you mean?"

"Run conversations back through your mind looking for warning signs, replayed old arguments looking for the straw that broke the camel's back or rifled through her email looking for the confirmation of a hotel reservation - by the hour?"

"I..."

"Right, so you've done all that - and there's no actual evidence?"

"No, but that doesn't mean..."

"Doesn't mean you're not being a little paranoid. Tell you what, why don't we get an expert opinion?"

"Who?"

"The other half - she's bound to know what's been going on."

. . . A couple of calls later . . .

"Ok, so the PFY's got a little problem in love and he'd like you to diagnose what may have caused the problem, and whether his ex is actually seeing someone else."

"Uh-huh," Karen says. "So what happened?"

"She just said she didn't think it was working out."

"When?"

"Monday morning."

"And you didn't talk about it the night before?"

"No, I was playing on the PS2."

"Ok, but what about in the weekend"

"I was at the Robot Destroyer challenge most of Saturday, and Sunday I was helping cleanup after the Robot Destroyer challenge."

"Ok, when was the last time you talked to her?"

"Thursday night."

"And what did you talk about?"

"What she should pick me up at the curry house on the way home."

"And you didn't talk when she got home?"

"I WAS EATING A CURRY!"

"What about after the curry?"

"I'm not sure; I was trolleyed by then because I'd had 10 beers to get the vindaloo down."

"Right. Okay, what about the night before that?"

"Had a Phal - and 12 lagers. And some ice."

"And the night before that?"

"She had some birds' night out and I had a Rogan Josh. And five lagers."

"Okay, well don't take this the wrong way, but I think I know what your problem is."

"Mmm?"

"You're not getting enough Naan bread," I say, interrupting with the solution. "More Naan, less heat, then you can save the beers for afters."

"Oh yeah!" the PFY smiles.

"I WAS GOING TO SAY," Karen interrupts, "that perhaps the problem is that weren't spending any QUALITY time with your ex, and any time you did spend with her you were drunk or asleep - neither of which are attractive in a partner!"

"I..." the PFY says in his defence.

"She has a point," I say. "So what I think you should do, is send her some flowers."

"Uh-huh," Karen agrees.

"Apologise in person the next day..."

"Mmmm."

"Say you've been a fool and perhaps you should start things on a clean slate..."

"Yes..." Karen adds

"And if she stoops to allow you a second chance you should shower her with gifts, attention and quality time so that she realises that you're a diamond in the rough and that she really is lucky to be with the new you."

"YES!" Karen nods approvingly.

"Then you dump her like the Boss-shagging piece of trash that she is!"

So it IS true what they say about being lucky in computing but unlucky in love. Something my testicles will be reminding me of until well after Karen's cleared her stuff out of my gaff then trashed the place - as an example to others...

Sigh. 


Episode 17 So the new Boss isn't happy. It seems in his first week he's detected that someone is intercepting his email!!! The PFY and I are, of course, morally outraged at the thought of all this and assure him we'll leave no stone unturned in ensuring it doesn't happen again.

We'll be much more careful next time, for a start.

Unfortunately our heartfelt assurances are not enough to appease him, and he's called in some ex-colleague to trace the source of the spying - and he wants us to cooperate fully, or else!

“But how did he know?” the PFY asks when we're back at Mission Control deleting log files and erasing backup tapes.

"You've got me," I respond, "but I did notice he's got a USB key with more fruit on it than a pile-sufferer's bum!

"Yes, I saw that too," the PFY replies. "Wouldn't look too out of place plugged into the Tardis."

"Hmm. So we'll need to take a quick shufti at it."

"Doubtful - he takes it with him wherever he goes and his machine locks when it's not plugged in..."

"Right, so we'd need to create a situation where he has no time to think..."

"Like a small building fire?" the PFY says.

"I was thinking more along the lines of sorting him out a dodgy curry and breaking all the toilets on this floor - but fire's a good idea too."

... The next afternoon, after a large vindaloo, a castor oil mango lassi and small bin fire ...

"So what is it?"

"No idea," I respond. "But it's very advanced. I plug it into this machine and it does nothing - yet the coil indicates a mass of electronic activity inside it, which suggests that it requires network connectivity or some other activator. All other tests I've performed on it electronically imply that it's a passive device."

"But it's not?" the PFY says.

"Doubtful. Tell you what, I'll check the wireless bandwidth for anomalies while you give it a sturdy bang with this hammer... Ok?"

>BASH!<

"Well?" the PFY asks.

"Well what?"

"Was there any change in network bandwidth?"

"No, I just said that to get out of the way when you hit it in case it had some form of self-destruct device."

"You B..."

. . .

Strangely, the disappearance of the Boss' key causes no outcry although I notice it is replaced the next morning by one on an elastic cord affixed to the Boss' belt.

Not only that but the ex-colleague of the Boss has shown up as well, and he's what we in the trade refer to as an odd one. (And coming from someone in the computing trade that's fairly damning).

Not mincing words he gets straight down to business: "So I'd like to get access to all your sendmail and Exchange logs, audit records for computers and administrative access to your domain."

"I don't know that that's possible - nor wise," I start, playing the bluff card first. "Besides, are you even sure that his email was seen - or is it just paranoia?"

"Oh I'm sure," he responds. "The device plugged into the USB port is an implementation of an extremely advanced form of encryption that we're working on."

"Really? And you'd be?"

"I'd rather not say"

"And the advanced form of encryption you're talking about is...?"

"I'd rather not say."

"So it's Quantum Computing?"

"I never said that!"

"And you work for the Government - and probably not ours?" I ask, the Boss' expression telling me everything I need to know.

"I never said that either."

"And you're some advanced form of geek for the project?"

"I..."

"So to go off on a tangent - you'd appreciate an extremely advanced form of one-time-pad encryption if someone just handed it over to you?"

"I... What are you suggesting?"

"Say for instance someone gave you an advanced form of encryption - for all intents and purposes unbreakable, with a potentially huge key length."

"I... I'm listening," our friendly spook says.

"Ok, How about this for a one-time pad - your DNA?"

"My DNA?"

"Yeah, it's a huge key, one time thing, excellent for encryption. Toss away all the predictable parts, keeping the remaining elements."

"But why mine?"

"Doesn't have to be yours, it could be anyone," I say, nodding at the Boss.

The Boss smiles appreciatively at the thought of being a mainstay of a country's security.

"And what happens when a third party gets hold of his DNA?”

"Depends on the start vector and traversal method you use. Besides, you'd just have him killed."

"What?!" Casper asks.

"Well, he already knows too much... Or you could just keep him locked away somewhere - like a loony asylum."

"This is ridiculous!" the Boss blurts.

"It's a National Security issue!" I respond. "Then there's your parents..."

"My Parents!?"

"Yeah, well, why take the risk - I mean they're the two large probable-prime factors of the large probable-prime product that is you. "

"I..."

"Admittedly you're one possible outcome of your parents, so you might want to keep them on ice somewhere as well for when you need a new key. And it'd be a breakthrough in public key encryption - you just need two people to have a quick shag to ensure private communications."

"You're proposing that you use people to produce PKI vectors!!!" Casper gasps.

"Ok, you could do it with animals I suppose, but I still think you'd find that the Boss here would be invaluable to your research. And with a modest royalty system for my assistant and myself to ensure complete secrecy you could perfect the science while the rest of the world is in the starting blocks."

"Uh..." Casper mumbles, thinking.

"You'd have to take him away now of course," the PFY adds, nodding at the boss.

"I..."

"And probably remove any record of his existence," the PFY adds. "I'd torch his house and office to be on the safe side."

"I... don't think that would be a good idea," the spook says, fingering his cellphone and rolling his eyes at the Boss.

... Later that afternoon after a small office fire ...

"Has anyone seen the new bloke?" the Secretary asks, wandering in to Mission Control.

"What new bloke?"

"Your new manager!"

"We haven't got a new manager!"

"I... Didn't... I thought..."

Mum's the word... 


Episode 18 There's a bit of a flap on! I know because the Boss, the new Head of IT and the CEO have been speaking earnestly behind closed doors for some time...

No sooner have I alerted the PFY to the situation than the phone rings.

"Dreamytime Escorts!" I answer.

"Sorr.. I... What?"

"Systems and Networks."

"Oh.. I.... Could you come into the meeting room for a moment please - no need to make a fuss."

"Sure."

With a summons like that one almost feels obliged to attend.

"We need you to go back through some mail and check that it was sent!" the CEO asks "Is that possible?"

"Sorry, are you suggesting you want us to... ...intrude on someone's privacy and read the contents of their Sent Items folder?" I ask, horrified.

"They don't work here any more so I'm sure it's ok," the Boss adds.

"Still, don't you think it might be a little... wrong?" I say, possibly overdoing it a little.

"It's important. It seems that one of our people might have said something which may, if interpreted in the wrong way, have an impact on the company's standing."

"Insider trading?" I ask hopefully, mentally kicking myself for not paying more attention to the dullards in trading...

"What? No, no, nothing like that."

"Then what?"

"I'd rather not say."

"I'm going to need to know what to look for..."

A brief series of non-verbal communications later it's decided to let me in on the secret.

"It's... a... delicate matter which must remain confidential."

"You can trust me," I respond caringly. "Mother is the word."

"Well it seems that in an unguarded moment one of our ex-board members may have used the company email system to allude to the sexual preferences of a board member of another company, resulting in the threat of legal action."

"Oh, is that it?" I ask disappointedly. "Just deny the message was ever sent.”

"They have a copy of it which they forwarded to us," the CEO replies tersely, handing over a printout.

"No, they have an electronic representation of some text which may or may not have been sent through our mail system. In fact, I'm almost certain this message ID will turn out to be that of a message sent to me at my home address."

"Really?!"

"In ten minutes it will be."

"Oh. So there's nothing to worry about?"

"Well there'll be a bit of name calling, but it'll be their word against ours."

"Oh good," the CEO burbles. "But I think we should take steps to make sure this doesn't happen again."

"Hear hear!" the Head of IT blurts, getting in some good anal-nasal interfacing while the Boss nods vacantly.

"What are you proposing?" I ask. "Putting a breathalyser on keyboards which can detect when someone's a little... uh... 'tired and emotional'?"

"No, I mean blocking messages with anything offensive in them," the CEO says.

"Offensive?"

"Yes, anything that might be construed as offensive, harassing or libellous."

"So... uh 'rude' words?"

"Yes - stop them getting in or out for a start!"

"What about colloquialisms which might be construed offensive?"

"Sorry?" the CEO asks.

"Things like 'Queer as a lemonade sandwich'," the PFY says helpfully.

"I... Uh... Suppose so."

"What about chutney ferret?" the PFY asks.

"I..."

"Crafty Butcher?"

"I..."

"What about..."

"LOOK, I'm not going to vet expressions!" the CEO snaps, interrupting the PFY's recall of the more homophobic portions of Roger's Profanisaurus.

"So what you want is for us to install something like Mail Marshal to restrict the content of email, etc?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Or we could just save a bit of cash and write one ourselves - because I don't know that we could trust third party software to recognise the subtleties of the Queen's English," the PFY suggests, pointing to a section of the offending email which may or may not be alluding to an odd use of a domestic appliance.

"I see what you mean. Well, use your best judgement."

With those words in a parallel universe a locker bearing the name "Pandora" creaks open...

. . . One day later . . .

"TURN IT OFF!" the Boss shouts.

"But it's working!" the PFY snaps.

"It's bloody not, it's blocking everything!"

"Everything offensive," asserts the PFY. "It uses Bayesian filtering and learning to build up blacklists of words - it's very advanced!"

"I can't send anything to anyone! ALL my messages are getting rejected."

"Because the filter recognises your address as one which has offended a number of people."

"Who? HOW?"

"Well let's see." >clickety< "Ah-ha! Your first hit was in a message to me, using the word 'bloody' which has a score of five. That in itself isn't offensive, until you used the word 'shit', which is 80 and meant an instant rejection."

"Where?" the Boss asks, as the PFY brings up the message concerned.

"I didn't say shit, I said 'finish it'."

"Sneaky, but we noticed it anyway."

"Are you suggesting I did it on purpose!?"

"Of course. I was dubious till the filter highlighted the word serving, its dictionary meaning, the links to subservience, the link from that to submissive and from there to leather gags and male bondage."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Not as serious as the people in personnel."

"YOU COMPLAINED ABOUT ME TO PERSONNEL!"

"Of course. I don't see why I have to take that deliberate abuse."

"You slimy little basta..."

In the parallel universe the sound of Pandora's locker slamming shut is simultaneous with the sound of a rather nasty slap being landed on the PFY's mush and the shout of the HR bloke who's just walked in to tell him not to be such a git.

Now THAT is timing... You can't just plan it like that. 


Episode 19 "OK," The PFY says looking over the inside of The Boss's machine. "I'll take a quick look at it, but at this stage I'm fairly certain that it'll just need a new seal and a smoke recharge and be back up and running in no time."

"Sorry, did you say smoke recharge?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, obviously the smoke seal's gone which is why you saw it. If we replace the seal and recharge the smoke it'll probably be as good as new."

"What are you talking about?!"

"Your machine."

"I know you're talking about my machine but what's all this crap about smoke recharges!?" The Boss snaps irately.

"Okay, your machine gave out a bit of smoke and died - yes?"

"Yes."

"Which is why I suspect the smoke seal on one of the chips has gone, letting out the smoke and causing the machine to fail."

"Which smoke seal?"

"I don't know yet, I'll have to test the chips."

"Test them for what?!"

"To see if the smoke's got out."

"What the hell are you talking about, there's no smoke in chips!"

"What?" The PFY asks in jus the right tone to imply doubts as to The Boss' sanity.

"Computer chips - they don't have smoke in them!"

"Ah" I weigh in. "I think you might be a little mistaken - most microelectronic devices have smoke in them."

"Rubbish!"

"Course they do!"

"Ridiculous!"

"Well how do you think electronic devices work then?"

"They're collections of transistors.."

"And how do transistors work?"

"Silicon junctions?" The Boss responds, slightly unsettling me with his in-depth knowledge.

"Some are silicon, some are germanium. But they're not pure silicon, because it's not actually conductive."

"nyyeeess" The Boss says slowly, indicating that we're (thankfully) at the outer regions of his knowledge.

"So an impurity is introduced to the silicon to make it a partial conductor."

"Mmmm," The Boss says, verging on the mental depletion zone we call Dummy mode. All I need now is a little gate voltage to his mental mosfet and...

"And the addition of an impurity is called doping and the dope we're talking about in this case is managerium, a very very dopey compound"

*** DUMMY MODE ON! ***

"Managerium?" The Boss repeats doubtfully. "I've never heard of it."

"I'm not surprised," I respond, pullstarting the bullshit generator "Whilst it's extremely commonplace extraction of pure managerium is extremely rare. It is one of the last elements in the periodic table and with an atomic weight of 347, it's extremely dense."

"Uhh... huh..." The Boss mumbles, indicating that his mental "bag full" light is on, only I can't stop because I'm on a roll.

"So the silicon is doped with Managerium in a process known as superdoping to make the basic junctions required for microelectronics. Superdoping involves the fusion of managerium particles onto a silicon wafer in microscopic amounts."

"YES YES, I SEE, BUT WHAT THE HELL'S THIS GOT TO DO WITH SMOKE!?!!"

"AS I WAS ABOUT TO SAY," I continue. "The microscopic amounts are achieved by superheating managerium so that it changes from a solid directly into a gas - a process known as sublimation."

"Managerium being well known as a subliminal material," The PFY adds, stealing my in-joke.

"Yes."

"And so when the smoke seal in a chip breaks the Managerium is free to break it's covalent bond, resulting in a gas which looks - because of Managerium's denseness - like smoke."

"So when a computer has smoke coming out of it, it's really Managerium escaping?!" The Boss asks

"Exactly?"

"Is the gas harmful?!" The Boss gasps.

"Uhhh...." I say, haltingly.

"What is it?" he gasps again. "I may have inhaled some - I certainly smelt something!!!"

"Well the good news is that if you're affected by it you'd never know as it affects the mental system - although it IS a cumulative poison."

"Well what are the symptoms if it's bad?"

"I... I'm not sure. I know you get headaches."

"Headaches?!" The Boss blurts, grabbing his forehead.

"Increasing amounts of Amnesia is another symptom. It starts out with small things and just gets worse and worse." The PFY adds.

"How much worse?!!!!"

"Well, advanced cases forget everyday things like the names of people they just met, license plates of cars they used to own, their dreams, the last thing they read before they put a book down at night - that sort of thing - but I mean that's only the really bad cases."

"Bloody Hell," The Boss gasps, rushing from the room gripping his head tightly.

The ambulance was overdoing it a little, but he did insist after I "remembered" that inability to concentrate was an indication of a near fatal dose of the material that had an atomic weight of 347 which was actually almost same as a combination and Uranium and Silver both noted for their relative paucity in conjunction with quartz deposits in the African subcon.....

"So do you think we should replace the faulty power supply?" The PFY asks, pointing past the fan to the huge scorch mark where a capacitor used to be

"Nah, chuck it in the bin. And if he asks - we never had this conversation and he never brought his machine in..."


Episode 20 Bright white light surrounds me and ahead I see a lift with the UP button greyed out. Entering the lift, I press the only option available, 'B', and go down.

The air gets appreciably warmer.

Exiting the lift, I see nine rooms. The one immediately in front of me has an endless pile of service packs which have to be applied to an endless line of Windows desktop machines.

The room next to it has a sign which says: "Discussion: Linux v Windows v MacOsX".

Far off in the distance in the last room I see a figure encased in ice.

Things become clearer.

I rush back to the lift, press the 'G' button noting the '1' button is still greyed out. And after all my selfless works, too.

The lift doors open and I head immediately for the light...

"We've got a pulse!" a paramedic yells as I regain a bit of my former consciousness. I notice the PFY halfway across the room in a similar state of recovery and the Boss in a corner with a couple of meds working on him. I catch a brief murmur of brain damage and manage to spit out something about it being his normal operating mode...

"What happened?" the PFY gasps once the pushing and shoving has stopped.

"I..." the Boss blubs, before lapsing into shocked silence.

"I..." I say, coming to a halt when I realise I have no recollection of what's transpired.

or... It might be a dream but I seem to remember...

. . .

"IT'S NOT THE BLOODY SAME!" I shout, annoyed. "I ordered a PARTICULAR machine in a PARTICULAR configuration so that it can perform a PARTICULAR task!"

"But this machine is the same," the Boss responds, calmly. "See, everything in the same amounts. It's a perfectly good substitute."

"You can't substitute a machine with a fast processor for a crap machine with two much slower processors! When I order a machine with two hard drives I don't want a machine with one LARGE hard drive!!!"

"If I may," the PFY says, interjecting. "I think I see the root of the problem."

"Mmm?" the Boss and I say almost simultaneously.

"You think the systems are basically the same."

"They are," the Boss says.

"Only you're not paid to think. If you were you'd be getting paid a lot less."

FIGHTING TALK FROM THE PFY!!!!

"I beg your pardon?!!"

"As well you should - this isn't the first time. Last week I ordered a couple of replacement mice for the console system and instead of the five button optical jobbies I ordered I got a FOUR button trackball - one with a ball which isn't even bloody spherical."

"But the ones you specified were 30 quid each. The alternatives cost us a tenth of that!!!"

"THEY DON'T BLOODY WORK PROPERLY!"

"But they've saved money!" the Boss bleats.

"YOU DON'T SAVE MONEY IF IT'S DODGY!" the PFY snaps. "And then this morning I receive this..."

"It's a keyboard."

"Yes it is. A PC keyboard with a Dec-VT220 configuration. NO-ONE USES THEM ANY MORE!"

"But it was only five quid!"

"BECAUSE IT'S CRAP!"

"Has this been happening with all our orders?" I ask, looking suspiciously at the recently delivered, yet still unopened package on my desktop.

"Uh... We have an agreement with stores that if we can find an equivalent for less or a better item for the same price we should do that. And the stuff they get is perfectly reputable and not at all... dodgy."

"And the person who's deciding what an equivalent product is the same person who picks his nose and eats it to save on lunch money?"

"He's saved us thousands already!"

"So it HAS been happening with all our orders?"

"Yes. Didn't we... uh.. tell you about that?" the Boss asks, faking innocence.

"So when I open up this package I'm not going to find the Taser.... uh... Insulation Testing Device I ordered?"

"You might. Or it might be a perfectly workable substitute."

. . .

"THIS ISN'T WHAT I ORDERED!!!" I snap angrily as I open the package and find a box with strange lettering on the side.

"No, it's a 'better' model" the PFY says, looking at the box. "East European. Higher voltage - unlimited battery life - at least that's what I think it says."

"East European?" the Boss asks confusedly.

"Yes..."

"Would you care to revise your story about dodginess?" I ask the Boss...

"No, I'm sure it's an excellent substitute."

"Well" the PFY says, scanning the pictures. "It looks like you turn it on here >click<, put the safety link in here >HUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM< and you control the withdrawal of the carbon rods here..."

"Carbon rods?" I ask, stepping back slightly as the ready LED goes from dull to bright red, then to white, then off with a puff of smoke.

"Does uh... anyone else smell burning?" the Boss asks, backing away slightly.

"Still think it's not a bit dodgy?" I ask the Boss.

"...and it looks like," the PFY continues engrossed in picture translation, "it's activated by pushing this button over h..."


Episode 21 "What the hell's he saying?!" I ask the PFY as he tries to interpret what my counterpart is saying.

"I'm not sure - East European languages aren't my speciality - but I think he's saying what you just did is illegal in his country," the PFY replies, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Ah! In that case tell him not to worry - it's illegal in this country too," I say, handing my helper the 50 quid he'd been promised before he dashes out the pub door.

"What the hell did you do?"

"Oh Nothing. He just helped me dump a bit of rubbish."

"The new auditor guy!!" The PFY gasps. "I thought he was sniffing around the place a bit too much for his own good..."

"What?! No! No, it was just some old laser printers from the clutter in Mission Control. The environmentally-friendly disposal crowd have upped their prices again so that it's getting cheaper to buy a printer than dispose of one!"

"You didn't stuff them into the roadside bins again!" the PFY sighs. "It's a 50 quid fine!"

"They way things are going it'll soon be the cheaper option - but no. We just chucked them off Waterloo Bridge."

"What?! How'd you get them there?"

"'Borrowed the Boss' car. Admittedly I did feed him a few too many drinks in the afterwork celebrations."

"What celebrations?"

"Celebrating getting rid of 10 printers without paying for their disposal."

"How the hell did you get 10 printers into an MG?!?!"

"Obviously we had to make two trips..."

"Obviously," the PFY says dubiously. "And so it all went well?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Hitting the party barge was a bit of a low point and seemed to upset the punters, but by that stage we were in the car with the foot down."

"And there'll be no.... complications?"

"Nope!"

. . . The next day . . .

"Ah... Uhhh... Simon. Was wondering if you had time for a little chat?" the Boss asks.

"Sure gimme five minutes - I've almost got spider beat!"

"Ahhmmmm, it's a little more urgent than that," he mumbles, looking a little distressed.

. . . two minutes later in a quiet meeting room . . .

"Right. Well. It seems that Miss Watson here..." the Boss says, indicating a woman in the room with us.

"Ms," Ms Watson corrects.

"Ms?" the Boss confirms.

"Short for Misery?" I ask, lightening the situation a touch... Or not, as seems apparent. Ah well.

"Ms Watson is a legal representative of an ecological group - 'Friends of the Thames'."

"Ah yes, The Thames Freighter, a king among vans!"

"No," Ms Watson snips.

"Really? You're friends of the Television company then?"

"No."

"The Tunnel! A tribute to Brunel!"

"No, the Thames river!" she snaps.

"Oh, of course. And?"

"And Ms Watson believes that a number of our company's older computing assets found their way into the Thames last night."

"Really? By themselves?"

"I think we can dispense with the innocent act," Ms Watson says, placing a photograph on the table. "Amazing the clarity of these pictures, don't you think? I think the courts would have no problem at all in prosecuting you on this evidence alone."

"THIS 'evidence' alone?" I ask.

"One of the machines had a company inventory sticker on it," the Boss sighs.

"Which led me here.. to you" Ms Watson says.

"It's true", I admit grudgingly. "While taking the machines for... servicing.. the car .. broke down on the bridge, at which time a man appeared from nowhere and started tossing them into the Thames. Some form of Luddite, I shouldn't wonder!"

"You're suggesting you weren't a knowing party to this?"

"Of course not. Your photos clearly show me attempting to rescue the printer from him - and I defy you to prove otherwise."

"We have several similar photos from two separate occasions last night."

"He's obviously a serial offender," I suggest.

"And you're also suggesting that your car just HAPPENED to break down at the same place twice in the same night."

"Classic cars are notoriously unreliable."

"And so you're saying that you weren't intentionally dumping your old equipment into a public waterway."

"We're the VICTIM here!" I blurt, not altogether convincingly.

"And you don't mind telling me how you do dispose of your equipment?"

"We work on a 30-month life cycle."

"Don't you mean 36 month in line with the normal three year warranty?"

"No, 30 month. At that point we remove the theft prevention device and inventory stickers and redeploy them closer to the car park. Things seem to sort themselves out there because people can't resist the opportunity."

"So it's your contention that you have no inventory disposal problems?"

"None."

. . . twenty minutes later. . .

"Well thank you for coming to share your concerns," the Boss blurts, showing Ms Watson to the door.

. . .

"I thought we were for it then!" he gasps when he returns moments later. "I think you'd best let your offsider know that we'd rather pay the disposal fees than risk public exposure for dumping equipment - especially the stuff we've yet to dispose of."

"No, no, there's nothing left."

"What about the two machines on the floor of your room."

"Should be leaving the building in the boot of Ms Watson's car any time now."

"I..."

"Which reminds me - when she comes back to complain let me know as we've got a bootload of dud toner cartridges in the basement looking for a home...."

"I..."

"...think we're doing a splendid job and deserve an afternoon in the pub. FANTASTIC."

>click< >click< >Slam!< 


Episode 22 "Is your.. uh... assistant in?" the Boss asks, ducking into Mission Control and breaking the monotonous boredom.

"The PFY? No, I've not seen him all day. Or yesterday for that matter."

"Is he sick?"

"I doubt it. When you're a contractor you don't waste good contract money being ill at home. No, I'm not sure where he is. Hang on..."

I bash the PFY's mobile number into the desk phone.

"Hmm, phone's off or outside a service area. I'll try his home phone."

I bash another number in.

"... Nope, his phone just rings. Which is strange, because I know he has an answerphone with the same message as the Lithuanian embassy."

"I.. Why?"

"I don't know, maybe they need a backup."

"Well anyway, I just popped in to see if he'd helped my mate Algy out."

"Algy," I ask, suddenly interested. "As in Algernon?"

"Yes, why?"

"It's probably nothing."

"What?"

"Do you know about the Echelon Project?"

"Oh - the one where we're putting a new plasma screen in the boardroom for company presentations?"

"No the SIGINT project run by the NSA to capture the world's communications."

"Oh yes, I have heard something about that."

"Well a couple of years ago a bloke put a post onto the web identifying Algernon - not Algy - as the first of the three words in the 'find-me' code."

"Find me?"

"Yeah. So you're a modern day James Bond and get caught. All you need to do is get to a phone, ring any non-local number - but by preference an international call to a country of particular current interest. As soon as the call is made you say the three word phrase and then hang up. Echelon will find the phrase, send up a rocket to say someone's in trouble and before you know it you're surrounded by white vans."

"White Vans?"

"Windowless white vans to be precise."

"?"

"White vans are the black helicopters of urbanity."

"?"

"They're everywhere and no-one sees them."

"Well that's not entirely true - everyone sees them. There was even one in my parking space a few days ag.."

"I see," I nod.

"But they were delivering office supplies! I saw the paper!!!"

"So when you say 'they' you mean more than one? Why would it take more than one person to deliver office supplies?"

"I... But why would they be interested in your assistant?"

"They're probably not - but they're most certainly interested in how he came by the find me codes."

"Didn't you say they were posted on the web?"

"No, the guy was going to post them one day at a time to avoid detection but he never posted the next one!"

"You mean.... they... got to him?!!!"

"Who knows. He might be at the Guantanamo 'holiday resort' or he might have just got bored."

"But you're suggesting that somehow your assistant may have inadvertently set this thing in motion by talking to my friend."

"Or by mentioning it in a phone conversation along with the other two words of the find me phrase."

"Do you know what the other two words might be?"

"I'd can only guess that they'd be uncommon words - words that wouldn't ordinarily appear in normal conversation. Like Strom Thurmond, for instance."

"Huh?"

"A joke. No, it'll be words which could be used together but ordinarily wouldn't."

"Like 'Fix Algernon's Computer'?!!!!?" the Boss gasps.

"No, that would be too common and it would need to be more obscure than his machine."

"Well it's not his computer, it's his god-daughter's."

"NOW we're getting warm! Algernon, god-daughter and I'm guessing something to do with computers."

"Yes but what?!" the Boss asks.

"Who knows, it could be anything. Why are you so keen to know?"

"Well what if I've said accidentally said it too?!!!"

"Trust me, if you'd said it you'd already be in a dark room wrapped in carpet with a hose up your bum."

"WHAT!?!"

"If you'd said it, you'd be gone already. The only thing you've got to worry about is if the PFY doesn't talk and they start running phone calls from the building back throught Echelon. You used a payphone to talk to him didn't you?"

"WHY THE BLOODY HELL WOULD I USE A PAYPHONE TO TALK TO A MATE ABOUT A DODGY COMPUTER!?!"

"Yes I think that's your best approach, because sooner or later the PFY's bound to finger you - figuratively of course."

"WHAT!?"

"Well, it's only a matter of time till he cracks. I mean you could take the chicken's way out and hide in your office and hope that they'll lose interest, but we all know you're made of stronger stu..."

>SLAM!<

. . . Two minutes later . . .

"Ey up!" the PFY says, dropping the 10 pack of lager and the takeaway curries onto a convenient desk. "No Chilli Bhajis today sorry, so I got you a chicken Phal and same Aloo Partha instead."

"Ta!" I say, cracking a lager.

"Anything happen while I was out?"

"Nah! You remembered to park the van behind the Boss' car?"

"Yeah, why?"

"No reason." 


Episode 23 "What do you two know about business intelligence?" the Boss asks the PFY and I after we answer the call for a quick chat at his request...

"A novel idea but I don't think it'll catch on," the PFY responds.

"Sorry?" The boss burbles, missing the PFY's point.

"Business & Intelligence - bit of a misnomer," the PFY replies helpfully.

"No, I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about obtaining information about our competitors."

"Oh, you mean spying," I reply.

"Well not spying exactly, I just mean obtaining information from their systems."

"Yes we call that spying. Corporate Espionage if you want to give it a flashy name."

"Uh... Be that as it may," the boss chirps, tapping a pencil on his desk impatiently, "I'd like to know what you know about it."

"Well you've come to the right place," I cry, "as my assistant here used to work for MI5."

"No I didn't!" the PFY sighs dryly.

"Well he's bound to say that isn't he?" I say, nodding knowingly at the boss, "it's all part of the training."

"No it's not!"

"Ah, so you do know what the training is then??" I ask, turning back to the Boss. "But seriously, he was. His code number was double-oh F."

"00F?"

"Yeah, they switched to Hexadecimal when the digits ran out."

"Ridiculous!" the PFY snaps.

"No, ridiculous was the first attempt using Dewey Decimal. By the time you'd finished warning them that you were 'secret agent double-oh 327.1PFY' they'd have already lowered you into the vat of acid and organised dinner for two followed by dancing with Moneypenny."

"I... Look, I'm not talking about that!!" The Boss interrupts. "What I'm wanting to know is IF we happened to come by the laptop of a staff member of another company would you be able to access any information from it?"

"And by IF you mean you already have?"

"Uh... Well we had a couple of drinks to celebrate a successful end to some legal action between our two companies and he inadvertently left his laptop behind at the pub..."

"And by access any information you actually mean find out the name and address of the owner so that you can return it to him?"

"I..."

"Because to do otherwise would be wrong."

"And possibly illegal," the PFY adds.

"Oh. I see."

"Of course if, in the process of obtaining the name and address information we happened to encounter some information that pertained to some business activity..."

"Yes?"

"We'd be obliged to keep the confidence of the party concerned."

"Oh," the Boss sighs unhappily.

"Of course, I'm not much of a poker player and I might let slip something I'd seen if you were discussing something that I had knowledge of."

"Not much of a poker player..." the boss repeats slowly.

"Especially when he's been drinking," the PFY chips in.

"So if we buy you drinks you'll break into the machine?"

"By George, I think he's got it!!!"

"Ok then. How do you plan to do it?"

"I'm not - I'll get the PFY to do it - he can sniff a breast out of a hard drive at thirty paces."

"I don't want porn, I want the business info!"

"Yes, yes, but the PFY will break into the machine to get the porn and we can get the other stuff."

"What if he hasn't got porn on his machine?"

"Puleese. Even blind people look at porn. That's why they make the braille keyboards washable!"

"I.. ... ..! Well I've never browsed porn!" the Boss gasps, offended.

"Yuh-huh. Yeah, you and Ghandi - because he's dead."

"I don't."

"Really well just to be on the safe side, do you want the PFY to check your machine? Even deleted files! He can suck a thumbnail out of a two-month-old deleted zip file..."

"I don't think that will be necessary," the boss counters hastily. "So what sort of software does he use?"

"Software?!" the PFY asks "Oh! Yes... uh... software."

"You don't use software?"

"It's like a sixth sense" I explain to the Boss. "Someone a couple of rooms away visits www.DirtyNunHosemonsters.com and he's straight into the webcache to grab copies"

"Really?!"

"Oh yeah. But he's got some quality control problems. He can detect porn but he can't detect what kind of porn - which can be a little disturbing at times. For instance last week when one of our part timers discovered a fetish for geriatrics."

"I'll never look at a rumpled mattress the same way again," the PFY whimpers.

"He'll probably need counselling," I whisper to the Boss. "But meantime, that's not getting us into the box. Where is it?"

"Uh.. here" the Boss says, removing the aforementioned machine from his briefcase guiltily.

"Ooooh!" the PFY says. "I sense a stirring in the force!"

"So long as it's just the force," I warn.

"Can I..." the PFY asks, reaching for the machine eagerly.

The Boss hands the machine over to the PFY and he takes off like a shot.

"So how long do you think it will take?" the boss asks ten minutes later, tapping his foot anxiously. "Because sooner or later I'm going to get a call from the owner."

"Well it's a complex thing, bypassing Windows security. I mean you'll have to boot from a CD..."

"Yes, and then?"

"That's pretty much it."

"So he'll have got into the machine?"

"I'm not too sur..."

"Got it!" the PFY says, popping back into the room cheerfully with a pack of smokes in his hand.

"Excellent! Are there any financial documents?"

"Oh right, you wanted the work stuff!" he says, popping back out again...

Something tells me it's going to be a long day... 


Episode 24 "So will the games embargo affect our drunken-ET tournament tonight?" the PFY asks.

"Drunken ET?" a helldesker asks, sniffing out a game discussion (as they tend to do) from across the building.

"Yeah, you know, 10 pints in two hours followed by a long and involved campaign in Wolfenstein Enemy Territory"

"Two hours? So you start play at 7pm?"

"Yes that's right, 5pm"

"Fiv... Oh. Are you in a clan?"

"Clans are for people without lives," I blurt without thinking.

"Or handbrakes," the PFY adds.

"Handbrakes?"

"Social handbrakes - the little woman. You know - well you probably don't - but the person that stops you from playing shoot-em-ups over the net till three in the morning."

"I... So can anyone join in one of these games?"

"Anyone still standing at five after 10 pints!" the PFY responds magnanimously.

"I think I'd like to give it a crack!" the helldesker blurts.

"Of course you would!" the PFY says, smiling happily.

. . . 5pm that day . . .

"RIGHT!" I slur. "Time to go, where's my office keys?"

"Where's the helldesk geek?" the PFY counters.

"Where's the door?" the helldesk geek responds.

"Best get a move on, only quarter of an hour till they lock the lifts down."

. . . just over quarter of an hour later . . .

"Bugger, they've locked the lifts down!"

"Yeah, but we left the pub 16 minutes ago."

"What? The pub's only across the road! That was never 16 minutes."

"Course it was, check your watch - you're thinking in drunk time."

"Drunk time?" the helldesk geek asks.

"Yeah, you know, you decide to walk home from the pub and get there in just under 10 minutes - drunk time. Meanwhile the rest of the household who LEFT THE PUB AT EXACTLY THE SAME TIME BUT GOT IN A CAB have been tucked up in bed for the last three hours. Which means that either cabs are time machines, or..."

"Being drunk makes time go by faster?" the helldesk geek slobbers.

"EXACTLY! It's a theory I've been working on for some time - usually after I've been drinking, like now. You know how relativity means that time isn't constant for a moving objects?"

"No."

"Well it does. Einstein proved it. AND it's also tied up with the effects of gravity somehow. Well the same thing can be said for a drunk object - for whom time appears to travel much faster AND the effects of gravity are negligible."

"Eh?"

"You know how when you're sober and you drop a brick on your foot and break your toe?"

"Yes."

"Well when you're drunk, that never happens. It's only the next morning when you wake up on a traffic island in the nude that you find you have a broken toe. Which tends to indicate that gravity doesn't work as fast when you've been drinking - because you're travelling so fast, in drunk time."

"I don't th..."

"Ever noticed how you can't catch a ball, throw a dart or jump over stuff properly when you're boozed?"

"I..."

"That's drunk gravity for you."

"Tell him about the people," the PFY nudges.

"What people?"

"Because you're travelling in drunk time and moving so fast, conversations get compressed - because of the Doppler effect."

"M?"

"It's technical. Anyway, because of the compression and expansion people don't understand what you're saying."

"Oh, I..."

"And because you're travelling so fast and with the compression and Doppler effects and everything, really really good jokes get dragged out in their minds and so you tell them the best joke in the world and they're just standing there - because to them it seemed like the joke took half an hour to tell."

"Because..."

"Because they're travelling at different speeds. So whereas in rapid drunk time you tell them a quick joke which is the funniest joke in the world and the whole pub thinks you're fantastic, in the morning no bastard is speaking to you because apparently they THINK you told the receptionist she had a fat arse and called the PR guy a big poof. Because of the distortion of compression. Course their memory is distorted because we drunk people are doing and saying things faster than their mind can commit it to memory so they remember it wrong. Sometimes we're doing things so fast that even we can't remember it. But at least it doesn't affect jokes between drunk people - who are all travelling at the same speed - and so they're still great. For instance, there was this bloke with a wooden eye..."

. . . ten minutes later . . .

"Great joke," the helldesk geek says, chuckling away to himself "But shouldn't we be getting into this game?"

"Game?"

"Drunken ET thing?" he hints.

"Yeah, that was yesterday. It's work time now."

"I..." the helldesk geek whimpers, "don't feel so good."

"That'll be the jetlag!" the PFY blurts as he grabs a couple of coffee mugs to help us face the day ahead... 


Episode 25 The Shakespeare Revival Company celebrates the 441st anniversary of the year of Shakespeare's birth with this,

THE TRAGEDIE OF YE BASTARDE OPERATORE FROME HELLE
ACT I. 
Scene 1 - The HR Tea Room.
Enter three female HR Consultants

HR1: When shall we three meet again? 
HR2: This afternoon at the pub? 
HR3: Yep, I'm free. 
HR1: Don't want to talk about Promotions? 
HR2: Nup. 
HR3: I'm good. 
HR1: >sigh<

Scene II - Outside a meeting room
CEO: That sounded like a bit of a rough meeting. 
Helldesk cannon fodder who will die in the next scene: Yes, the users ganged up on the IT people about server performance and the proposed 'standardised desktop' plan. 
CEO: And what happened? 
Helldesk cannon fodder who will die in the next scene: It seems that the Manager of Systems put the user up to it but the whole thing turned to custard when that Bastard guy happened to stumble upon some evidence of the Manager in question stealing large amounts of the company's stationery. And shagging the head of IT's missus. 
CEO: So the standardised desktop plan's still a goer then? 
Helldesk cannon fodder who will die in the next scene: Oh yeah.

Scene III - HR Tea Room
HR1: So anyway, what about these promotions? A position's opened up in IT. 
HR2: Promote from within you think? It's not really for us to say. 
HR3: Shtum - Here's some now.

Enter Bastarde and PFYe

BOFH: What a bastard of a day. First that crap meeting now we're on bloody smoke alarm repairs! 
HR1, HR2 & HR3: Morning. 
BOFH: (whispered to PFYe) Promotions committee. Be Nice. (loudly) Morning ladies. How are we this morning? 
HR1: Good, but not as good as you by all accounts. 
HR2: Putting in the spadework with the CEO's standard desktop idea... 
HR3: Climbing the greasy pole then? 
BOFH: Huh? 
PFYe: Everything all right here? 
HR1: Ah, the assistant. 
HR2: Lesser than the bastard and yet greater. 
PFYe: Ay? 
HR3: Ignore her. She's a parttime dietary consultant. 
BOFH: What the hell are you talking about? 
HR1: We're suggesting you're a megalomaniac corporate ladder jockey with a penchant for workplace homicide. Bound to get places fast and leave a few smoking corpses. 
BOFH: Ah, so nothing libellous then.

Enter Helldesk cannon fodder who will die in this scene

>KZZZZzzzzzerrrt!<

BOFH: Woopsy.

Scene IV - CEO's Office
CEO: So the Systems Manager's gone then? 
Head of IT: He was on the street before his personal possessions made it to the furnace. 
CEO: Sorry to... ah... hear about the wife. 
Head of IT: What? That?! It was the worst photoshop job I've ever seen! 
CEO: So how are you going to replace him - promote from within? 
Head of IT: What, you mean the Bastard? No, we've tried that before, it never works out. 
CEO: Perhaps this time... 
Head of IT: Suit yourself, but you'll regret it. 


Scene V - Mission Control
BOFH: Would you bloody look at this contract! 
PFYe: Hmm? I thought you'd said you'd never do that again. 
BOFH: Yeah, but look at the bottom line! 
PFYe: You earn more than that now. 
BOFH: I think you'll find that's a monthly amount, not annual. 
PFYe: WHAT! That's crazy money! 
BOFH: Yeah well - it seems the pay is average but the workplace hazard allowance is astronomical. 
PFYe: Makes you think doesn' it? 
BOFH: About edging out the CEO, nabbing his role with the skilful application of bribery and blackmail then leading a full frontal attack on the US arm of the company for multinational control? 
PFYe: No, I meant about the benefits of being a contractor. 
BOFH: So are you in? 
PFYe: What do you want me to do...

Scene VI - The Pub
CEO: Awfully nice of you to invite me down for a couple of drinks. 
BOFH: Not at all. Another brandy or three? 
CEO: Don't mind if I do! 
PFYe: So what's your interest in this standardised desktop business. 
CEO: Well between you and I... 
(pauses to down one of the three newly delivered large brandies) 
PFYe: (Moving the flower on his lapel closer) Yes? 
CEO: I have a old school friend who deals in computer imports and between us we've set up a company to onsell the equipment the company needs at a reasonable profit. (slurring slightly) And, as I control the budget for a purchase of such magnitude the review process will be relatively short... 
PFYe: ...and sweet? 
CEO: Indeed. 
PFY: Excellent. Another brandy or three? 
CEO: Don't mind if I do!

Scene VII - The Gents at the Pub
PFYe: (washing hands and rinsing his jacket) Who'd have thought the old man to have had so much sick in him? There's a spot. Out damn spot. 
BOFH: (entering) Dog problems? 
PFYe: No, the CEO didn't make it to the bogs and barfed down my back. Then he dropped his watch down the toilet and is trying to get the landlord to shut the toilets down before it gets washed into the sewer..

Scene VIII - The main bar
HR1: So what are you having? 
HR2: Gin. Make it a double. 
HR3: Me too. 
HR1: (Turning to landlord) So that's double, double and... (Reading sign on blackboard behind landlord's head) you've got toilet trouble? 
BOFH: Afternoon ladies, can I get you three a drink? Thanks for the heads up about the promotions opportunities too. With a bit of luck I could go all the way to the top! 
HR1: And bear in mind that none of woman born will stand in your way. 
BOFH: Eh?! 
HR1: We've been here for two and a half hours, you're lucky we're standing...

ACT II 
Scene I - Mission Control
Enter Bastard and PFYe, looking pretty please with themselves

BOFH: So it's sorted then, the CEO's down the road faster than an insider trader, the Board's in a shambles and I, as a whistleblower with the company's best interests at heart, am in a perfect position for a takeover. And, if the HR druids are to be believed my application for the top role is a shoe in. 
PFYe: Well it would be, but... 
BOFH: What? 
PFYe: The new HR Appointments Process auditor looks a lot like Louise Brown... 
BOFH: Oh shit. The bastardes!...


Episode 26 It appears that the Boss isn't happy. For some reason the Online Electronic Document Storage project he inherited from his predecessor is somewhat behind schedule and all fingers seem to be pointing at the PFY and I as the source of the delay. I use the ruse of urgent lift maintenance as an excuse for the PFY and I to avoid the problem for a day, knowing full well that the Boss is never going to actually WALK up four flights to berate us.

But it seems I was wrong.

"So what I'd like to know is why the 'scanning into storage' task has taken so long?" the Boss asks, checking his Project gant chart. "I mean this project's been running for almost six months and as far as I can see you've not actually produced anything!"

"We're still calibrating the equipment and formatting the document repository."

"What does that mean?" the Boss snarls, letting a little more frustration creep into his voice.

"It means that to ensure the system is reliable and robust we have to do benchmarking on various types of document and the impact that it has on the storage system. That way we can pick the best fit of document type to suit the needs of the users and the available space in the repository."

"What does that mean?" the Boss repeats.

"It means that we're scanning in multiple documents in multiple formats and running comparisons on readability, total size and ability to OCR text where necessary."

"And what's taking so long?"

"The age of the documents is a bit of a problem. Some of them are so old that the pages might suffer damage or just be stuck together."

"Stuck together!? What documents are you using?"

"For this stage of the Process, old Playboys," the PFY admits.

"What?!"

"Well they're ideal. They've got print, images, combinations of the above and the later ones are in colour!"

"What the hell are you archiving them for!?"

"Some of them are absolute classics. They need to be safely stored for future generations. And that's just the jokes pages!" the PFY says defensively.

"Right, that's it, you're off the project," the Boss snaps. "I'll get a temp in to scan some documents for you. What skills am I going to want to look for?"

"Blonde, blue eyes," the PFY says helpfully. "Perhaps someone like Miss April 19.."

"I mean technical qualifications, like the ability to discern important metadata from the context of the content."

I always feel vaguely uneasy when the Boss uses technical terms like metadata. It just seems wrong - he should stick to words he knows something about, like redundancy and lard. Whenever he uses large complicated words I always get the feeling he's been talking to someone behind our back. Almost like he's cheating on us with another technical person...

Now I come to think about it, he has been coming in late a lot and making lame excuses like he missed the train or that he had to stay home late with the wife.

We should have seen it coming but we just thought he was being slack bastard!

I can see the same thoughts are running through the PFY's mind and that he's looking a bit hurt. The poor blighter's has such a sheltered upbringing and is not used to Bosses sneaking out for a bit of technical upskilling on the side...

"You never used to use technical terms like that," the PFY says quietly. "Is there... someone else... giving you technical advice?"

"I... No, of course not!"

"I notice there's been a number of appointments with the presales marketing guy from the photocopier company..." I counter, browsing the Boss' online calendar via the wireless PDA.

"What, you're going through my calendar now!?"

"So you admit you've been seeing him?" The PFY asks.

"Well, yes. Sure, he had a few ideas, we might have talked about some stuff but it meant nothing. It's still you guys I come to for the real idea of what we should be doing!"

"I can't believe it," the PFY says. "How long has this been going on?"

"A month. Two maybe."

"And you thought we wouldn't find out?"

"I..."

"How did it get to this stage?" the PFY asks.

"Look, it's not you, it's him," the Boss says, pointing at me.

"Ah, isn't that supposed to be 'It's not you it's me'?" I ask.

"No, it's you," the Boss says. "You're a megalomaniac control freak and I want.... more"

"More?" the PFY asks.

"I want to make my own technical decisions! I don't want to feel stymied by you two whenever I have a good idea!"

"You two? I thought you said it was just him?" the PFY says.

"It doesn't matter. I need more. I'm not an idiot and I want a chance to prove that to everyone. I think perhaps I should.. maybe... create a head of research position."

. . .

"Well," the PFY says, as soon as the boss leaves. "You seem to be taking this calmly. You're not at all worried that he'll become technically competent and have no further use for us?"

"Nah. I've seen it dozens of times - these things have a way of working themselves out. Push the 'Open 6' Button will you?"

>Nggaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa< >thud<

"What was that?"

"That was the Boss using his newfound superior technical skills to step into an elevator shaft. Told you things had a way of working themselves out...."

Hell hath no fury like an administrator scorned... 


Episode 27 The Boss is in a particularly cheerful mood and I don't like it. Any moment I fear he's going to want to hug one of us or tell us we're doing a great job or something. It's just not normal! Someone's going to find out what's wrong and as it's the PFY's turn to 'tard himself down I give him a prod and point him at the boss.

"Hm. Is everything all right there?" the PFY says as the Boss sails round the office locked in his own happy world.

"? Oh. Yes, yes, everything's great!"

"Great?" the PFY probes.

"Actually, it's excellent!" the Boss replies. "You know, I sent a letter in to one of those 'What am I worth' columns in a technical magazine and they published a response!"

"Ah well, I shouldn't be too disappointed," the PFY soothes.

"What are you implying?!!"

"Uh, I think my assistant was simply expressing surprise that the salary ranges they talk about went down that low," I proffer.

"Are you suggesting that I'm not worth very much?!"

"I... uh... What did the magazine say?"

"It said that with my knowledge of Systems, Networks, Databases and Project Managament I could get anywhere up to 70 thousand pounds a year."

"I think the knowledge they're talking about is the ability to configure and maintain one of the systems or manage the implementation of the above - not the ability to find the word in a dictionary," the PFY says.

"I did bloody night classes for three years!"

"And we all like the clay model of the blarney stone."

"That's a bust of my wife!"

"Ooooh," the PFY grimaces. "And I bet I know which one sees more action. Still perhaps you should try facing it towards the office?"

"It does face towards the office."

"My mistake - my prescription probably needs updating - it's been six months. So anyway, you say they reckon you're worth 70K?"

"Yes," the boss responds, bad mood averted.

"And you don't think that they might be inflating the figure a touch just to keep the punters happy?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's say you're the editor of one of those computing rags and you want to raise your profile a bit for little or no expenditure of the old folding. You come up with a plan for rating people's jobs and just tell them what they want to hear."

"So you're saying that the figures that they quote bear no relation to reality?"

"Oh I'm sure they bear SOME relationship to reality, but probably not a 1:1 relationship. Maybe it's a hash table of some sort."

"I...? So you're saying someone with Networks, Database, Systems and Project Management isn't worth 70 grand?"

"I'm saying that if you found someone with real life in-depth experience of all those things and you found a gap of that size and shape inside an organisation that needed those abilities in a single person, they might be worth the dosh."

"And you're saying that our organisation doesn't have those needs?"

"No, I'm saying that you don't have that experience."

And suddenly the Boss is back to normal again.

"That's preposterous!"

"I know. You only get that sort of experience working at a high level in the front line, day after day, not taking a couple of night classes in between days as a highly paid chair warmer!"

"What?! I was saying that I've got in-depth experience!"

"Really. So your Oracle Database won't mount on startup - where's the first place you look?"

"I..."

"A user has a netmask of 255.255.255.224. How many addresses are available in their 'network'?" the PFY asks.

"I'd need to lo..."

"You're attempting to login to Windows and there's a significant delay between entering your credentials and the desktop appearing. What is your first concern?"

"Your network is down!" the Boss blurts quickly

"No, your first concern is who the hell's overwritten your Linux desktop install!" the PFY says.

"I think that goes to prove our point," I add quietly.

"No it doesn't! You just sprung those questions on me. In the real world I'd have time to look them up on the internet."

"Oh right! So, your internet is down, your netmask is up the pokey, Oracle's down and some cretin's installed Windows on your Linux desktop. What do you do?"

"THIS IS RIDICULOUS, THAT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN! The skills I have are more than able to cope with these situations should they arise because the key part of knowing what I know is knowing how to find the answers to problems, not knowing them like some rote times tables!"

"So you're saying you still believe you're worth 70K."

"YES, and I don't like the insinuation that I'm overpaid and underqualified!"

"Well I certainly didn't mean to cause any offense!" I backpedal. "I was simply suggesting that it's in magazine's interest to inflate the pay scale and deflate the real-world experience to encourage happy readers."

"Well I think they're spot on!"

"You may be, and I apologise for the implication! To show there's no hard feelings I'll shout you a drink at the pub in 10!"

"I...... Well I guess I won't say no," the boss burbles, good humour restored.

13 minutes later.

>Ring<

"Hello?" I say, answering the cellphone "What? The internet is down, someone's slapped a global netmask of 255.255.255.224 on all the servers, Oracle is down and someone's installed Linux on the Boss's desktop?"

. . .

"It's for you" I say, handing the Boss the cellphone.

So maybe he is worth it after all... 


Episode 28 

Bloody Computer room tourists!

It seems the Boss has been asked by the Beancounters to "consult" on their appointment of a new technical support person after the tragic accident that befell the last holder of the position after he stole the PFY's car parking space three days in a row...

True, the PFY does take the tube into work and doesn't even need a car parking space, however the presence of another vehicle in the space made the PFY's lease agreement with a bloke in the next building a little troublesome.

Half a glass of water and one "faulty" switch mode power supply later it's all sorted out and there's a vacancy in Beancounter central.

Meantime the Boss is taking his consultancy role seriously by asking pointed questions designed to winkle out those people with less computing knowledge than himself (infants, the recently E.C.T-ed, etc). Part of the lead-up to these questions is the Boss taking the prospective candidates through the computer room to show them how he is "Lord of all he Surveys" and the magnificence of his earthly domain. Not wanting to be shown up as the chronic halfwit we all know him to be, he's instructed us to remain absent so as not to disturb his "review process".

In other words he doesn't want someone overhearing the fabrications he's constructing around his managerial persona.

Which leaves the PFY and I, acutely interested in the potential outcome of the selection process, having to keep an electronic eye and ear on the boss courtesy of the machine room monitor...

"I can't hear him," the PFY says. "The bloody financials server is running hot and the fans are overloading the mic input."

>Clickety<

"How's that?" I ask.

"A lot better, what did you do, change the fan modulation?"

"Yes, with the shutdown command."

>Ring<

>Clatter< >Slam< >Clatter<

"Right, request lines are closed, what's he saying?"

"Hang on, I'll put it on speaker"

"... and then I installed those two servers over there," the Boss burbles.

"!" the PFY says, remembering just who installed the machines concerned.

"You've done a great job," prospective beancounter support person 1 brownnoses.

"Yes, but that job pales in comparison to when we cabled up the fibreoptic to the whole floor in one weekend. Course, that was a couple of years back when I was on the tools."

"He's got his hand on a tool at the moment if thinks anyone will buy that!" the PFY snaps.

"So you're a real all-rounder then," PBSP #1 bumlicks.

"Don't like him," the PFY says, putting a cross next to the bloke's photo.

. . .

The next candidate is only slightly better - less of a brownnose and more of an idiot - which is generally par for the course for the beancounter support types. The Boss's stories have benefited from the fertilisation of the bullshit spread liberally on the previous candidate and have grown substantially in size. He's now responsible for installing two RACKS of machines and has cabled the entire building in fibreoptic. When he was on the tools.

After PBSP #2 departs fawningly, PBSP #3 rocks up and things take a turn for the better.

"It's a girl!" the PFY gasps happily.

"A woman," I correct. "And don't get your hopes up - there's a reason why the geeky world is dominated by sad chunky guys with beards, glasses, BO and poor social skills..."

"But still!"

"Let's just see how she pans out."

"...and so basically I install every machine personally myself."

"Really?" PBSP#3 asks with a tinge of disbelief in her voice.

"Yeah. Course, I get the Systems guys to do all the donkey work once I'm sure it's up and running properly - otherwise I'd spend all my time in here!"

"Mmm-Hmm."

"And this is one of our networking rack things."

"Krone, patch by exception?" she asks.

"Mmmmm and over here the fibreoptic which I installed a couple of years back."

"All by yourself?" she asks - in the tone of voice which usually precedes a "bullshit" coughing session.

"She's great!" the PFY sighs.

"Now, now, lets not rush into any snap judgements!"

"...and this is one of our more recent installations," the Boss chirps, gesturing behind him. "Tell me, can you guess what we use this server for?"

"Air conditioning?" she says dryly.

"I... Oh yes, yes of course, well done."

"I think I love her!" the PFY gasps.

"Well, I suppose that ends the, uh, technical side of the interview, so how about we just pop down to the pub across the road and have a bit of an informal chat?" the Boss says, chopping down into sleaze mode.

"The Bastard!" the PFY snaps.

"Just wait," I say. "This could be the true test of character. Oh look, she's stepping in close, doesn't go for the knee to the groin - damn it - bumps the pen from his hand."

"Why?"

"Just wait. And he bends down to pick it up... and she slips out of the room.."

"Oh," the PFY says disappointedly.

"And slips a wedge under the computer room door..."

"Oooh!" the PFY says happily.

"Before pressing the halon release..."

"WE HAVE A WINNER!" the PFY blurts happily.

A borderline psychotic, loose in beacounter central. So it all worked out for the best then... 


Episode 29 "Well I still want to know where the hell you were?!" the Boss snaps. "I tried you on your cellphone but I couldn't get hold of you."

"At home. In bed! Curried up after a larger frenzy!" I respond.

"But I paged you! I left a number! You should have called me back!"

"Why?"

"Because I left my number!"

"No, not why should I call you back, why did you page me?"

"Because there was a systems problem up here and I needed you to fix it!"

"Was it an emergency?"

"I... Yes."

"Really?"

"It might have been. How would you have known, you didn't answer the bloody page, did you?"

"No, I didn't. I work under the assumption that had it been an 'emergency' I would have been paged by our automatic system to tell me something important had gone down. I wasn't, which led me to believe that whatever it was you'd called about wasn't an emergency!"

"Well what is an emergency?"

"All sorts of things. But it's easier just to tell you what isn't an emergency worthy of calling someone out for."

"Okay then, what doesn't constitute an emergency?" the Boss snaps belligerently.

"RIGHT! Your not being able to print porn at three in the morning after lengthy drinks with a vendor does not constitute an emergency!" I snap.

"That wasn't porn, I was trying to get an early start on some research on trends in online business models to present and pr..."

"You not being able to close all the windows that just keep popping up with dirty girls on them does not constitute an emergency," the PFY adds helpfully.

"I thought it was some sick form of spamming and that maybe there was a virus loose on the syst.."

"And you not receiving an email from eBay about someone topping your bid on the Hornby model railroad carriage moments before the auction closes does not constitute an emergency!"

"Okay then, so I'll ask you again, WHAT DOES CONSITUTE AN EMERGENCY!?" the Boss shouts.

"The world - plunging into the sun!" I say, with a measure of finality.

"Oh yes, and what would you do then?" he asks dryly.

"Well the PORN would be working for a start!" the PFY chirps.

"It's not good enough, this is a 24-hour operation!!"

"No it's not!"

"Yes it is, people come to our website and expect to be able to do business!"

"So your late night porn browsing is related to our business?"

"I wasn't browsing porn, I was looking for examples of successful network marketing."

"Ah yes, now I understand - You looked through the porn excuse website as well."

"What?"

"The porn excuses website - you know the one that gives you semi-legitimate reasons for looking at what you're looking at."

"Like 'I was verifying the colour balance of pink on my new monitor'," the PFY says.

"Or 'I was looking for NattyCokeSuckers.com and accidentally typed Nasty and C..'"

"No-one would believe that!" the Boss snaps.

"How about 'We've got some friends from Holland coming and I thought Dutch lobster was a seafood dish!'"

"What the hell's Dutch lobster?" the Boss asks.

"You've not travelled, have you?" the PFY sighs, shaking his head.

"You can never go past the old faithful 'I clicked on a link and it just took me there' followed by 'I kept clicking on the pictures trying to get out of it!'"

"I wasn't bloody looking at porn!"

"Suit yourself - so you believe the issue is that we're not available when you need us?"

"You should be available when you're needed."

"You realise what you're suggesting?"

"That you work extra hours when needed, yes."

"But that would mean being on call with occasional shift work!" the PFY says. "And more overtime!"

"I'm aware of the potential costs."

"And then there's the extra staff..."

"What extra staff?"

"We'd need more than two systems people if we were on shift work."

"Occasional shift work," the Boss says, getting a little concerned.

"And the callouts," I add. "Don't forget them. We'd have the contractual stand-down period so as to avoid 'burnout'."

"I..."

"But as it happens I know a couple of ex-operators from waaay back who are looking for work after that big comms outage in the business district. Apparently there was an explosion after a several of the generator's diesel drums were misdelivered to an office right next door to their manager - an office which for some reason also had a large industrial heater delivered and installed only days before. The explosion took out the manager's office but unfortunately nature had just called and he was out at the time."

"You mean fortunately," the Boss adds.

"I... Yes, yes, of course I do. Anyway they're just the sort of people we want - dynamic, able to think on their feet when rushing to the relative protection of an explosion rated stairwell..."

"So you're saying we'd have to take on more of... you..?"

"We'd have to - being a 24 hour operation and all..."

...and that's all there is to it. The carrot and the stick. Or more accurately, a stick, another stick and the promise of two more sticks. 


Episode 30 "WHERE THE **F#@K** HAVE YOU BEEN?" the Boss screams at me the moment I try my key in the door to mission control.

"Uh... On holiday?" I respond, noting two things - (a) my key doesn't fit and (b) the door's new. "You should know, you signed the leave form! Or you could have asked the PFY."

"Oh I was on holiday too," the PFY says, bringing up the rear. "But he signed my leave form as well."

"That's uncommonly generous of you, letting us both off at the same time!" I say, turning to the Boss. "Now how do we get into our office?"

"It's not your office any more - we took on new Systems people when you abandoned the workplace."

"Abandoned the workplace? We were on leave - and you apparently signed both forms which means you must have known it!"

"I.. don't recall any such thing! In any case, it's just bloody irresponsible for you both to go on holiday at the same time without being contactable."

"I had my mobile with me," I counter.

"I tried it and got no response!"

"Well, coverage in the third world is always a bit dodgy..."

"Really?" the PFY responds. "Where did you go, Luton?"

"Luton, Hull and Glasgow. A package hole-iday"

"You didn't drink the water did you?"

"Hell no, my interpreter warned me about that!"

"LOOK!" the Boss interrupts. "We were talking about you two not being needed any longer. We've replaced you!"

"Oh, right!" the PFY says. "Okay then, if you'll just organise the cheques we'll be on our way."

"What cheques?"

"The contract severance cheques - in our contract...?"

"Contract?"

"Our contract with the company," I explain helpfully. "Premature termination of the rolling contract outside of a negotiation period incurs a penalty payment equivalent to the remaining period plus one full period of the rolled-on contract."

"Which means?"

"You'd have to pay us a full year plus the six or so weeks left in this contract."

"Unless I wait six weeks for the 'negotiation period' then decide not to renew your contract..."

"You could do that, yes, but who'd run the systems?"

"The two new guys. They're permanent staff - much cheaper than contractors!"

"And you seriously think they'll still be here in six weeks?"

"I wouldn't even put money on six minutes!" the PFY says helpfully.

"Well we can't get rid of them!" as the two geeks in question roll up.

. . . Two minutes and a very quick recce later . . .

"I can't say I like what you've done with the place" I say to one of the geeks. "Where's the tape safe door?"

"We had to cut it off to get to the backup tapes because no one could find the keys - like we had to break down the door to this room because it didn't use the building keying system."

"Just ensuring data protection on site with enhanced physical security," I comment.

"If it's that protected why weren't there any tapes in the safe?"

"That's the first place a corporate spy would look."

"So where ARE the backup tapes?"

"In boxes in the storeroom marked 'Asbestos ceiling tiles'."

"WE GOT AN ENVIROMENTAL PROTECTION GROUP TO DUMP THEM!" the second geek gasps.

"I see. And the financials archive media?"

"What archive media?"

"About a hundred DVDs which used to be in a bin in the corner marked 'Used Needles, dispose of with care'."

"Why the hell would you put backups in there!?!"

"Again, Data security. I mean, who in their right mind would go fossicking around in there? And where's the Dilbert doll from my monitor?"

"We probably threw it out when we cleaned up."

"Not thinking as you did so that it was rather heavy for a doll - to the tune of a set of tape safe keys?"

"You should have been more careful with them," the first geek snaps.

"So you cut the door off a ten grand fireproof tape safe, dumped about five grand worth of backup tapes, then destroyed the company's financial archives and you're giving me suggestions about due care?"

"YOU SHOULD HAVE USED THE TAPE SAFES!!" the geek shouts.

"And what would the tapes have looked like after someone had thermal lanced the door off the safe?"

"I..."

"But more importantly, how long have you worked for our opposition?"

"What?!?" the geeks, Boss and PFY say in unison.

"Well look at the facts, they've destroyed our backups, archives and tape safe and have probably not taken any backups since..."

"WE HAD TO BUY NEW TAPES!" the first geek cries.

"And, if I'm not mistaken, have isolated the fire suppression system in preparation for the tragic workplace fire...."

"IT'S HALON, YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO USE IT ANY MORE!"

The PFY and I raise our eyebrows at the Boss wordlessly.

"GET ME SECURITY!"

Ah, it's great to be back in the saddle again. 


Episode 31 It's that time in the early morning when mistakes are made - mistakes outside of still being at a lock-in in a darkened pub in Soho. Every decision counts and you know that you can't afford to take time off to smell the roses. More importantly, you can't take time to go to the bog - even if your bladder feels like its the size of a medicine ball and filled with hot gravel - because that would be your biggest mistake...

The table waits silently for the PFY to speak while around it sits myself and a couple of other system admins we've often negotiated several pints with. On top of the table is a reasonably substantial amount of cash in notes, coins and IOUs, and beside it a manky old duffel bag destined to carry home someone's winnings...

As first light touches the roofs of the buildings outside, the PFY finally croaks out a sentence.

"Miss Secretary... in reception.... with the Cat-5 Cable," he says.

"SHIT!" he says, as I show him my Cat-5 Cable card, obliging him to add yet another 20 quid to the pot.

Around the table some feverish scrabbling takes place as people update their complicated whodunit matrices... I, meantime, roll the dice wordlessly and advance my counter towards the Comms Room, pausing only to put five quid into the pot.

Charlie (not his real name - in fact I don't even know his real name) to my left rolls the dice and moves his counter to Reception.

"The Bastard, in the Comms Room with the Cable Ties!" he says triumphantly.

"You have to be in the Comms Room to make an accusation in the Comms Room," the PFY snaps testily, no doubt feeling the effects of missing his sleep and toilet breaks.

"No, you can make an accusation in any room - you just have to be in a room!" he responds.

"Not in this game," Charlie's offsider (who may or not be Ted) says. "You have to be IN the room."

"Shit," Charlie says, dropping a 20 into the pot.

Around now everyone realises that the Comms Room is the place to be, AND why I wasted three turns to roll a six to lock the Computer Room door behind me. Ted's roll brings him to the Computer Room door and he barely has time to drop his five quid in the pot before the PFY snatches the dice up and rolls.

I might be over reading this but the tapping of the PFY's counter as he moves from Reception towards the Computer Room does seem a bit aggressive than usual. He drops his five quid into the pot wordlessly and hands me the dice.

A quick five later and I'm in the Comms Room, poised for Victory.

"THE BASTARD, IN THE COMMS ROOM, WITH THE COOLING PIPE!" I cry happily.

Shoot me down in flames if I'm wrong but do I see a glimmer of a smirk on the PFY's face as he reveals his Cooling Pipe card?

I drop my false accusation 20 quid into the pot and contemplate the work of genius that is my personally designed cross referenced chart, running through all the possibles and impossibles.

Charlie's next move only brings him three moves closer to the Computer Room and five quid closer to Bankruptcy, while Ted rolls a six on his first attempt unlocking the Computer Room door and, in his bonus roll, gets another six, then a five, bringing him into the Comms Room with me.

"You could've locked the door," I murmur uncharitably.

"Why bother?" he asks, smiling broadly, "because we all know it was THE BASTARD, IN THE COMMS ROOM, WITH THE FAULTY POWER POINT!!!!!"

A quick round-robin of the table seems to prove his point and he digs amongst the winnings to get to the envelope.

"And the nominees are..." he chuckles, as he one by one reveals the cards within, "The Comms Room, The Bastard and The Faulty Power Point. GENTLEMEN, IT HAS BEEN A PLEASURE!"

While Ted's forcing down a victory pint the rest of us dash to the Gents, noticing as we do that the sun appears to be up and that it's about an hour till work time.

Sigh.

. . . about 2 hours later in Mission Control . . .

"I still can't believe you missed it!" the PFY chuckles. "I showed you the Cooling Pipe card in your first guess."

"Yeah I must have forg.."

My response is cut short by the arrival of the Boss with a long list of complaints and grievances that he's chosen to address today, of all days, when I'm tired, slightly inebriated and broke.

>CLONG!<

"Don't tell me," the PFY says as I help the groggy Boss back into Mission Control. "THE BASTARD, IN THE COMMS ROOM, WITH THE COOLING PIPE"

"Which only goes to prove you can't be wrong every time," I say, nodding cheerfully. 


Episode 32 "WOAH THERE, Crash Gordon!" the PFY shouts as our engineer prepares to put our system back together "How's about you go get another disk drive!?"

"Huh?" the engineer asks blankly. "I just replaced it."

"Yeah, then you dropped the drive and the tray off the desk onto the floor!"

"It won't harm the disk, they're rated to 9 Gs!"

"Save it for some who believes you!" the PFY snaps disinterestedly.

"But it's a valid replacement disk - and it's new, not a service drive!"

"I don't give a crap if it's new, it's been dropped!"

"But it can take it!"

"If it was designed to 'take it' they wouldn't pack it in foam AND WRITE FRAGILE ON THE BLOODY BOX!"

"It's probably an old box," he pinocchios.

"No, it's a new box," the PFY says, fingering some barcode gibberish on the side which probably means something to people without lives.

"Well let's just see if it fires up, eh?" he asks.

"DON..." the PFY shouts as the engineer flips the power switch.

. . .

"There, see, it's seen the drive!" >Clickety< he says, firing up the SCSI card BIOS tools. "Hmmm, Low level format with error checking just to be sure it's ok... >click< uh... ...YES I'm sure.."

"DON'T CL..."

>click< "Too, late, it's running! The quicker we get it formatted the quicker it'll be in service!"

"Uh," the PFY says, suppressing anger. "You've just started a low level format of the surviving member of the mirrored set - not the disk you just replaced"

"I... Oh. Well, it's a RAID set, so you'll be able to recover it from the other drive."

"... Tell me, did you actually do any computing training when you changed careers from rounding up stock?" the PFY seethes.

"Wa?"

"He's implying that you're a complete cowboy who doesn't know the first thing about computing because if you did you'd know you'd just destroyed our dataset," I say helpfully, reaching for the computer room phone and tapping out the service number.

"Don't you do backups then?" he asks.

. . .

Two hours later he's gone and a replacement's arrived.

"So what's the problem again?"

"He removed the failed disk, put a new one in the hot plug tray, dropped the tray on the ground, then put it into the machine then formatted the wrong disk," I say.

"Oh," he says. "So you've lost your data. But surely you'll just recover it from backup? I mean there's not a lot I can do."

"We'd like you to replace the disk he dropped," I say, kindly.

"?! It's working isn't it?"

Sigh.

"It's working now," I say slowly. "But its lifetime is likely to be severely shortened by the mistreatment, which means it'll probably fail in a couple of months - or hours - instead of a couple of years."

"Well firstly the company would want proof that our engineer dropped the drive - which I'm guessing you don't have, but secondly the drive's actually working so I can't replace it - there's nothing wrong with it!.. uh... Sorry."

"Ok, lets put it another way. You can order a disk now, have it couriered here and spend a couple of hours lazing around having coffee and biscuits, or you can leave now and have to come back in a couple of hours to replace the failed disk."

"It might not fail within a couple of hours!"

"Trust me - it will!"

"You'll void your warranty if you damage the disk!" he blurts.

"As if we would! You know there were times when we'd run an aggressive disk exercise pattern on the disk until it crapped itself, but these days we're much less sneaky. These days we just use a rubber mallet."

"...On the engineer until he replaces the disk..." the PFY adds.

"It'll leave marks!" he says.

"On you or the disk?" I ask.

"On the disk. There's a misuse indicator inside the drive, they'll know as soon as they open the drive!" he gasps.

"And what would this indicator look like after the drive's been dropped?"

"I... ... I still can't replace the disk - it's all inventory controlled. They know it was working"

"But they know it could fail at any time..."

"Any disk could fail at any time - it could be the one in a million that fails the moment it's installed."

"So why don't we say that it failed just now."

"Because they'll do the diags on it back at base and find out it's still working, and then I'll get it in the neck for not diagnosing it properly."

"So what you're saying is you'd like to help us but the drive needs to be dead before you take it back."

"Yes!" he gushes happily, having made his point.

"And you'd really like to help us out?"

"Of course!"

Two minutes later, as the PFY and I are watching the engineer pounding the side of the hard drive with a rubber mallet, I can't help thinking that everything's going to be all right after all.

"No one will ever believe you talked him into that," the PFY says, shaking his head.

"No, that's why I'm taping it."

"Smooth!" the PFY nods appreciatively, reaching for a coffee.

"No, smooth is the fact that he's currently beating to death a drive from another machine which isn't even under warranty... On tape..." 


Episode 33 It's a quiet afternoon in Mission Control when I'm woken from my slumber by a dull banging noise coming from the Tape Library room. The sound seems so familiar and yet still so elusive, and for some reason I just can't put my finger on it...

As the sounds seem to die away (die being an all too appropriate term in this case) the penny drops - someone's shut in the tape safe!! Ordinarily this wouldn't cause me the concern that it otherwise should, however another fistful of pennies drop when I realise that the PFY didn't okay any 'lockin' with me and... ... ...it's been a reasonably long time since I saw the PFY. In fact, I think the last time I saw him was when we were in the Tape Library room and he was unloading the safe and I was stacking some fresh tapes on the shelf behind the tape safe door...

>Click< >Grind< >FfffPah<

"!" the PFY says wordlessly falling to the floor.

"Hmmm. You're not looking so flash you know?" I say to the PFY as he starts gasping for lungfuls of breath. "You really should get out more."

"You..." the PFY wheezes, dragging himself into a sitting position "...BASTARD!"

"What?"

"Locking me in the safe!"

"When?"

"Before, when I was unloading the tapes out of the safe."

"I didn't shut you in!"

"Someone bloody did!"

"I..." I say, replaying the morning's activities in my head "...uh... may have closed the door to make room to put another shelf in the shelving unit - but surely you weren't actually IN the safe".

"I was repositioning the sliders!"

"Why didn't you bang on the door?"

"I thought you'd done it on purpose and thought I'd wait patiently until you got bored with the joke."

"I WAS GOING TO HAVE A PUB LUNCH!! I COULD HAVE BEEN HOURS!"

"So you do care?" the PFY sniffs.

"Of course I do. I'm expecting a package of DVDs from Amazon and I wouldn't trust any of the bastards out there to check the packaging is intact!"

And just like that the situation goes from being a simple workplace misunderstanding which could have lead to a slow lonesome death to being something the PFY is going to hold a grudge about. Anyone would think that I'd planned it - anyone in this case being the PFY.

"It was an accident - it could have happened to anyone!" I say.

"Accidents don't just happen, they're caused," the PFY says, repeating one of the primary tenets of Bastard Operatism.

"Yes, yes, but this was just a genuine misunderstanding," I say, realising that I'm going to have to watch my back for the next little while. Six months should do it.

"Where's my pen?" the PFY asks, scrabbling round amongst the rubbish on his desk in an annoyed manner.

"I dunno. Were you using it in the tape room?"

"No!"

"Here, use this" I say, throwing over the pen I'm using.

"THAT'S MY PEN!"

"That's a pen, I'll grant you, but it could be anyone's."

"No, it's mine, I file a little mark at the end so I can recognise them."

"Oh, right" I say, foregoing the opportunity of a long and impressive diatribe about the sadness of people who feel it necessary to take to a piece of disposable stationery with a file. After all it would only make things worse, and I'm really a people person. Or something.

"You stole my pen," the PFY snaps.

"I may have borrowed your pen."

"You stole my pen from my desk, where it lives," he replies.

"It's... just a pen."

"But it's not just a pen is it?" the PFY snaps. "It's a .5mm roller ball in off blue - a very unusual colour. I had to order it specially - which I'm sure you knew when you shut me in the safe!"

"Wait a minute - you're suggesting that I shut you into a safe to provide me with an opportunity to steal a pen that's worth about the price of an average cappuccino?"

"Uh-huh."

"Instead of just ordering a box load of them for the department at no cost to myself?"

"I know how your mind works. Locking me in the safe saves you the hassle of paperwork"

"So tell me, you didn't happen to knock over a bottle of madness serum when you were in the safe did you?

"Tell you what I'll do. RIGHT NOW, I'll ORDER you a whole box of those pens which you can use to your heart's content without worrying about being on someone's hit list. IN FACT, I'll even pay for them myself."

"Believe it when I see it," the PFY says.

"Chuck the pen over so I can get the part number."

"Oh you'd like that wouldn't you?" the PFY says from his position right up against the verge of insanity.

"Ok then, WRITE THE PART NUMBER DOWN and I'll order you a box," I sigh.

The PFY scribbles down a part number and I get an internal order form out. While writing out the form I take the PFY's point about the unusual nature of the blue in his pen. It's almost cerulean. And the width of stroke is that much more impressive than the .4, but not quite as chunky as the .8. Thinking back the ergonomic design of the pen was quite pleasing in a...

"So did you finish putting the sliders into the tape safe?"

"I could hardly do it in the dark!"

"So that's a no then?"

"It'll be done before you've finished ordering the bloody pens!" the PFY says, stomping off.

"Excellent!" I say, screwing up the order form, grabbing the PFY's pen and following him into the tape safe room... 


Episode 34 "You've got to be kidding!" the PFY slurs, putting down his glass of port. "It's Friday at 4:30 - you can't expect me to do anything!"

"It's just a quick job," the user gasps, extricating his laptop from his briefcase.

"Quick as in 'which is the space bar?' or quick as in reinstalling XP on your laptop including non-slipstreamed patches, Office and all your games from scratch?"

"No, no, there's just something a little screwy with it. It seems to work most of the time, but every now and then it runs a little slow."

"When did you last run a virus scan?"

"Every day!" he lies.

"And how often do you update your definitions?"

"Oh, it's set to automatic," he pinocchios.

"Uhuh, and when did you last plug it into the network?"

"Oh, I'd never plug it into the network!" he says.

"Then how do you update the virus definitions?" the PFY asks pointedly.

BUSTED!

"I.. Uh... Well it's automatic!"

"Or your machine is virus infected and you never update your definitions..."

"It's automatic!" he bleats.

"I think he's lying," I say, getting in on the act.

"I'm not!"

"So you'll be willing to submit to a lie detector test?"

"Uh.. ... ...Ok."

"Righto, pop your hand on this."

"What, the mouse pad?"

"MMmm Hmmm."

"It's just a mouse pad!"

"Ok then, so it won't matter if you put your hand on the pad, will it?"

"I... No, I guess not."

"Right. Comfy? Is your machine automatically set to update it's virus definitions?"

"Yes."

"Ok, lets see what the lie detector says about that answer..."

>click click<

We look across to the PFY's desktop, which has a window with the words "He's lying" in large red letters on the screen.

"Ooooh, doesn't look good for today's contestant!" the PFY blurts.

"I... Hey! It's just a Word document! You just opened a Word document called He's Lying.doc - you can see the name in the title bar!"

"The detector has spoken!" I cry loudly.

"It's a bloody word document! Ok, let me have a go and I'll open the one called He's telling the truth.doc."

"There's no such document" the PFY says. "We've never needed one. We've got a She's Lying.doc though."

"So you're saying all users are liars!?"

"Uhhm.. Yes."

"Well I'm not a liar!"

"And the detector says.... Oh, SHE'S lying. Is there something you neglected to reveal in the interview process which you'd like to get off your... chest... now?"

"This is preposterous! In any case I'd still like my machine fixed!" he says. "And I'd like it done before I go home!!"

"And I'd like Claudia Schiffer waiting for me at home with a magnum of lager, but it's not going to happen baby!" I say, refilling my glass. "So how about we settle for a compromise?"

"What sort of compromise?" the user asks.

"You walk away now."

"Yes, and...?" he asks.

"And.... that's it."

"Where's the compromise in that?"

"You'd still be able to walk," the PFY says.

. . . The following Monday . . .

"I've... got a complaint I'd like to talk to you about," the Boss says, cautiously.

"Really? What is it?"

"A user says that he came to you with a problem on Friday afternoon and he got less than satisfactory service."

"How so?"

"He says that he came to you and asked you to take a look at his machine because it was behaving strangely."

"Yes, with you so far?"

"And you didn't help him out."

"Really?"

"Yes we did! In fact, I think we should call him now and sort this out!" the PFY blurts.

"Really?" the Boss says, surprised that it seems to be going so well.

"Most certainly. If someone believes they've had unsatisfactory service from us, it's the least we can do to find out what the story is!"

"Well if it helps get to the bottom of things."

>ring<

"Hello?"

"Hi, Systems and Networks here, just following up on a complaint you lodged with our manager."

"yyyes?"

"So it's your claim that your machine wasn't virus infected?" says the PFY motioning the boss over to his screen.

"Yes!"

>click click<

"And that you automatically update your definitions."

"Yes!"

>click click<

"And that you're a man, not a woman in drag?"

"WHAT?!"

"It's your claim that you're a man."

"Of course it is!"

>click click<

"And you feel that you were treated poorly?"

"Of course I was!"

"Ok, thanks for your time, someone will get back to you shortly."

"I can't believe it," the Boss says, looking up from the PFY's document. "He's a woman!!?!! Are you sure this thing is accurate?"

"Oh yes, we had it calibrated for voice stress last week when she rang asking for your number."

"My number?"

"Yes, apparently she fancies you!"

"What? I... Well.." the Boss burbles wandering out of Mission Control with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"The 'fancies you' bit was laying it on a little thick don't you think?"

"My thinking," the PFY counters, "is worst case scenario we lose one of them. Best case scenario, we lose both of them AND take a patent out on our lie-detecting mouse pads!!!"

"It's win-win isn't it?"

"You betcha!!!"


Episode 35 There's something indefinable about the Christmas season that makes the whole workplace seem a little brighter. It could be the impending arrival of relatives, the promise of presents or just the knowledge that for a short space of time you're free of the horrors of the workplace. Whatever it is, the workplace becomes a much nicer place to work and people often put aside their petty differences in the spirit of goodwill.

"We can't call it Christmas any more," the HR Droid says, reading from his memo. "From now on it's got to be called the holiday season."

"Why?" the PFY asks.

"Because not everyone celebrates Christmas. It's not PC."

"So the non-Christmas lot will be working through then?"

"Well, obviously not. It's a public holiday!"

"So this is a cake-and-eat-it-too situation then?"

"I... don't want to go into it, that's just the way it is. Now... uh... the next point is that if you're participating the five quid anonymous present thing you must adhere to the five quid maximum."

"Eh?"

"Last year one of our traders donated an overly large present 'because he earns so much more than the normal participant'."

"..which made everyone else feel like fried dogs balls on toast?" the PFY asks.

"Pardon?"

"I think he meant that it probably made the other people feel bad," I say, interpreting.

"It did. And it's not to happen again!"

"Tell you what, why don't you leave that item with us to bring up - as a Christmas treat to you."

"I... Well ok then, thanks!"

. . .

"So which trader was it?" the PFY says, scrolling through the directory.

"Brown," I say, fingering the name on the screen. "He gave an espresso machine."

"I... That is excessive!"

"Yes, but it goes nicely with my toaster - I had to X-ray everything for security reasons."

"So he knew it was going to you?"

"He may have been under the impression that it was going to the young woman in accounts he was having a clandestine relationship with at the time, but I'm sure he felt better about it when she dumped him after getting the five pairs of running socks..."

"And you think it'll happen again?"

"He does appear to be spending a large amount of his time receiving stationary selection lessons from the temp in the supply cupboard..."

"We've got a temp in the supply cupboard!!!!" the PFY sniggers, just before a surge of voltage surges through his frame.

"So," I snap as the PFY recovers his faculties. "We need to get to work. Now how do we stop him buying something excessive?"

"Ask him?" the PFY suggests.

"No."

"Tell him?"

"No."

"Threaten him?"

"No. No we need to remove the urge to splurge".

"Steal his money?"

"He's a trader, they don't have any money."

"Steal his credit card!"

"Getting warmer..."

"Oh..." the PFY says, handing me the phone.

>clickety< >click< ...

"Hi, systems and networks here," I say, speaking to Mr Brown. "We've got a problem with your username and I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to logout and log back in again."

"Sure," he burbles, tapping away quickly. ".... Wait, No, I can't!"

"Yes, as we thought, it's a problem with our network but I'm AFRAID you're going to have to come down here in person for us to change it - rules and all that."

"Okay, well I suppose I can't work without it."

"Always the way," I sympathise. "And if you can bring a couple of forms of ID with you too."

"Sure"...

. . . ten minutes later . . .

"Ok, so here's your drivers license and credit card back," the PFY says, handing back a substitute he crafted earlier, "and if you could just select a four-digit PIN number on the keyboard over there which you can use to automatically verify yourself if you ever need to get support over the phone again."

"Oh, ok, >tap< >tap< >tap< >tap<"

"And once more to lock it in."

>tap< >tap< >tap< >tap<

"And you did make sure not to use the same PIN number as any other service?"

"Oh... uh... yes!" he lies.

. . . two minutes later . . .

"Yes, I'd like to increase my credit limit," I say, once the formalities of the credit card number and expiry date are out of the way.

"Certainly" the professional young woman at the end of the line says "And if you could just type in your PIN number..."

>tap< >tap< >tap< >tap<

"...no, I'm sorry, that's not working."

"Backwards," the PFY mouths silently.

"My mistake, I'll try again," I say tapping away.

"Excellent. And a final verification, your mother's maiden name?"

"!!!!!"

"Uh, Eva Braun."

"Wa... Uhh... that's not what I have here!"

"Course it's not, I usually make one up - what with the connotations and all..."

"I... see. Well, I suppose if you know your PIN... What limit would you like?"

I go for gold and pick an excessive number out of thin air.

"Uh.. I thought you said you wanted to increase your limit?"

*BONANZA*

"Oh of course, I was thinking about the price of the car I was thinking of buying my girlfriend - how about you just double the limit?"

"I'll just see... >clickety< .... Annnnnnd that's been accepted. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Can I update my emergency contact details - you know, the number you call if you notice a drastic change in spending behaviour?"

"Sure..."

... 30 seconds later...

"...and is that all I can do for you today?"

"Can you tell me where the nearest money machine is?"

The rest of the day is a bit of a blur, ending up at a bar so posh the toilet lollies are menthol flavour.

"Just one more 30-quid-a-glass cognac!" I say to the PFY. "I sense we're on the edge."

"I can't. I can't do it," the PFY slurs, sliding off his chair onto the floor.

"Don't do it for me, do it for the company! Do it because it's bloody Christmas!"

. . . Early the next morning . . .

"I'm sorry sir, your card has been declined!" the Posh Barman says.

"Thank goodness," the PFY gasps. "Can you call me a cab?"

"Of course sir - you're a cab."

Drinking all day and most of the night, hearing a good dry joke from a barman then getting the crap kicked out of you because the PFY landed a right hook on a bar stool - now THAT is priceless.


Episode 36 

There's nothing like a workplace on Boxing Day! Sure, it's deader than a dead thing on a bank holiday and anyone with a life would be doing something else, but this is where the year is prepared for...

First job is cleaning up the debris in the cafeteria - which is quite a task after several cases of anonymously donated cheap bubbly arrived on the premises on the last day and were immediately consumed by the staff, resulting in a bit of... untidiness.

Once that's done I abuse my heightened level of access to the building to snaffle all the personal and company digital cameras I can find, putting each in it's own carefully labelled brown envelope.

...

"What're they for?" the PFY asks, scaring the crap out of me in the all but abandoned building as I sneak back into a darkened Mission Control.

"What are what for?" I ask, slipping the bag of cameras behind me.

"The bag of cameras behind your back," the PFY says, tapping the CCTV console feed.

Bugger, I'll have to make him an accomplice...

"It's... my annual incriminating evidence gathering mission."

"?"

"Every year there's a Christmas party and every year people do some inadvisable things."

"So?"

"In the past some of these things were lucky enough to be recorded on the CCTV system, but in these days of biometrics and enhanced burden of proof the leverage of a poor quality black and white image isn't what it once was."

"Oh I'm fairly sure the authorities could base a case on what I've recorded this morning..." the PFY hints.

"Be that as it may, I'm after bigger fish. Last year I left disposable cameras in strategic places in the hope that they'd be used to capture 'magic moments', but I was sadly disappointed."

"So you're stealing people's digital cameras to make up for it?"

“No. They'll be returned to their place of origin once I've accessed the flash memory”

"FLASH memory being the operative word” the PFY comments, winking.

... Half an hour later ...

"Well that was a bust!" the PFY says, looking at the collections of images. "Hardly blackmail material, is it?"

“Yes, well, finding incriminating evidence was the original plan but it occurred to me that with a bit of memory retardant the authenticity of reality could be challenged."

“And translated into English this means?"

"I realised that finding images was a crap plan. A far better plan would involve them finding incriminating images..."

“Yes but there aren't any” the PFY explains slowly.

“I think you mean there aren't any yet.” I say, firing up Photoshop...

“But they'll know they're fakes!”

“No, they'll probably just hope they're fakes.”

“What do you mean?”

“In the week prior to Christmas I invested heavily in an end-of-line champagne substitute known by some as Château de legopener, sending several cases to the Company under a pseudonym. I'm sure you witnessed the effects..”

“So you're suggesting that most people won't remember what they did?”

“I'm suggesting there might be a grey area or two which could be filled by an image or two from Doctor Bastard's Lab!!!”

“Will it work?”

“Of course. I take all the images from the cameras >clickety<, feed them into the morph package, >click< add a bit of anonymous porn, select our... victim.. and Viola!”

“Nothing happened!” the PFY says.

“Of course not, it takes about two hours an image – but time well spent, I assure you!”

. . . three days later . . .

“I'm a little... disturbed by some images that were printed on our colour printer,” I say to The Boss. “Images, what images?” he asks – in a hunted tone.

“Uh.. I'm not sure how you would describe them.. Candid snaps maybe? Only they look to have come from your workstation late in the afternoon on the 23rd....”

“There's nothing on my camera,” he blurts.

“I didn't suggest there was,” I counter. “Although one of them does feature you. Well, a part of you.”

“Yes, yes, well just throw the print-outs away. Or actually I'll throw them away!”

“Yeah, I could do that but the company has a policy about images of this nature – who to notify, how to gather evidence for the disciplinary process, etc.”

“Disciplinary Process! Surely it's none of the company's business,” the Boss blurts. “Can't you just.. pretend you didn't see anything?” “Oh, you mean act as if I hadn't seen you in the photograph – the same way you could act as if you didn't see the bottom line of the expenses claim I'm about to present.”

“So we're talking blackmail?”

“Really? I didn't notice one – although I wasn't looking too carefully. I could check the prints...”

And just like that the Boss is a broken man, signing any form we put in front of him - It's almost too easy. While he's contemplating the possibility that he's been living a lie I make a quick call to ensure that the expenses claims will get processed in the next pay run.

“I'm afraid the close-off date for the next run has passed,” the Accounts woman informs me.

“Can't you make an exception for me?” I ask.

“I don't think so.”

“So it's only your Boss you make exceptions for – giving him his.... Christmas present early... so to speak."

“What do you mean?” She asks, taking on the Boss's hunted tone.

“I think you know."

“I..."

“..think you can make an exception after all?”

“I'll get right onto it”

“Course you will...”

Yeah, it is too easy.