Episode 1 The good thing about the New Year is that past differences are put behind oneself and the year's started with a clean slate. Everything's that little bit nicer and you get the feeling that in some small way you're contributing to the ongoing goodwill of the workplace. True, my attempts and maintaining a positive outlook in previous years have failed dismally but this time I'll really give it a go...

>Ring ring<

"Hi, you're talking with Simon from Systems and Networks!" I gush cheerfully.

"Why's my machine running so slow?" the user asks, skipping the social niceties.

Detecting the subtle undertones of a problem I decide - in the spirit of geeky glasnost - to do my best to help.

"What do you mean by slow?" I ask. "Does it take a long time to wake up, or is it slow all the time?"

"It's just slow. It was fine yesterday but it's slow today," he replies.

I... can do this!

On attempting to access the machine I notice that it IS taking an exceptional amount of time to connect - and when it does the data rate's similar to that of remote desktop over acoustic coupler...

"You're not... doing anything on the network are you?"

"No."

"Not browsing or downloading anything?"

"No."

"Well I've connected to your machine and can't see anything TOO unusual running."

"You connected to my machine?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Remote administration."

"But you don't know my password?"

"But I do know the Domain administrator password - and your machine is a member of the Domain."

"But it's my machine - surely you need to get my permission first?"

I feel the stirring of the Dark side, but suppress it quickly!!

"TECHNICALLY it's the COMPANY'S machine, and I was accessing it in the resolution of your problem, not out of idle curiosity."

"Oh, I see. Well what happens now?"

"I'll just have a closer look at the network traffic to check on a couple of processes..."

>clickety<

"Ah."

"Yes?" the user asks.

"Get an iPod for Christmas did you?"

"Yyyess, why?"

"And you loaded all the music off your home machine into it?"

"Yes."

"And then you copied all the music onto your desktop?"

"Well, yes - I want to save the battery for commuting."

"Uhuh. And then you told all your workmates about the 30 gig of music you'd just put into a public share on your desktop?"

"Oh one of them wanted to get a copy of one of the songs I..."

"About 20 of them are currently getting copies of all your songs."

"Oh."

"Yes, and the added impact would be the backup you're running. Why'd you be backing up your music to the backup server?"

"Oh, in case I lose it!!!"

"So you're worried about it being lost from your desktop machine?"

"Yes."

"When you could put it all back from your iPod - or failing that off your home machine via your iPod - or failing that your fellow worker's machines - or failing that the original media - or the backup DVDs you've probably written at home?"

"Yeah, but that's a hassle."

nnnnngggg!

"I see, well I don't think there's a lot of help I can give you apart from >clickety< cancelling your backup session and >clickety< removing your ability to share files. Has that helped?"

"I... suppose so."

"Ok, anything else I can help you with?" I ask, thinking nice New Year thoughts.

"I... Could you increase my mailbox quota limit?"

"Uhhh, Sure, I think we can do that. How much to you think you'll need?"

"Well I'd like about 10 gig if I can?"

"10 gig, that's a lot of space - are you sure you're going to need it all?"

"I think so. I want to send all my other MP3s that don't fit on my iPod to my work account so that I can listen to them here."

"And you've got 10 gig of files to put through our mail system?" I ask, squeezing my mouse in a non-approved manner.

"Yeah. But I also thought that if they were in my mailbox I could play them when I went to an internet cafe or something just by calling up the mailserver..."

Nnnnnggggggggggggg! Can't... suppress... the... anger... Can't... stop... the... voices.....

"I'll call you back" I blurt, slamming down the phone. "How long was that?"

"Uuh... seventeen minutes" the PFY says, looking up at the clock.

"Seventeen minutes. And what did I manage last year?"

"Fourteen - although you timed it from when you entered the building last time, so it was probably more like 10."

"So I'm 50 per cent better?"

"You would have been if you hadn't deleted all his music files and uploaded the faulty BIOS to his iPod rendering it useless."

"I didn't!"

"Yeah, but it was only a matter of time so I just cut out the middle man and did it for you."

"Oh. Ah well, better luck next year!"

"Two steps forward, one step back and all that," the PFY responds helpfully. "Now how's about shutting down the mail server and taking an extended morning tea?"

"As far as plans go, it's a scorcher!!" 


Episode 2 

"And if I just >tap< move this >tap< >tap< a fraction of an inch over >tap< I'll be able to >tap< put it >tap< >tap< >Crunch!<..."

"...into the dustbin?" the PFY finishes helpfully.

"Bugger. It almost went, though. It's probably just not made very robustly."

"Yes," the PFY adds thoughtfully. "When will motherboard manufacturers realise that so many engineers are skilled in 'The Way of the Hammer' and strengthen their componentry accordingly?"

"I..."

"After all, the Way of the Hammer is an art passed down from generation to generation."

"It's not like I INTENDED.."

"From grandfather to father, from father to uncoordinated son."

"I hardly think it's..."

"A time-honoured tradition of the passing on of skills - were your chosen career PANELBEATING or DEBT COLLECTION, BUT IT'S NOT, IS IT - IT'S THE REPAIR OF MICROELECTRONIC CIRCUITS!"

"Yes, but it only needed to move a fraction of a mil - I've done it dozens of times!"

"And how many times was it successful?"

"Every time!" the engineer responds, sounding slightly hurt.

"I'm talking about the machine being in a working condition at the end - not the hammer surviving!"

"It's..."

"...a buggered phone charging machine?" the PFY finishes.

... One motherboard replacement later ...

"It's just that these motherboards aren't designed for this particular PCI card - there's no clearance because of the AGP card," the engineer explains as he puts the machine back together and attempts to squeeze the new card in.

"Why not put it in another slot?" the PFY says wincing at the butchery taking place.

"There's no slots free."

"Look, if you moved this card to that slot you could use the vacant slot - with more clearance - for the new card."

"But then I'd have to remove that card."

"To make space, yes."

"But this is just an install job, I can't do modifications - it's not on the work request." he says, flashing his PDA.

"But now it's a motherboard replacement job, too."

"Which I've done."

"So why don't you move the cards around - they were all out anyway."

"No, I couldn't do that - I'd be liable if something went wrong after the move".

"What about if I did the move," the PFY snaps testily.

"If you did the move you'd void the maintenance on the box."

"But, if I'd done the move before you got here, you'd never have known."

"But you didn't."

"What about if, while you were having a cup of coffee, the board suddenly moved."

"Well you'd void your maintenance."

"Why?"

"Because the card had been moved."

"But no-one would know it'd been moved - it's not like you document the card locations of all the machines you maintain is it?"

"No, but I would know it had been moved" the engineer responds, in a life-threateningly pedantic manner.

"How?"

"I'd remember."

"Not if you had Alzheimer's."

"I don't have Alzheimer's!"

"Well maybe not Alzheimer's, but what about a bang on the head?"

"I haven't had a >CLANG!< >thud<"

"You have now... "

. . . 10 minutes later . . .

"...and you must have hit your head on the top of the rack when you stood up," the PFY explains to his groggy victim.

"Oh, really? Right well, nothing broken so I'd best get this card in... .... Wasn't that card in that slot over ther.. >CLANG!< >thud<"

> BOFH EPISODE COMPILER ERROR, RECURSIVE LOOP DETECTED <

... >BOFH EPISODE COMPILER ERROR, CLOCK RESET< minutes later ...

"...so I'd best get this card in. Ah, at least we've got a free slot with some room around it. A lot of the time you have to cram it in against the AGP card which means you sometimes have to give the PCI slot connector a little bit of a tap. And...."

"And?" the PFY asks.

"Do you ever get... Deja Vu?"

"No, but we get most of the other Sky channels."

"Pardon?"

"Did you say something?" the PFY asks innocently.

"I... No. Right, well it all seems to be done. Now if you could just sign here as some of the work I did was chargeable."

">clang< You don't need me to sign there," the PFY says, staring into the engineers eyes intently.

"I don't need you to sign there."

"This isn't the job you're supposed to be at."

"This isn't the job I'm supposed to be at."

"You can go about your business."

"I'll go about my business."

"OK then," the PFY says. "Got all your stuff?"

"Yes, I've got my tools, got the install software and... What's this motherboard off?"

"Oh it's a broken one," the PFY says. "One of our other engineers left it."

"Oh, because it looks like someone tried to move the PCI slot over by ta.. >CLONG!<"

> BOFH EPISODE COMPILER ERROR, RECURSION REENTERED, EPISODE ABORTING < 


Episode 3 "Did you know..?" the Boss asks, strolling into Mission Control and attempting to read at the same time (which probably accounts for those thudding noises we heard earlier).

"Yes we did," the PFY says, getting in early before the Boss can really get started.

"How can you possibly know, I haven't told you what I'm talking about yet!?"

"We're quite used to not knowing what you're talking about, but in any case - we're Systems and Networks - it's our job to know," the PFY replies smugly.

"According to last year's 360 degree internal survey," the Boss continues ,"you're rated as the least-liked members of staff".

"Well, IT has never had a good rep with the punters," I counter.

"Not IT, just you two."

"Yeah, we knew that," the PFY says.

"I don't think you did. This report only came in this morning and, with the exception of this extract, has only been seen by the senior managers in the company."

"Yeah, we knew that, too."

"I find that rather unlikely. The results were collated by a top-flight company..."

"... which completed the draft findings two days ago, OKed by their auditing and legal people yesterday, was printed and bound in the early hours of this morning, delivered around here by a motorcycle courier, registration plate LM..."

"How can you know this?!"

"We're Systems and Networks," the PFY replies, oozing smugness from every pore.

"The report was delivered to the front desk at 8:22am," I continue, "received by Dave".

"Short Dave or Big Dave?" the PFY asks.

"Short Dave."

"Oh."

"...and was collected by the CEO's PA - who, incidentally, was the brains behind commissioning the report - was read by her between 9am and 10am and summarised into three main points to fit the CEO's attention span by 10:20am."

"I..." the Boss says.

"The CEO called the Head of IT about point two - the extremely poor rating of the Systems and Networks people - at around 10:40am; you were brought in at around 10:45am at which time the CEO unveiled the board's master plan to have a second, snap random survey executed in a couple of days, the results of which will be the basis for a round of dismissals at all levels of the company - no exceptions."

"It'll never fly!" the PFY says.

"It will!" the Boss blurts emphatically. "The CEO's already talked a large management consulting website into interviewing random managers for tomorrow's article on pruning corporate deadwood. The plan's going to be mentioned there!"

"Which managers?"

"It's random - no one knows. So you'd better do something about raising your profile!"

"Nah - People forgive and forget!"

"You're the worst-rated people in the company, they won't forget that - You need a plan to improve your rating!"

"Yeah, well, we had a plan to employ a stack of parking wardens."

"What?"

"To create a 'buffer zone'. But then we realised it'd cost us money so we changed the plan."

"To?"

"The same as the first plan, only we'd use insurance salesmen. It would cost less, what with commission-based payments and all."

"And I take it you've abandoned this plan?"

"Yes, with plan three we realised that we need to distinguish ourselves as a 'cut above' average."

"How?"

"Random acts of kindness, generosity above and beyond the call of duty, that sort of thing."

"I... don't know that it'll work given that you've only got three days..."

"And it's lunchtime," the PFY interrupts as the second sweep hand hits 12pm.

>EOC<

. . . 11am, three days later . . .

"So how the hell did staying in the pub on a three-day bender help your case any?" the Boss asks as we trundle into his office.

"We realised," I explain, "that by limiting contact with the punters we'd stop our situation getting worse".

"But I thought you said you wanted to be a cut above average!"

"We do!"

"Well how'd that help?" the Boss gasps.

"There are two ways to get to be above average," the PFY explains, raising a finger. "One, strive to improve."

"Yes yes," the Boss says. "And two?"

"Lower the average," the PFY says, raising a second finger and gesturing.

"I... What do you mean?"

"OK. Let's say finance got an anonymous tip-off that loads of people buy their mates meals and drinks and get them reimbursed under the guise of entertainment expenses and office sundries. As a result, the finance department rejects all outstanding expenses claims and actions an audit of all current and past claims, requiring people to produce receipts or else reimburse the company?"

"Yes... that would be unpopular," the Boss says thoughtfully.

"That IS unpopular," the PFY says.

"Or security get tipped off that smokers are leaving the external fire doors open and, as a result, people from other companies are sneaking in for the free lunch buffet - resulting in a no-smoking ban for staff within 10 yards of the building and compulsory ID card checks before you can get your lunch."

"Oh yes, that is rather annoying," the Boss concedes.

"But the worst one would be the quote on that Management Website from one of the managers they interviewed, calling the staff... ahmmm.... " I say, trying to recollect correctly.

"...a bunch of inbred hermaphrodite proles with the collective appeal of an unflushed toilet at a curry house," the PFY quotes.

"You're joking!"

"No no, that's what it says on the website! You should have see pagehits on the company proxy server. I think everyone saw it!"

"Well who said that?!" the Boss gasps.

...

...

...

>knock knock<

"That'll be security," the PFY says nodding at the door.

"YOU BASTARDS!!! But how'd you know they'd talked to me!?"

"We're Systems and Networks," the PFY sighs. "It's our job to know..." 


Episode 4 "Uh... " the Boss says, sneaking into Mission Control "...there's been a complaint."

"A complaint?" I respond.

"It may not be about you. It's about a phone call that came from your phone."

"Really, how can you be sure?"

"I called our telecommunications helpdesk who dialled in and looked up the call - and it came from this office."

"So it could have come from anyone with access to this office?"

"I suppose so. How many people is that?"

"Three, plus the modem on my desktop machine. So that means it was myself, my assistant or you."

"Okay, well I'm sure that I can account for my movem..."

"And getting back to the complaint..." I interrupt, before the Boss can present his alibi complete with witness statements from members of the local trainspotters' guild.

"Yes. Apparently you..."

"Or someone using his phone..." the PFY adds tactfully.

"Yes, ...has been harassing the automated attendant of one of our suppliers."

"Sorry?" the PFY and I say in unison.

"Someone's harassing the automated attendant at one of our suppliers," the Boss repeats.

"So what you're saying..." the PFY says slowly, "...is that someone's harassing... a machine?"

"Yes."

"And you realise the pointlessness in harassing something infinitely impatient?"

"No, they're harassing it in a different way."

"Wait a minute. Who complained about this - the machine?"

"Don't be ridiculous, one of their engineers was looking into the unavailability of their attendant and found that someone had been abusing it."

"So first there was harassment then some abuse?"

"I... Look, regardless of what it was, they'd like it investigated!"

"Okay so first things first, what was being abused?"

"Their fault reporting mechanism, one of those IVF things."

"I think you mean IVR," the PFY corrects kindly.

"Oh. Right, well anyway, it was the hardware fault system that was being abused."

"Ok," I say, entering the conversation. "Why don't we just ring the system and make sure it's not a fault at their end appearing like abuse. We'll pretend we have a faulty hard drive like... this one - which we had this morning."

"Excellent," the Boss responds.

. . . >beep< >beep< >brrrrrrrrrrrr brrrrrrrrrrrr<

"Welcome to the Platinum Class twenty four hour Support Line. To log a Software Support call, press 1, To log a hardware support call, press 2."

"Press 2," the Boss says.

>beep<

"Thank you. For desktop support press 1, for server support press 2, for storage support press 3, or for new maintenance contracts, press 4."

"Press 2," the Boss urges. "It is off a server isn't it?"

"Yes," I respond. "But is it a server problem or a storage problem?"

"I.... Press 2 and see."

>beep<

"Thank you. Please enter the thirteen digit serial number of the faulty item."

>thirteen beeps later<

"I'm sorry, that serial number is not recognised, please re-enter the number."

"Type it in again," the Boss says.

"I got it right the first time," I reply testily.

"Well go back a level and try the Storage option."

"There's no back-a-level option"

"Press Hash."

"I'm sorry, that serial number is not recognised, please re-enter the number."

"Hash just repeats the message," the Boss blurts. "Press Star."

>beep<

"Thank you, your call has been logged."

"There!" the boss says. "Done!"

"Yes, these intuitive IVR systems are great aren't they?" the PFY adds sarcastically.

"What do you mean?"

"They've got no information - no serial number, no contact name, no job information."

"They'll call back for that."

"Yuh-huh," the PFY blurts.

"Alright, call them again."

"Welcome to the Platinum Class twenty four hour Support Line..."

. . .

"Thank you. For desktop support press 1, for server support press 2, for storage support press 3..."

"Press 3!" the Boss says.

>beep<

"Thank you, please enter your seven digit support contract number."

"Isn't it a serial number?" the Boss asks.

"That was the server option, this is storage," the PFY explains. "You never use the same key twice."

"It's ok," I say, pressing in some digits. "I've got the number written down."

"Thank you. Please enter the thirteen digit serial number of the faulty item."

>thirteen beeps later<

"I'm sorry, that serial number is not recognised, please re-enter the number."

"Press 0," the Boss gasps.

>beep<

"Nothing's happening..." the PFY says.

"Maybe it thinks it's a serial number, press the Hash."

>beep<

"Still nothing," the PFY adds.

"Hang up and call again!" the Boss snaps angrily.

. . . Three calls later . . .

"THIS time!" the Boss says, with just a tinge of hysteria in his voice.

"Welcome to the Platinum Class twenty four hour Support Line..."

. . .

"Thank you. For desktop support press 1, for server support press 2, for storage support press 3..."

"PRESS 0!" the Boss shouts.

>beep<

>brrrrrrrr< >brrrrrrrr<

"It's ringing!!!" the Boss chirps happily. "Finally. See, you've just got to know how to use these things"

"Yes," I reply. "Say, did you ever watch the last episode of Sapphire and Steel where they're stuck in a time loop forever and ever?"

"Ay? What's that got to do with anyth..."

"Welcome to the Platinum Class...."

"THE... BASTARDS!" the Boss screams, before making a strange noise and staring off into space vacantly.

"And do what we do now," the PFY says, helping the Boss to the chair beside the comfy strap-around jacket, "is fire up the old desktop modem on demon dial with random IVR entry enabled. And we let it run for a couple of hours."

"Will it... get an answer?" the Boss whimpers.

"No, they've only got one engineer - and he just looks after their IVR system."

"I..." the boss burbles, going vacant again.

"But don't worry, when he calls you back to complain again, you can be the one to tell him to log his fault with our IT complaints line. Our IVR complaints line. It's 10 levels deep, 12 options per level and recursive. It's so convoluted I think I saw Amelia Earheart in there. And, more importantly, it uses caller ID to ring back if you don't complete the job log..."

"Ah..." the Boss sighs dreamily, wandering back to his office .

It's the least we can do... 


Episode 5 I'm sitting in Mission Control listening to the PFY recount the amusing anecdotes from his night on the overproofed Rum when the phone rings. Not unusual in itself, but it's an outside line so I answer it.

"Hello?" I ask

...

>Click<

"User?" the PFY asks.

"Mmm?"

"A user - calling you?"

"No, just a headhunter, wanted to know if I wanted to work for some company opening up an office in this country and needing someone who knows the lay of the land."

"What was it worth?" the PFY asks.

"No idea, didn't ask."

"So you're that happy here?"

"Not as such, but you do get a bit complacent - the devil you know and all that."

"So you're not even going to find out?"

"Nah."

>ring<

External Line again. I hands-free it this time.

"Hello?"

"Hi, we must have got cut off last time", the Headhunter woman says. "I was just telling you about a wonderful opportunity with a company opening up a branch office in this country."

"Yes, you mentioned that. What does the position pay?"

"I...Well they have a very attractive remuneration package."

"How much?"

"It's difficult to say without an interview..."

"Ballpark figure?" I ask.

"I'm afraid I'm not really at libert..."

>clatter<

>ring<

"Say 10,000 more than you make now," she says, before I can put the receiver down.

"And how do you know what I make now?"

"I can't really s..."

>clatter<

>ring<

"Your boss told me!" she gasps, when I answer the phone.

"Now why would my boss want to tell you what I earnt - unless he's trying to get rid of me?"

"We're old friends," she gasps, before I can hang up again.

"Sorry, I don't buy it," I say, reaching for the switchook.

"There's a finder's fee!" she gasps. "The agency just needs to put three names forward - you don't even have to take the job!!!" "Go to the interview," the PFY urges, playing Bill's advocate. "What the hell!"

"And how do I go about getting an interview?" I ask.

"You know the Slough rail station?..."

>clatter<

>ring<

"The job's not in Slough!" she blurts. "That's just our offices - the placement agency."

"I'm afraid I'm allergic to Slough, so how about you come here - we could do an interview over lunch?"

"I...OK then - tomorrow?"

"That'll be fine" I respond, giving her a time and place.

"Lunch?" The PFY asks.

"What the hell, a free lunch if nothing else. I'll make up my mind after I've necked as many pints as they'll buy me!"

...After lunch the next day...

"I'm leaving," I say, crashing through into Mission Control with a blood alcohol level so high that it probably qualifies as embalming.

"What?" the PFY asks "I thought you were only going to get a free lunch!"

"That was till I saw the 'attractive remuneration package'."

"How good could she be?"

"She's fine," I respond, "but the job's better: Money, medical, discretionary spending budget, training budget and unlimited sick leave. I'm out of here!"

"You'll need to give six weeks notice," the Boss snaps.

>clickety< >click< >tap< >tap< >clickety<

"I did six weeks ago!" I respond. "Check your Inbox."

"Well," he sniffs, knowing the sanctity of his Inbox has once again been violated. "I'll have security escort you to your desk to collect your personals. I wouldn't worry about us though - I'm sure we'll find a suitable replacement in no time."

"Don't worry about the personal crap," I say, grabbing my coat and coffee mug "I'm sorted!"

"But..." the PFY says "..aren't you going to..."

"Stay around for drinks? - nah!"

...

A week later I'm sitting at my new desk twiddling my thumbs and basically killing time for four weeks until all the gear I've ordered arrives. It's getting so boring I consider writing some policy documents.

My laughter is interrupted by a phone call on the one working line in the building.

>Ring<

"Hello?"

"Hi", the ubiquitous Headhunting woman says. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in an excellent central city company needing a senior systems and networks administrator?"

"Really, a company I might know perhaps?" I ask casually.

"I...."

"What does the position pay?"

"I...Well they have a very attractive remuneration package."

>clatter<

>ring<

"Five grand more than you make now," she snaps as soon as I pick up.

"Excellent. I suppose it's a deal then. But don't you lose your commission for me walking out in the first week?"

"Nah, we don't have that clause in our contracts," she chuckles.

"Lovely. So just let me get this straight, you headhunted me to this company and now you're headhunting me back to the old company? You don't feel a little...dirty..?"

"Not really."

"Yeah, me neither."

...one week later...

"So, basically you knew she'd try and headhunt you back?" the PFY gasps.

"Of course - heaps of people do it! And, by not documenting anything I do I'm basically ensuring that the company will want to reemploy me - so long as the money isn't too extortionate!" I cry.

"I...Don't you feel, well, a little unscrupulous?"

"Yeah...no"

>ring<

"Hi, I was ringing to tell you about a wonderful opportunity with a company opening up a branch office in this country!!"

"It's for you..." I say to the PFY, handing the phone over.


Episode 6 It's always the new guy that starts the trouble. OK, that's not entirely true - very occasionally it's the sleeper who's been happily working away in the company for years who suddenly gets his activation signal - but mostly it's the new guys.

"I now know why Kirk always sent the new guy down to visit the unexplored planet," I tell the PFY as I open the latest memo.

"He didn't always send the new guy," the PFY counters, showing some closet trekkie traits.

"But when he did, what happened to the new guy?"

"They usually never came back."

"That's right. Because Kirk could SPOT A TROUBLEMAKER A MILE AWAY!"

"Yes" the PFY says both dryly and doubtfully.

"Ok, pop quiz. There's a new guy in HR with no redundancies to hand out and no pay rises to veto. What's he going to do to make sure that it looks like he's working?"

"Shuffle papers?"

"No, that's a dead giveaway. He's bored and looking for a way to ensure his name's at the top of the list come promotion time...."

"Uh..."

"There are two common ways to distinguish yourself, either a. by having a fantastic innovative idea which makes the company a better place to work in, or b. taking someone down for some petty violation of a policy that's impossible to implement. And if you can combine both by taking down someone who may have massaged a couple of rules regarding personal disclosure, all the better"

"What do you mean?"

I hand the memo over.

"He wants to see our Data Security Policy document, so what?"

"Get it for me will you?"

"Sure, where is it?"

"And THAT is the problem. If you read on, they also want to see our Disclosure to the Media Policy and Personal Privacy Policy Documents."

"So?"

"So we haven't got them. And as contractors we're required to have them available to the company."

"Oh. How come they've never asked before?"

"Because no one cares. Yes, they care about data security and personal privacy, but they don't want to see a policy documents about them - they'd just like to know that we have a code somewhere which we adhere to."

"And the new guy knows we don't have them?"

"Who knows? He might just be good at his job or he could just be a dyed-in-the-hemp privacy loving hippy. We won't know till we go to the meeting."

"Meeting?"

"Yes, meeting. "See," I say, tapping my memo. "You got one of these memos too, as did the contract DBA."

...Later that day...

"Ok, so I've been looking at your policy documents and just have a few questions," the new HR guy says.

"Mmm?"

"For a start, they're all the same."

"Yes, we agreed to combine our efforts to produce the documents."

"Two years ago," the DBA adds - as rehearsed.

"Uh-huh," the HR person comments. "I note that these contracts look a lot like ones available on the internet. In fact, the section on 'Non-disclosure of personal information' happened upon in the course of your work' is word for word the same as found on this website.

"Really? Great minds must just think alike."

"Which would mean that you'd be able to answer questions on a section at random?"

"Uh...not verbatim responses, but the gist of the document, yes."

"So what about >flip< >flip< Section 4 - Non-Disclosure, subsection B: You observe the actions of an employee which may or may not be part of their work during a period of the day which might be personal time. Under what circumstances would it be permissible to communicate these actions to a fellow employee?"

"You mean if someone's probably on work time, probably arsing around - and we see it - could we tell their Boss?" the PFY asks.

"That's one possible interpretation, yes."

"Sure."

"No you can't," the HR geek counters.

"What?"

"You can't communicate it because a. it's potentially their personal time and b. it's potentially unrelated to work. If there's any ambiguity privacy must be maintained."

"It doesn't say that in our document."

"Then I suggest you update your document."

"Ok. >tap< There we go." the PFY says tapping away at his PDA then pointing it at the infrared receiver on the printer in the corner "New revision, coming up."

>Whirr<

. . .

"Yes, that's better" he says. "And one final question - where are the publicly available copies of these documents?"

"Sorry?" I ask, getting a little testy.

"As part of your contract you're required to have copies of these document publicly available for perusal by staff. Not doing so - well, that would be a breach of your contract" he smiles evilly.

...can't...stop...the...voices...

"No problem," I respond. "They're kept in the documents room in the basement."

"Really - how's about I go and check on them now?"

"I...well, it's afternoon tea time - why not?"

...Later, in the basement..

>ring< >ring< >ring< >ring< >ring< >ring<

"Hello?" the HR guy gasps.

"Hi, I just thought I'd see if you'd located those documents?" I ask.

"You're for it! There's no documents down here - just an empty filing cabinet and a phone which won't make outgoing calls."

"Really?" I gasp, going for the shocked reaction.

"And the door handle on this side of the door is broken!"

"Really - I'll pop down and let you out. But wait! You've got the only key!"

"Ring the buildings people."

"Good idea! But wait! You went down there at afternoon tea time."

"So?"

"Well that would potentially be your personal time. I... couldn't tell anyone."

"IT'S NOT MY PERSONAL TIME!!!" the HR geek cries.

"Yeah...but I'm feeling a bit ambiguous about this..."

...

"So how long so we leave him down there before we slip the resignation form under the door?" the PFY asks.

"I'm thinking almost to the drinking-your-own-urine stage..."

"This time tomorrow then?"

"Yeah!" 


Episode 7 "I'd like a bit of birthday advice," the Boss asks, after the PFY and I show up to his office in response to a call.

"Keep having them?" the PFY chips.

"Wa?"

"Forgive my assistant," I say calmly. "His battery's almost flat and needs a good recharging with a high voltage device. What he meant to say was that we'd prefer cash in large denomination bills."

"?"

"Normally it's up to an individual manager's discretion about making some personal contribution on the anniversary of someone's birth."

"Oh. No, that wasn't what I was after. I wanted to know about digital cameras."

"I'd still rather have the cash," I confess.

"No, I want to buy one for the wife - her birthday!!!" he blurts, tapping the photo frame on his desk. "But I don't know what to look for."

"What do you want the camera for?" I ask.

"Her birthday."

"No, what do you want to USE the camera for?"

"Just holidays, photos of the family. But I don't know what I should be looking for - there's so many options," the Boss burbles, flipping the pages of a digital photography magazine.

"Well if it's for your family," the PFY responds, suppressing a shudder as he looks at the chamber of horrors that is the Boss' desktop photo. "I'd be looking for a couple of things."

"Yes?"

"Low resolution for a start," he continues, taking another gander at the Pandora's family photo.

"Really? The magazines seem to rate higher resolution as important."

"Low resolution gives you the benefit of...uh...soft focus - especially if the camera is used at a distance."

"Oh. What about zoom?"

"Ordinarily a good thing, but in your case I'd avoid it like the plague. You can use digital zoom later!"

"But won't my images become... >flip< >flip< >flip< uh...pixilated?"

"Yes. But pixilation is a good thing - it's even more soft focus."

"Speaking of focus - fixed focus or auto focus?"

"I shouldn't worry too much about focus if I were you..."

"Why not just get a family portrait?" I say tactfully. "They can do wonderful things with an airbrush these days!"

"What...why?"

"Well...Just...sometimes it takes a professional to bring out the true photogenic quality."

"Oh. I SEE!" the Boss snaps. "Well my family may not be the Osbornes..."

"Donny and Maree, or Ozzy and Sharon?" the PFY asks helpfully.

"..." the boss says.

"Don't listen to him," I say, cooling the situation off a little. "How about you just buy something entry level and, if things...work out...you can upgrade to something much better in the future. That way you get a chance to experiment with the medium and see how you like it!"

"What about digital enhancements?"

"I think you'd best leave that to the professionals - they get paid to do that to themselves. Those new electronic vacuum devices are not for the uninitiated..."

"Huh? I was talking about external flash and datestamping."

"Oh, right! In that case I think you'll find most cameras have datestamping and an internal flash."

"Yes, but what about an external flash?"

"Ah...darkness is your friend," the PFY suggests condescendingly.

"I...should I get more storage?"

"Nah, cameras are tiny things - you could just put it on the shelf."

"I meant more internal storage in the camera!"

"Oh, ok. I dunno, if you use all the soft focus options we've suggested you should get by with the standard 128 MB card."

"Hmmm. Yes, well, thanks for your help but I think I'll just ask the guy at the shop."

There's just no helping some people...

...

"So what do you think?" the Boss asks, displaying his latest purchases.

"Nice," the PFY says. "10 megapixel SLR with interchangeable lenses, low light enhancement and up to 1/4000 shutter speed. And you're sure you showed the salesguy your wallet photo? It's such a cruel trick!"

"What?!"

"I said it's such a cool thing." the PFY blurts. "It's what I'd get myself if I were looking for a camera. Oooh, and look, a one gig storage card. I like it. Mind if I snap a couple of shots of the office?"

"I...no, go ahead."

...The next day...

"It's going back?!" I gasp as I see the camera all boxed up as new with attached receipt.

"Yes, I...the wife's decision. She doesn't like it."

"That's such a shame. She didn't like the features?"

"No"

"The cost?"

"No"

"The complicated interface?"

"No, I think it must have been the HUNDRED OR SO PHOTOS OF THE ATTRACTIVE WOMEN THAT WORK HERE!" the Boss snaps.

"Ah. So the PFY left some images on the card that your wife thought you'd taken?"

"It would seem so," the Boss seethes.

"Oh, and as a result you lose your camera?"

"Oh, not just the camera," the Boss says, as he starts putting his desktop contents into a box.

"SHE MADE YOU RESIGN!" I gasp. "What a result!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, what an insult!"

...later that day...

"He QUIT?!" the PFY said "But I actually liked him!"

"So you sabotaged his camera?"

"I didn't, I was taking some snaps of the girls. I didn't want him to go!"

"I think you're going to have to accept some of the blame."

"I...didn't even mean to!"

"Sometimes bastardhood's like a magnet - you just can't turn it off."

"That's terrible" the PFY says. "... ... ... Still, tough luck. Fancy a pint?"

Ah, the recovery powers of youth. They bounce back so quick... 


Episode 8 

Don't you just hate it when you rock up to a training course only to find out that the person taking the course knows about as much about the topic as you can tattoo on a DIMM with a jackhammer?

And so it is that the "advanced linux" administration that I've booked myself onto is complete crap. Mind you, I'd never be on the course in the first place if the dates hadn't coincided with a major sporting event that one of our suppliers has a corporate box (with lashings of lager and small savoury treats) at. MmmMMmm sorted.

So of course I'm sporting a headache that measures 'Kurt Cobain' on the pain scale and instead of easing it with some hair of the dog I have to sit through the inane drivel of a man who knows as much about linux as Princess Grace did about mountain driving...

"And ls is what you use to list your files - ls being 'list' with every second letter removed" the dweeb burbles. "And you'll find a lot of unix utilities are similarly named - like cp for copy, mv for move"

"And su - for shut?" I ask idiotically.

"No, su is used to become root."

"Oh, so it's short for slut - not shut."

"No, no," he chuckles condescendingly. "Su is short for substitute user."

If there's one person that gets on my tits, it's the person at a training course that thinks they know more than the tutor and continually adds their 10p worth into the conversation when it's not wanted. I realise that I'm in danger of becoming that soldier, but I can't help myself, this guy is just crap!

"And ps which is used to..."

"Find a list of the users that piss you off?" I suggest

I can't help it, I just can't help it. It's like I've lost control!!!!

"No, it's used to find a list of processes. Now as someone's already mentioned su I think we'll talk about that for a while. With the exception of, say, changing to the oracle user or similar, the majority of the time, su is used to become the root user. And the root user is a very special user with enhanced powers."

"Like X-ray vision" I add quietly.

"Because of this" he continues, ignoring me, "root is used very sparingly and in the course of a normal day a good administrator is never logged in as root."

"Beg pardon?" I snap.

"I said a good administrator is never logged in as root."

>snap<

"Bullshit! A real administrator is always logged in as root - it's CRAP administrators that aren't!"

"I think you'll find real administrators always use their own account and su to root" he replies condescendingly.

"Pffft!"

"So you use root all the time do you?"

"Only for the past 20 years."

"And you're not afraid of accidentally removing all the files from your home directory?"

"I used to be, but now I always do my work in someone else's home directory.

"But aren't you afraid you'll accidentally type in some command that would crash the system?"

"No more that I'm afraid I'll accidentally say something like You're a complete fraud!"

"That's completely different."

"Yes, it's a lot easier to say something without thinking than to type it."

"So you're saying you always use root rather than your own account?"

"root is my own account..."

"Well I think we'll have to agree to disagree on that one. It may be that some linux administrators are less concerned with their system security than others, but in my experience linux administrators are just as concerned as Windows and OS/2 administrators about the ability of malicious software being downloaded and affecting the machine with enhanced privileges."

"Oooh, yes," I add. "When I used OS/2 I was very concerned about malicious software exploiting enhanced privileges."

"What, the ability to activate code which could destroy the operating system and data on it?"

"No, my concerns were more along the line of it not setting the machine on fire and hammering a stake through the install media - apparently viruses can't do that," I sigh.

Around now the tutor has probably realised that I'm one person he shouldn't hand a course evaluation form to at the end of the session, so he decides to move on...

"Ok, so I think it's about time we try a couple of the exercises, so if you could all login to the server with the username at the top of your worksheet"

"You mean root?" one of the other students asks.

"No, I mean the other username, above root"

"It's not working for me," another student chirps.

"Or me."

"Or me."

"What about you?" the tutor asks me.

"Oh bugger!" I say.

"What?"

"It seems you were right after all"

"What do you mean?"

"About a silly typing error causing problems"

"How"

"Well I logged in as root earlier and I was just going to try that ps thing you mentioned, but instead I accidentally typed in 'nohup cd /; rm -rf * > /dev/null 2>&1 &' "

"Okay." he gasps, "Just type in fg."

"fg, ok, oh bugger, I accidentally typed control-d instead."

"I...well, I suppose we could have a lesson on reinstalling a box from scratch," he sniffs.

"...or we could have one on gaining access to a corporate box at a major sporting event which has trolleyloads of lager and nibbles?"

>Cue tumbleweed<


Episode 9 

"Is it a full moon?" I ask the PFY disgustedly as I put the phone down for the third time this morning.

"Could be," the PFY says, deleting a swathe of jobs from the helpdesk system.

"What could be?" the new Boss asks, fresh back from his course on helping people the IT way.

"A full moon," I reply.

"Why?" he asks, smiling faintly and waiting for the punch line.

"Because there's a large number of weirdos calling for help."

"Weirdos?"

"Yes, as in Lunatics," the PFY replies.

"Hence the full moon reference," I add.

"Sorry, I'm not with you."

"Lunatic - from Lunar, meaning to do with the moon, and Tic, meaning..."

"...uncontrolled movement." the Boss finishes.

"No, tic - from Tick the box which says 'I'm a loon'."

"Oh. But what makes you think things are any worse now than normally?"

"Look at the helpdesk call frequency for a start. In any normal day they'll get around 100 or so calls total, around now they're clocking 150, 180."

"It could just be an anomaly."

"The same anomaly, every month. Even the calls are different - look at this one," I say, tapping my screen.

"What about it, a printer's not printing."

"No, and it's because the toner cartridge is out. And they know it's out because the printer tells them that it's out. Any other time they'd just replace the toner cartridge, but today they suspect that it might be a cunning plan by the printer manufacturer to sell more toner cartridges by saying the cartridge is out when it's not."

"Like the inkjet people do," the PFY adds.

"So what - you show them that the cartridge really is empty."

"Oooh no, that would mean that I'm being paid by the printer company. No, they'll be expecting step by step diagnosis, followed - finally - by the successful printing of a single page, before the toner light comes on again. Then they'll be satisfied.

"These diagnostics, what are they?"

"How about we show him, Sheryl?" I say to the PFY.

>ring ring<

"Hello, I'm ringing about the printer problem," the PFY says

"Oh good."

"Now you have a new toner cartridge on hand?"

"Yes, but I don't want to use it as I'm sure we used to get a lot more pages out of our old printer."

"The one with the larger toner cartridge?"

"I...I can't remember."

"Ok, well let's just run some checks shall we? Can you pull the current toner cartridge out and rock it gently from side to side, then forward and backward and then put it back in the printer?"

... >whirr<...

"No, the light's come back on."

"Then it's probably out of toner."

"But it still feels heavy."

"As heavy as the new cartridge?"

"Yes."

"Which is still in its packaging?"

"I...Yes"

Sigh

"Ok, how about we try some more diagnostics. Can you turn the paper in the tray over and hold the ready button down for five seconds"

>whirr click whirrrrrrrrr<

"It's printed a page, but it's a bit patchy."

"Patchy like when the toner cartridge has run out?" the PFY hints.

"I...No, it's just patchy."

"Right," the PFY says testily. "Do you have a piece of light cardboard?"

"Uh...I've got some...120 GSM backing card."

"Put that in the paper tray and hold the ready button down again."

>whirr click whirrrrrr<

"It's come out patchy and a bit crinkled."

"Patchy like the toner cartridge is out?"

"No."

"Ok, do you have any laminating plastic?"

"I...Yes?"

"Ok, listen very carefully. I want you to put a piece of laminating plastic into the paper tray, inside up, then a piece of paper, then a piece of laminating plastic inside down. Got that?"

"I...yes?"

>whirr click click whirr click click ccccllllllliiiiick<

"It's got a jam."

"You did put it in laminate up, paper, laminate down?"

"I...think so."

"You think so? If you got it wrong it'll clog up the printer."

"I...I'm not sure."

"Ok, we're going to have to come and look at it. Can you use your departmental printer meantime?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Only..."

Wait for it....

"Yes?"

"The toner cartridge is out and we only put it in about a month ago."

"Ok, we'd best run some diagnostics. I'll need a couple more sheets of laminate, an A4 sheet of tin foil and a small bottle of acetylene free contact cleaner."

"I don't think I have that..."

"Ah, nail polish remover will probably do..."


Episode 10 "What's he doing?" the Boss whispers, noticing the PFY's absence from and disinterest in the conversation he and I have been having about the shameful nature of internet porn sites these days. Put another way, the boss has been gently probing [oooh errr] for a list of potential spank sites while implying that he's in some way concerned about the moral condition of the workplace..

"He's...oh...looking for feral access points by the look of it," I say, glancing over the PFY's shoulder.

"Feral access points?"

"Wireless access points..." I explain.

"I see - but 'feral'?"

"Yes," the PFY says without looking around. "Like feral cats. Wireless Access points with no identified owners. Wild, untamed."

"I... see. And what do you do when you find one?"

"What, a feral cat?" the PFY asks. "You shoot them!"

"No, I mean a.. feral.. access point"

"Oh, the same thing," the PFY responds.

"So... you're suggesting that you shoot people's access points?"

"No, no, I'm suggesting we shoot their cats!"

"What?!"

"Obviously it'd take a couple of times before the message gets through, but believe me those access points will disappear like a shot (so to speak) once word gets out!"

"You can't be serious!"

"Of course he's not," I say, calming the Boss while shuffling the PFY's urban hunting magazine under some paper on his desk. "No, his plan is to identify the access points which are either illegally installed or improperly configured and take the appropriate steps."

"What steps would they be?"

"The ones in the stairwell between the Beancounters offices and the lunchroom - after darkening the stairwell of course," the PFY says. "An eight foot fall into a concrete stairwell tends to reinforce the idea of asking before installing ad-hoc networking kit!"

"I...What?"

"Again, a little joke," I say, nudging the masonry drill a little further under the PFY's desk. "No, we generally find that a quiet chat outlining the importance of network security is all that's required. Once we've shown them how simple it is to break into our network via their access point, explained the delicate nature of some of the data on our network..."

"...hit them repeatedly with a potato in a sock..." the PFY adds.

"What!?"

"Forgive my assistant's levity!" I counter making sure the aforementioned sock is still behind the masonry drill. "He's just wanting to ensure our network is safe!"

"But how can you really be sure that it's safe?" the Boss asks.

Before the PFY can demonstrate this on a Dustin Hoffman-like user with the aid of some dentistry tools, I decide to move the boss on with a Management Level Non-Maskable Interrupt.

"Is it true that they're serving extra large Onion Bhajis on the menu for lunch today?"

"I..." the Boss says, "...don't know, but I might just read up a bit more on this security thing..."

"Yes, good idea," I say while shielding my ears from the sonic boom as the Boss rushes to the cafeteria...

...

"So," I say to the PFY a couple of minutes later. "Any hits?"

"None," the PFY says. "Well, not after yesterday anyway. The one I did find was being used by the people in the next building to browse porn."

"What, not www.nastynunsinleather.com again?"

"Nah, just yahoo photos," the PFY chuckles.

"Did someone say porn?" the Boss asks, appearing out of nowhere with a large bag of Bhajis, his MLNMI overruled by the Hardware Level Reset of the word 'porn'

"He was just saying that there's no Rogue Access Points..."

"Rogue? I thought you said Feral?"

"It's the same thing, except that one has the Amulet of Yendor," the PFY explains - in a geek joke that passes the Boss by like a salad bar.

"I...So we're secure then?"

"Security is a journey, not a destination" the PFY says, repeating the well worn adage.

"Uh...So they did have bhajis?" I interrupt, getting an NMI of my own from the smell.

"And pakoras!"

"We'd better get some before it's too late!" the PFY gasps.

"Too late," the Boss chuckles smugly. "I barely had time to grab a couple of bags before they were gone!"

"Sharesies?" the PFY wheedles.

"I..." the Boss mumbles, in the same tone of voice reserved for answering the 'spare change for a cup of tea?' request..."don't think so. Anyway, are you saying we're not secure?"

"Wha? Oh, yyyNO, no, we're not secure. They're everywhere," the PFY responds, staring intently at the Boss's nose bag.

"What, access points?"

"Yes, and to avoid detection it seems some staff have started made them look like air-conditioning thermostat units and popped them in neighbouring offices."

"You mean like those!" the Boss asks, pausing mid-munch to point at our wall.

"EXACTLY like those."

"Is that one?"

"It could be!"

"But it's been there for years!"

"Yes, but it could have been replaced!"

"How will you know?"

"Simple, you just take the cover off," the PFY says, unscrewing the plate "and see this bit here."

"The bit which says Caution, Mains Voltage?"

"Yeah."

"What about it?"

"You press on this piece of copper here to and listen for a buzz from the computer."

"Aren't you going to press it?" the Boss asks.

Around now I'm wondering just how much the PFY wants those bhajis. Sure, he has insulated shoes, but can they be trusted...

"I tested it earlier," the PFY lies - the bastard - "and all the ones in the open plan area too. There's no other ones on the floor."

"There's one in my office!" the Boss says, right on cue.

"No there's not," the PFY says. "They're for open plan areas only."

"There's one in my office!!!"

"Well, it's possible you've got a legit one, but you'd best check it now while you've still got some bhajis left."

"Bhajis left?"

"Bandwidth left, yeah. They'll use up all your network bandwidth!!"

"Oh!" the Boss says, shuffling out quickly.

>KZERRT!<

"That'll be the lunch bell," the PFY chirps. "Get 'em while they're smoking!"

...


Episode 11 Nothing starts a day worse than the Boss wandering into Mission Control with a clipboard in his hand. It's just never a good sign...

"Just collecting your thoughts on who the new Health and Safety representative for the floor should be?"

"Oh yes, yes, very good," I respond enthusiatically. "And about time too!"

"So you're keen to vote then?"

"Most definitely!"

"And so who would you like it to be?"

"Oh! uuuuuhhmmm, who was at the top of the list?"

"Baxter."

"Baxter... Baxter... YES, that's him, Baxter's the man!"

"Sharon Baxter?"

"Sharon now, but used to be Shane," the PFY adlibs.

"What you're saying she, well he's a transexual?" the Boss asks, horrified at the thought that he might have been browsing him/her/it with an appreciative eye.

"Not exactly - Work place accident, running with scissors..."

"Oh, I see, it's a joke!" the Boss chuckles, relieved to have his sexuality intact. "But are you sure you want Baxter?"

"Did I say Baxter?" I ask. "No, not Baxter, I meant... oh.. what's-his-name. Bottom of the list."

"Kennerley."

"Yeah Kennerley's the man! He is a man isn't he?"

"You don't care who's appointed do you?" the Boss asks drily.

"What. Of course we do!" the PFY says defensively, jumping aboard the bandwagon. "We really care! I mean the successful candidate will be the person who meets with us on a regular basis to discuss whether paper cuts from printer stock poses a danger in the workplace!"

"Lets not forget checking that we've secured our mats in the prescribed manner," I add.

"Or putting signs up to warn people that there are dangerous voltages inside pieces of equipment which have power cables running into them - power cables which incidentally need to be tested every three years and labelled with a cable test sticker - which also warns of the dangerous voltage inside the cable - and is in turn plugged into a socket which has warning signs about the insertion of metallic objects and dangerous voltages."

"..." the Boss sighs before exiting slightly miffed.

. . .

I realise a day later that we may have pushed the Boss a teensy bit too far on this when a flourescent yellow blazer arrives on the PFY's desk. I'm still laughing heartily at his misfortune when my own blazer arrives.

"What the hell's a floor warden?" the PFY asks, reading the back of his jacket.

!

So we're the new company Health and Safety reps for the floor (apparently because of the high accident rate they've decided it's best to upgrade the required number of reps) and as the first part of our new role we have to attend a workplace safety seminar.

And sure enough the place is cram packed with the anal retentive types you'd expect to see working security at the smorgasbord in an old folks home - the ones who make sure noone gets too many portions of petfood. Only now their perceptive abilities have been honed to seek out potential causes of danger.

"I think you'll find there's more of a trip risk in loop pile carpet than cut pile," one of them observes over their morning tea digestive biscuit, chewed 23 times to avoid choke risk.

"Yes, yes," another agrees, "and with the increased risk of slips on damp or wet man-made fibre carpets we really should be recommending woollen - or at the very least woollen blend carpets."

. . . A quarter hour later . . .

"You're back early!" the Boss gasps, as we roll back into Mission Control. "We were expecting you tomorrow!"

"Yes, we would have been back then except for the accident," the PFY replies.

"Accident?" the Boss asks.

"Yes, it was horrific," I respond. "Third degree carpet burns are nasty!"

"It's the loop pile that does it," the PFY nods.

"I... So... when do you go back?"

"We don't - they tested us and instructor seemed to think that we knew quite a lot about dangers in the workplace."

"You did the multichoice paper?"

"No, we did the practical," the PFY says pulling a piece of scorched nylon loop pile from his clothing.

"So you're certified?"

"Sure," the PFY says, handing over a couple of hastily-signed papers bearing our names.

"Yes... it all ... seems to be in order..." the Boss murmurs slowly.

"As it is," I respond. "Now, if you don't mind we'd like to get to work. And as it happens, I notice that my desktop monitor is very unstable and should probably be replaced with a plasma version which wouldn't shatter if it were to fall on the floor."

"Yes, but what's the likelihoo.."

>Nudge< >Crash<

"And I have identified a risk in this bulk eraser," the PFY says "Were it to fall off a desk it could do someone a pretty nasty injury to the foot."

"But how on earth would if ever f..."

>Nudge< >Crunch<

"...alaaaaaaaaarrggggh!" the Boss finishes.

"As a matter of fact," I add, "I can spot right here and now several potential trouble spots which could cause extremely painful - possibly fatal injuries, and I'd be honour bound by the health and safety code to point them out to you at the earliest possible convenience. Like now."

"So you're returning the jackets then?" he asks, penny dropped and spent.

"I think it's the safest option - don't you?"


Episode 12 

"Are we actually USING this office?" the Boss asks one morning, tapping on the door to the engineers room.

"It's the engineers room!" I reply.

"We don't have an engineer..."

"True," the PFY says. "But why the interest?"

"We're looking for somewhere to house the new Mopier thing. And the A1 plan printer."

"Well we do use the room for storing broken stuff."

"Storing it! Why don't we throw it out?"

"We used to, but there was a bit of an incident last year with improper disposal which led to a little bit of legal trouble. That, in turn, led to a new and all-encompassing disposal policy."

"And who set that policy?"

"One of your predecessors."

"And what happened to him?"

"He was disposed of - but don't worry, we followed the policy and he ended up being recycled and now sells ink cartridge refill kits at car boot sales..."

"I...Well what do we do? I need the room!"

"We could get rid of the rubbish I suppose," the PFY says helpfully.

"Get a bin?" the Boss suggests.

"Can't do that - the bin company's getting a little tetchy about us dumping stuff that might have mercury, selenium or other dodgy metals in it. It costs more to dump - if they'll let you dump it in the clean/green recycling centres. Sometimes they'll charge you extra to send it off to dismantlers."

"So what do we do?"

"In the old days we'd save cash by giving old kit to some unsuspecting school, telling them that it was reasonable hardware useful to learn off."

"And?"

"They're onto that one now and won't have a bar of it - besides, computers aren't the major capital investment they once were. Of course, on other occasions we'd pack in boxes and ship it to vendors, saying that it was delivered to the wrong place. Or, we'd leave it on street corners, give it to Oxfam, throw small bits of it out the window on the Underground."

"You're kidding!"

"Oh no. The PFY was also fond of slipping it into people's bags at the pub or wrapping it up nicely like a present and leaving it in a rental car or a taxi."

"That's very good, did you think of that?" the Boss chuckles.

"No, I'm afraid we can't claim that. The original idea came from an engineer at one of the vendor sites who was trying to get rid of crap in their store. You'd send a desktop away for repair and it would come back with four 10 meg NICs, three extra 20 meg hard drives and a 'redundant' power supply."

"Desktops have redundant power?"

"No, he'd drill holes in the cabinet and screw it in. Wouldn't connect it or anything."

"Why?"

"Apparently he was pocketing the money they paid him to get them dumped."

"They PAID him to get rid of them?!"

"Oh yeah, there's big money in environmental disposal companies."

"Really? How do they get rid of it?"

"Grinding down, precious and semi-precious metal extraction, then sorting into recyclable compounds."

"Really?"

"Nah, they just dig a big hole and tip it all in. But their customers feel good about themselves."

"I...well I suppose you should give one of them a call. We can use it as a publicity thing."

"Suit yourself."

...

"So that's..." I say, tapping away on the Boss's desktop calculator "...two thousand six hundred and thirty eight quid, 44p."

"What, to take a room full of rubbish away?!!" he gasps.

"Uh-huh. Told you there was big money in it."

"It'll have to come out of your server budget."

"That's for BUYING servers!"

"It's the same thing. Besides the gear was in your room so it's your responsibility to get rid of it."

"I...guess it's a pleasure doing business with you."

"Business?"

"Yeah, you got me thinking about it and I'd be a fool not to get into the disposals business. Care for a quick drink to celebrate the opening of my latest company?"

"I...No. Promised the wife that I'd pick her up from the airport."

"Really? Ah well, maybe next time."

...

And so it is that the PFY and I are supping a quiet celebratory ale in the pub across from the building as the Boss' car emerges from the parking basement...

"Car's riding a bit low I see," the PFY says.

"Yes, it'll be one of those reactive suspension foibles I guess."

"And not the half ton of crap sitting in the boot?"

"That might have some effect, but it's only temporary."

"Temporary?"

"I'm assuming he'll need to clear some luggage space at Heathrow..."

"And don't tell me - you made an anonymous call about Ostama Bin Liner ..."

"Yeah, I need the time to shift all the rest of the crap into the Boss's office"

"His room, his responsibility?"

"You bet!"


Episode 13 

So the Boss wants to know what's been happening with the 'Foolproof Wireless Security' project that the auditors decided should be implemented - a project that's as deliverable as wireless UPS units.

"Oh, we gave that to Steve," the PFY says when the Boss asks.

"Steve?"

"Yeah Steve, down the end of the corridor on the left."

"Is someone IN that office? I thought it was just used for storage!"

"I suppose you could call it that. But no, it's Steve's office."

"What his position?"

"uhhhhhmmmm...Special...Project Coordinator. I think."

"And so why did you pass this job to him?"

"Mainly because of his experience. He read the book on computer security."

"You mean wrote the book."

"No, no, read. Well, when I say read, I really mean looked at the pictures."

"So you're saying this guy isn't much of a technical person?"

"Not really - but he has worked for us for years."

"But you're saying he's not technical?"

"Well, he used to be. Only problem was that back in the old days he used to drink the isopropyl alcohol. Then when we switched to clear methylated spirits - to cut costs - without telling him..."

"What?"

"The wheels fell off a bit..."

"So he's useless?"

"Well, technically it's classed as a workplace accident and so as long as he manages to turn up to work the Union won't let us fire him. And besides, he's showing massive signs of improvement."

"And by massive you mean?"

"Well, he can see now."

"But apart from that he's all there mentally?"

"Wellllll...if you were to compare him to a deck of cards..."

"Yes?"

"He might have enough for a game of Go Fish."

"Against himself," the PFY adds.

"And so he just sits in an office all day doing nothing?"

"In his office or out in the garden," the PFY says.

"The garden?"

"With the other vegetables," the PFY adds unkindly.

"So why the hell did you give him the wireless security project?"

"Easy. There's always going to be wireless security problems because you can't control physical access to the medium. If it's not 'hackerz' it'll be some denial-of-service thing that you just can't fix. And, of course, you have to ramp up the risk factor of either scenario by being in the middle of a ginormous city full of geeks with nothing better to do with their time than cruise around with laptops and directional antennas."

"So what are you saying?"

"Everyone involved in this project is doomed to failure. The only way to mitigate the risk is to hand it to someone else to get blamed. We hand it to Steve, it turns to custard, he gets blamed."

"Isn't that a little...cowardly?"

"Yes," I reply without hesitation.

"And you're not concerned about that? You don't feel a little twinge of responsibility?"

"Not at all. Were it you, I or the PFY and something went catastrophically wrong, we'd be gone faster than a supermodel's lunch in a public toilet - but Steve's as safe as houses. They'll never fire him - not so long as he keeps turning up."

"So all we need to do is just write some documentation and get him to sign it off?"

"A crayoned X usually suffices, but yes."

"And you're sure this will work?"

"As sure as I am about who was responsible for the Smart-ID card fiasco."

"And don't forget the Paperless Office project," the PFY adds.

"Didn't people...complain?"

"About Steve? Never! He's like a company mascot. Besides, the term 'Special Projects' is a corporate dumping ground."

"What do you mean?"

"Who do you think signed off on the new company logo which ended up being a little too near to a certain competitors, causing an expensive legal action?" I ask.

"Steve?" the Boss gasps.

"Yes," the PFY replies. "And every time Manchester bids for a sporting event who do you think it is that submits a memo on company letterhead to the selection committee to show how they're all a bunch of inbred, lard eating hermaphrodites?"

"What, he writes that?"

"Well, he colours in the borders and puts an X at the bottom."

"So someone else writes the memo?" the Boss says, shocked. "Does someone not like Manchester?"

"No one likes Manchester," the PFY says.

"Why not?"

"I think it's probably the lard eating mostly."

"And he's still working here?"

"They're more likely to put Lassie down on live TV!"

"So how do I get a progress report on this?"

"Just write a quick blurb saying everything's going along well and that you need another couple of thousand for.. >flip< >flip< Reflected Infrastructure Impedance...Measurement"

"But the project will go over budget!"

"Of course it'll go over budget! All projects go over budget, so if this one doesn't it'll ring alarm bells!"

"I see...And the budget gets allocated..."

"To us. For incidental expenses," the PFY says, shutting his new Plasma TV catalogue.

"I...don't think that's a good use of comp..."

"Or you could just fess up and say that this is the first occasion you've bothered checking on the project in months and it's not even started..."

"So I just get Steve to sign down the bottom in crayon then?" the Boss says, slinking out to write his memo.

"You realise he's going to go back through the paperwork and find that we spent the cash on a new tape stacker?" the PFY asks.

"Well, he could - but bear in mind we lost all those documents in the fire which started in the tape safe room because Steve was looking after the fire suppression extension project."

"Really, when was that?"

"About 10 minutes after he signs the memo I'm about to write..."


Episode 14 "Have you read the memo from those software people?" the Boss asks, tapping some paper on my desk.

"It's in my In Tray, I just haven't got round to reading it yet."

"It's on your DESK!"

"Yes, and my desk is my In Tray."

>Sigh< "Well can you read it now please?"

"Sure."

"RIGHT now please?"

"It's that urgent?"

"It wasn't two weeks ago when I put it.. on your.. In Tray, but it's urgent now."

"Why?"

"Because it's a special offer which expires today and they've just rung me about it and are going to call back in 10 minutes."

"Oh really. Well how's about we have a gander at it then while we wander back to your office for the call.. Blah, blah, secret weapon, blah, blah German spies, blah, blah."

"What the hell are you reading?" the Boss blurts, snatching the paper off me. "Secret weapons!?"

"It's just something I say to myself when wading through weasel words," I say, wresting the paper back from the Boss.

"What does it mean?"

"It means they're trying to shaft us."

"What? You haven't even read it all yet - there's more than one page!"

"Yes, but it starts 'Dear Valuable VIP Customer'. They may as well say 'Please drop your pants and bend over the table by that unnecessarily large hammer action masonry drill'."

"They're one of our software vendors, it's just a renewal notice."

"That remains to be seen," I say, flipping the page. "Blah, blah, blah, royal shafting."

"Where?"

"There," I say, pointing to the last page of the renewal invoice.

"It's just the bill!"

"Yes, but see the little boxes for you to tick the products you want to renew with larger boxes for the number of licenses that you wish to renew?"

"Yes."

"And all the boxes are empty?"

"Yes."

"How do they get filled in?"

"I suppose I fill them in."

"With what?"

"I tick the Boxes and enter the numbers."

"Which boxes and which numbers?" I ask.

"I DON'T BLOODY KNOW!" the Boss snaps, getting a little tired of the interrogation.

"And there's my point. We don't even USE some of this software, so suddenly you'd start paying maintenance on software we don't have. More importantly, after we've been paying for... I dunno... three years, they'll say there's a major release and we need to pay for that, which we we'll do because we're paying maintenance on it so we must be using it somewhere. The best bit though, is the number of licenses. We're a Valuable VIP Customer..."

"What does that mean?"

"It means they think we're stupid and have lots of money to spend. If we're that valuable surely they'd REMEMBER the number of licenses we had and just prefill in the form for us."

"So they're... ... ...?"

"Wanting us to do one of two things - mistakenly fill in the form with an overly large number so they make a bit more cash. OR, mistakenly fill in the form with a low number so they wait a couple of months before saying that a routine license review noticed we underestimated our licenses by a certain amount and that because the expiry period has passed these licenses now cost an extortionate amount. 'Which would still be cheaper than involving the legal representatives of our two companies'..."

"So how many licenses do we use?"

"Who knows? The larger the company the more obscure the number of licenses held. When it's completely impossible you become a Valuable VIP customer."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Well you could go from room to room counting licenses."

"I don't thi..."

"Or we could force an application out to every desktop to report licenses - which would upset the civil libertarians who'd think we were spying on them."

"I..."

"Or you could let me talk to the vendor when they call."

"I.. why don't I talk to them?"

"Because you'll get flustered and sign up for 100 of everything."

"I don't think that I'm tha..."

"So you think that you're capable of talking to them without losing your rag?"

"Yes I think I'm qu..."

"And you won't get thrown off by technical speak?"

"No, I thin..."

"Even if they offer you confusing options which actually amount to exactly the same offer reworded?"

"Yes, I'm.."

"Even when you can't get a single question or statement out because they keep interrupting you?"

"I CAN BLOODY DEAL WITH THEM!!!"

"And that, your honour, concludes the case for the prosecution," the PFY mumbles.

So it's decided that I'll talk to them - and not a moment too soon...

>Ring<

"Hi Simon here. Yes, he's here, but I handle our license renewals... Uh huh... Mmm Hmmm... Yes... Well how's about you people come back with the number of licenses you think we've got - you must have them in a database somewhere.... . .

You don't? Well in that case we're not using any of your products anymore....

. .

Oh, you think you might have found some 'historic' documentation of our license purchases... ... Uh-huh... ...

Well I think we both know that those numbers are slightly inflated... Uh-huh...

I still think were it to involve our legal representatives we might find that you're charging us for licenses... Oh, you think there might have been a 'spreadsheet error'?... . . .Yes, that's a much more realistic number..

Though it's just occurred to me that if it's happened now it's probably happened in the past - which would mean our legal representatives might.... a credit? Yes, that's probably a good idea.... ... Yes, made out to CASH, as in Johnny...

And if you could just send the documentation to me in an email with a new invoice... Bye now."

"How did it go?" the Boss asks.

"They're sending us a revised license estimate and reducing our maintenance fee."

"Did you mention a credit?" the Boss asks.

"No."

"I'm sure you said something about it."

"Please! Would I rip off a Valuable VIP employer like you?" 


Episode 15 It's late at night and I'm in the CEO's office rifling through his correspondence for evidence of the much-rumoured budget cuts in IT. Apparently, the powers that be have decided that the IT spend isn't reducing as fast as the board would like, so they're just going to hack out a major part of the annual budget and see how we cope with the pain. Or so the document says...

I'm midway through the re-edit of the document on the CEO's laptop (recommending increased investment for future growth, blah, blah) when the man himself walks in. And when I say walk I mean a drunken stagger, assisted by a couple of young women with the aura of professional services delivery about them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he fumes alcoholically.

"Just doing some, uh, out of hours maintenance work," I say, touch typing the remainder of the sentence about one-off bonus payments for key technical staff and closing the document."

"How'd you get in?"

"With the key?"

"What key?"

"This one," I say, selecting the appropriate key from a large ring on the CEO's desktop.

"Where'd you get them from?" he asks, going for the belligerency heavyweight title.

"Security?"

"How?"

Sigh.

"We have keys to all areas of the building - to fix faults, particularly out of hours."

"My laptop doesn't have a fault!"

"No," I adlib. "I was just using it to DETECT a fault - in the...uh... network connectivity"

"It's not connected to the network!" he slurs.

"I'm using the built-in wireless network," I say, pulling another one out of the adlib bag.

"I disabled that," he counters.

"Yes, but I re-enabled it - to test for coverage patterns, structure penetration, solar flare interference and suchlike."

"Solar flares? At night?"

"When we least expect them," I nod, knowingly.

"You're just nosing through my office aren't you? Trying to find something worth stealing?"

"No no, I took all that weeks ago. Nice brandy by the way"

"So you admit you're stealing?"

"Only the good stuff. You'll note that I left the corked wine and the aftershave-quality gin behind. And as for the 'home movies' in your office safe. >shudder< "

"You're for the high jump!" he snarls.

In situations like this, harsh experience has taught me that the best course is usually to admit fault in the first instance and attempt to diffuse the situation in the second.

"You're probably right." I admit, "It does look pretty damning. You caught me red handed in your office, using your laptop, stealing your drinks and about to take a dump in your top drawer - which reminds me can you hand me some paper - the company newsletter will do - there's a photo of you on the front this month isn't there?"

Never could get the hang of that second part...

"I...most certainly will not, you..."

"Oh, well perhaps you could get one of your nieces to do it then?"

"They're not my...ah."

CAN ANYONE ELSE SMELL A PERFORMANCE BONUS IN THE NEAR FUTURE?!!

"Yes, I see the similarity between them and your wife," I say, tapping the desktop photo.

"Yes well..." the CEO burbles, going for the suave save.

"...in that all three are women. At least I think she's a woman. A bit on the mannish side, but I'm sure she's all original - no major structural alterations, plumbing refits, etc?"

"Leave my wife out of this - you broke into my office!"

"No, no, I'm here in pursuit of a fault."

"Oh yes, and what fault would that be - I think we'll find there's no wireless network up here at all!"

"Which in itself would be a fault, but no, I was here because...your desktop machine was damaged"

"It's not dama.. >SHOVE< >CRASH!<"

"Looks like it was dropped," I say, "which is a simple replacement job - hardly worth me tackling after hours. Still, better safe than sorry!"

"You just did that!" he gasps,

"No I didn't!"

"You did, and I have witnesses!"

"Witnesses? What witnesses? Ladies, did you see anything?"

"It depends," one of them says astutely.

"On?" the CEO asks.

"The number I'm thinking of," she responds, even more astutely.

"Is it a large number?" I ask. "A large number with something that looks like an L in front of it?"

"That's the one!"

"I'll just have to check my bank balance," I say, grabbing the CEO's phone.

"Whatever you're wanting I'll double it," the Boss says, catching on.

"So let me get this straight," I say, moments later, "you're offering these two ladies of your acquaintance double the amount of money they're thinking of PLUS whatever you were offering them before, to continue your night of debauchery and claim that they saw me push your desktop machine off the desk?"

"Indeed."

"Well, I can't compete with that. I can only offer the amount of money I'm thinking of, which is 200 quid."

"I was already going to pay more than that."

"Well I guess you win. But wait, silly me, did I accidentally press the quick dial number for your home instead of the number to your bank? And is that your wife on the other end of the phone instead of the automated attendant. And is she probably thinking of ringing the bank, reporting your cards as being stolen and locking you out of the house before freezing your communal assets?? Oh...she's rung off!"

>SLAM!< >clatter<

"So ladies, who fancies a rather nasty gin?" 


Episode 16 

"Excellent work on that security thing" the new Boss burbles happily. "A hacker would be lucky to see our web pages now, let alone hack them, the system is so secure!"

"Security is a journey, not a destination," the PFY nods, exuding a Zen-like vibe.

"Like Slough," I add.

"No, that's 'a craphole, not a destination'," the PFY corrects.

"What?" the boss Burbles, "I'm from Slough!"

"Course you are," the PFY says kindly, patting him on the shoulder.

"I..." the Boss starts, then thinks the better of it. "So, how do we access the online resources that we used to?"

"Which online resources are they then?"

"Oh, just online stuff. Some of my stuff isn't working any more."

"The online virus downloading site?"

"Eh?"

"The Russian 'shareware movie' site that you watch movies on."

"I...what!?"

"Oh puleese, we monitor peer-to-peer networking like hawks. Mainly to see if there's anything good coming down, but also because it's virus central if you're not too selective about what you download. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN," the PFY says, nudging the boss's arm.

"No, they said that there were no copyright issues because the site's in Turgekenistan!"

"Ah Turgekenistan, one of the more easygoing of the imaginary East European nations."

"But I paid money to see them! They said it was all kosher!"

"As kosher as a ham sandwich with a side order of bacon," I respond. "With pork icecream for afters. Incidentally, what's your credit card limit?"

"What? Why?"

"Just want to know what sort of bill you've racked up buying stuff online in the Ukraine?"

"I've not boug... ... >crash!< >rush!< >patter patter< >slam!<"

"Do you think it'll be bad?" the PFY asks.

"As bad as...a large rear-projection TV and a HDD-based DVD recorder in a lockup in Bayswater..."

"You didn't!"

"Course I bloody did! There was blood in the water!"

"But what about me?"

"Don't worry, I got you a selection of DVDs."

"Oh, thanks. But surely he'll cancel the order before it's delivered!" the PFY responds.

"Ordinarily yes, but the secret is to use a multinational company then ring them and tell them that, with the internet being so confusing and all, you think you might have accidentally placed your order at the .com site instead of the .co.uk site, and if so it'll take forever to get delivered, so could they possibly rush the delivery locally in time for the wife's birthday - whatever the cost, then fix it up with the .com people"

"And you really think it'll work?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, they got here last night."

"Really?! So where's my DVDs?"

"In the box under your desk!" I reply.

I'm hardly back in my chair before the PFY is doing a bit of gift horse dentistry.

"What!? The Sound of bloody Music!?"

"The FIVE STAR remastered version!"

>shuffle<

"BAD BOY BUBBY?!"

"A...classic!" I say, thinking hard to find a euphemistic phrase with no direct link to excrement.

"Driller Killer?! Anne of Green Gables! BLOODY Sheltering BLOODY Sky!!!"

"Oh, I thought I'd ordered the Bertolucci Omnibus!"

>shuffle<

"That's Bloody IT!"

"What?"

"TITANIC! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I...well nothing really. I clicked on the 30 cheapest DVDs - after all I was on a limited budget."

"You bastard!"

The PFY's 10 minute monologue on the genus of my family tree and its reentrancy are interrupted by the Boss' return.

"THEY'VE BLOODY CLEANED ME OUT!" he wails.

"That's terrible," I cry, almost meaning it.

"I talked to the security people and they said..."

"Sorry, you talked to OUR security?"

"Yes, and they..."

"About an electronic transaction?"

"Yes, and..."

"And you know their skills in computing are limited to putting a red card on a black card?"

"Or vice versa," the PFY says.

"No, they ring the helpdesk for that."

"Yes, yes," the Boss snaps. "But they have some contacts and apparently it's been delivered locally all I need to do is find the vending website within 24 hours, ring the credit card company, and they can trace the package delivery and have the police standing by when the culprit arri...

>KZZZERT!<

"Oh! The Boss has fainted!" I say slipping a couple of sleeping tablets into a glass "I'd best get him some water!"

"But I think I've got smelling salts in my desk," the PFY proffers helpfully. "Which I could probably find - which would bring him around before you got back with the water...unless..."

"Unless?" I say, recognising my old friend blackmail from a distance.

"Unless my eyesight were to fail (because of the ridiculously small television screen I'm forced to use) and I weren't able to find them in time."

"An eyesight problem which would be rectified by a larger TV screen?" I sigh, knowing the answer already.

"Ja Mein Herr!"

"Ok, it's a deal - but...I'll need a hand keeping him out of the way for a few hours."

"Sorted!"

Quarter of an hour later the PFY is helping the Boss onto a train to Slough with a one-way ticket stub stapled to his jacket (and a half bottle of sherry and a suspicious stain on his groin to ward off the curious).

Finding his second credit card was a bit of a bonus, as was finding the .com website with a sale on B-grade movies...

The PFY's going to be so happy!


Episode 17 

So I get into work to find out that one of the cleaners has switched my bloody desktop off overnight, again, in the interests of power saving. No matter how many times I tell them not to the order is countermanded by the head of the cleaning staff, whose extensive and ongoing work with the intricacies of the playstation has equipped him with the technical wherewithal to understand the nuances of leaving a computer on while debugging code to the screen.

So the x application I've been running in window for the better part of 72 hours is gone, which is in itself enough to make me want to strangle someone.

"I'm sure they didn't do it on purpose," the Boss says in calming tones, after I make yet another complaint to him.

My annoyance increases when my screen card pops its clogs at power on. Admittedly, it was bound to happen sooner or later - dangerously overclocked as it was - as the cooling fan had been getting slower and noisier for months as the faint burning odour got worse.

I think calming thoughts and go to look through the spares parts boxes.

...

Only there aren't any spares parts boxes.

"Where are the spares boxes?" I ask the PFY.

"In the Tape room?" the PFY responds.

"No..." I reply.

"Well I don't know where they are - they were there last week when I...borrowed...a disk drive for my home machine."

"The BOSS!" I snap.

...seconds later, in the Boss's office...

"Oh I gave them to my kid's school!" he blurts. "They mentioned in their newsletter that they were looking for unwanted equipment"

"So you just took it?"

"No one was using it!"

"It was spares. Hard drives, memory, and cards. Some of it was new!"

"Really? It didn't look like anyone was using it!"

"It was spares!"

"Well, I can hardly be expected to know the difference can I? I mean do I look like Stephen Bloody Hawking?"

"Not especially."

"Then it can't be helped. Anyway, it was for a good cause. And anyway, we're getting a certificate of their appreciation."

NGGGGGG!!!! I cut my losses and comfort myself by finding the most expensive graphics card on the market, and ordering one of those.

"Isn't that a little.. uh.. expensive for a graphics card?" the Boss asks.

"It would be if it was just a graphics card, but sadly my motherboard won't support the new style PCI-X card, so I had to buy a new motherboard, including processor and RAM. Then the power supply needed upgrading to cope with it all, which in turn meant the case needed to be upgraded.

"So you bought a whole new machine?" the Boss asks.

"No, I kept the DVD writer, floppy, and hard drive from the old one..."

"How about you just buy a screen card from one of the retailers down the street with petty cash?" the Boss suggests with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"I could, but the failure of the old card may have caused some damage to the motherboard which will in turn break the new card."

"Given the price difference, I think I'll take that risk," the Boss replies sarcastically.

...

"It looks like it's been hit with a hammer!" the boss blurts a couple of hours later, after I show him the remnants of the new card.

"Yes, probably a power fluctuation in the motherboard - so replacing that power supply would have been a good idea after all..."

"I suppose you're right," the boss sighs resignedly - realising (in a rare moment of clarity) that it won't take too long for my hammer to work its way through his petty cash budget. "Get the new parts - and we'll give anything that's still working to the school - there's too much crap laying about the place!"

Sigh

...The next morning...

"Ok, where's my office furniture gone?!" the Boss snaps, bursting into Mission Control.

"Oh that! I gave that to a school last night. I had to ring around to find one that wanted the stuff, but in the end one of them leapt at the opportunity."

"IT WAS MY OFFICE FURNITURE!"

"Yes, but it went to a good cause."

"IT...WAS...MINE!"

"Yeah, but it didn't look like you were using it!"

"I WAS USING IT!"

"Well, I can hardly be expected to know that. I mean, do I look like Bruce, the stores guy?"

"Well where are my clothes?"

"Clothes?"

"The two suits hanging behind the door"

"Oh those - well there you're in luck. None of the schools I called needed clothes."

"So where are they?"

"I gave them to a homeless bloke outside the building."

"And that's the good news is it?" the Boss fumes.

"No, the good news is he exchanged them for this half bottle of Gin."

"It's...a bit...yellow, isn't it?" the PFY asks.

"Good point, he exchanged them for this half bottle of pis..."

"GET OUT!"

Ah, well...


Episode 18 

"That's...odd..." the PFY says early one morning, looking at his screen distractedly.

"What's odd?" I ask, coming to the point quickly so that I can get back to recounting the story about myself, some raspberry vodka and a handful of female reps from an anti-virus show booth...

"The Financials Database - it's just sent me an email saying it hasn't been backed up for 187 days."

"Ridiculous!" I cry, hastening to the PFY's side as I realise that any problem with this system could impact the paying of my monthly invoice - which might in turn impair my ability to purchase sufficient quantities of raspberry vodka with which to entertain enticing young women from anti-virus show booths....

"It's true," he says, pointing to the screen. "There's a stack of them. And there's some saying that the redo log area hasn't been archived for 187 days, 22 hours."

"It can't be!" I say. "I have a batch job which exception-checks the backup log output - it's seen nothing!"

"Nothing because it isn't running, or nothing because there's no errors?"

"I...No, it's working - it flagged a tape drive that needed cleaning just last week!"

"So what's sending us the errors?"

"I dunno - what was different 187 days ago?"

"I'd only heard the story about the anti-virus women and the vodka about 200 times?" the PFY says unkindly.

"No, what happened around that time in our system? Did it reboot or something?" I ask, ignoring the PFY's sad attempt to ridicule the Everest of my career as a tradeshow attendee.

>clickety< "Uptime on the financials server is 203 days" the PFY says.

"What about before then?"

"Before then it wasn't there - it was a hardware upgrade, remember?"

"So it was," I reply thoughtfully. "But we checked that the backups were running at the time - so the email must be spurious - UNLESS..."

"Unless what?"

"What happened to the old server?"

"Server Graveyard," the PFY says, pointing into the tape safe room.

"You're sure?"

"Put it there myself," the PFY says, opening the door. "Right there in the corner by the..it's gone!"

NGGGAAARGG!

"Check the server info database, get the old hardware address and find out where it's plugged in!" I snap.

...

"Yes?" the Boss asks, as I bounce his door open without knocking.

"Where is it?" I demand.

"Where's what?" he asks, faking innocence.

"The old financials server!"

"What old financials server?"

"The old financials server you took from the tape safe room. The one plugged into port E-145?"

"I don't have a 'port E-145' - whatever that is - and in any case I'm in a meeting - do you mind?"

"Don't mind me," the helldesk geek gasps from behind the door.

"No no, this is an important meeting!" the Boss counters. "We can deal with whatever they're on about later."

"Oh, well I'll just wait outside till you're done then..." I suggest.

"We could be here for some time," the Boss burbles, obviously trying to think up a plan to sneak the machine out of his room while I'm not around. "A couple of hours even."

"Got all the time in the world!" I respond.

"A couple of hours at the earliest..."

"Fine by me...although I won't want to miss lunch. They've got Chilli Bhajis on the menu as a Johnny Cash tribute!"

"I can't promise anything," the Boss lies. "We might still be talking..."

"Tell you what, I'll camp out here in case you get finished earlier than lunch, otherwise I'll pop in tomorrow when the old Ring of Fire's died down."

"Ok, fine" the Boss says, pushing the door closed...

...

"Did you find it?" the PFY asks when I get back to Mission Control.

"Nah, he's got it hidden away in his cupboard. I couldn't hear any noise, but I noticed a cable going in there."

"So what do we do, disable the port?"

"That would be at most a temporary fix. Bear in mind that he somehow got E-145 livened."

"You mean to say he's been in the comms room!!!" the PFY gasps.

"It would appear so."

"What do you want me to do?" the PFY asks, realising that this is serious.

"Flip the breaker on the building airconditioning, while I login to the old server and disable one of the power supplies."

"Why?"

"So the redundant supply will switch to double speed - and about quadruple noise."

"Won't he just switch it off?"

"Not when you go in to investigate the 'loud computer noise' in his office and he makes up some lie about his desktop always making that noise."

"And what will you be doing?"

"Getting his desktop and the server to exercise their CPU and disk drives aggressively in an effort to..."

"...raise the room temperature by a degree every three minutes or so.." the PFY nods. "And with the aircon off he'll have heatstroke by...uh...just before morning tea time..."

"Indeed."

"MASTER PLAN!" the PFY chirps.

...

In retrospect, no one could have known the Boss would stash the server beside a stack of papers in the cupboard, or that the thermal cutout in the machine was located in the disabled power supply...Suffice to say that the resulting fire was contained inside of five minutes - although the PFY did leave the firehose running inside the Boss' briefcase for a couple more minutes in case there was a potential 'hotspot' amongst the Boss' cellphone, digital camera, PDA or watch.

Not the way we normally decommission servers, but still, it all worked out well in the end and that's the best we can hope for...


Episode 19 

As fate would have it, I've been asked by the unions to see what I can do about getting the computer support staff an across-the-board salary increase. After lengthy protestations about my unsuitability for the job I'm eventually convinced that I may have something to offer by the impassioned pleas of the union delegate.

The 500 quid up front helped sway me, as did the promise of a full Archer if I can swing more than five per cent.

I decide that the best approach is a full frontal assault against the Boss and the head of IT, so arrange to meet with them both in a secluded meeting room.

"As I'm sure you're aware, I was recently contracted to act as a third party union negotiator," I start.

"No, But you're a contractor - you're not even in the union!" the Boss protests.

"It's a separate contract."

"But you're contracted to us as well. Isn't that a conflict of interests?" the head of IT blurts.

"Only if I were interested in either party - which I'm not. However, I'm sure that it would be of interest to you to know the complaints that have been brought to my attention"

"Complaints? So this isn't about money?"

"Of course not. No, I have a number of complaints that people have brought to my attention which need addressing."

"Which people?"

"I'm afraid that the people concerned wish to remain anonymous so as not to risk being singled out for some form of retribution."

"All right then, but what are these complaints?"

"Well, as you know, a few months back there was some discussion about Quantum Computing?"

"Vaguely," the head of IT responds.

"Well, the union members would like some assurances about the safety of this as a technology."

"What do you mean safety exactly?"

"We'd like some assurances that anyone using a Quantum Computer won't be - for instance - thrown into the future somehow."

"What?"

"Sent into the future - or the past for that matter."

"What're you talking about?"

"The members would like to be assured that they won't suffer the same fate as that guy on Quantum Leap", I explain.

"QUANTUM LEAP WAS A BLOODY TV PROGRAM!" the Boss shouts, "IT WASN'T REAL!"

"Nevertheless, I think the members would like a written assurance."

"This is ridiculous. Quantum Computing is perfectly safe!"

"Yes, they said that about asbestos."

"This isn't F---ing asbestos!" the head of IT shouts.

"Yes. Item 2, the members would like free access to learning materials to further their knowledge in computing."

"We're not stopping them learning more about computing! You're the one putting all the magazines through the shredder as soon as they turn up!"

"Yes...I don't think we should be naming names here, it's just not helpful. Now, I should emphasise that no one here is blaming anyone for the poor state of affairs that these individuals have been subjected to in an almost criminal manner."

"YOU'RE THE ONE DOING IT!"

"Once more, we're not here to name names or apportion blame to the people who've been responsible for allowing this sort of thing to go on unchecked in a manner which has created a hostile workplace environment."

"YOU'RE CREATING THE HOSTILE ENVIRONMENT!"

"Right, well I can see we've reached an impasse on Item 1 and Item 2 so perhaps we'll see if item 3 would be more workable."

"What's that?"

"The members would like some assurance that they won't be affected by the radiation from the mobile phone towers on the building."

"There aren't any mobile phone transceivers on the building?" the head of IT says.

"There aren't any now, but there might be some in the future. So the members would like to get a comprehensive company medical plan should any of them suffer ill effects from radiation."

"WHAT BLOODY RADIATION, THERE'S NO TRANSCEIVERS?!"

"Not at the moment, but at some point in the future there might be."

"So what, we'll cross that bridge when we decide to put transceivers up."

"So you admit you're going to install transceivers?"

"I said nothing of the sort!"

"Yes you did, you said WHEN, not IF."

"LOOK, I can't know if the company, at some point in the future, will put up transceivers for cellphones any more than I can tell if they're going to...I don't know..,make the staff all wear company coloured uniforms or something. It might happen, it might not"

"So what you're saying is that the company MAY, at some stage in the future, install cellphone transceivers which will emit possibly harmless radiation onto the staff. When combined with the possibility that Quantum Computing could possibly send someone INTO this harmful environment, I think that we should probably be making this medical plan available right now!"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT! PEOPLE WON'T BE SENT INTO THE FUTURE AND WE WON'T BE INSTALLING CELLPHONE TRANSCEIVERS!" the head of IT shouts.

"I...think that in this...hostile...environment perhaps a compromise would be the best way forward. Perhaps if management were to...compensate the people most likely to be affected by these changes - in the manner of a token gesture - perhaps the issue would, well, go away."

"So it IS about money," the Boss sighs.

"I think a seven per cent increase across board for the computer support staff would be positively received."

"I don't think so," the head of IT says. "And as for the suggestion that they'd believe any of that nonsense - that's just ludicrous."

"It's not them I'd be worried about - it's the rest of the staff. Once one of two of them start voicing their concerns in the company cafeteria..."

"They'd be out the door so fast their feet wouldn't touch the ground!" the Head snaps.

"And when one of their fellow workers happened to mention that the REAL reason they'd gone is that they'd been sucked into the future and the whole 'firing' thing is just a cover-up..."

"You're serious aren't you?"

"Serious enough to get the support staff to start wearing tinfoil hats..." I say.

"I...I'll give you five per cent."

"Six or nothing"

"I...OK," the head of IT folds. "Six percent it is, and not a penny more!"

"OK, I accept on behalf of my members, six percent plus, say a 10 quid a week clothing allowance."

"What clothing allowance?"

"What - you expect them to pay for the company-coloured uniform out of their own wages?"


Episode 20 

So it's time for the annual challenge between the PFY and I to create the ultimate item for Doctor Bastard's lab. I've been looking forward to this for some time as I have a couple of items that I've been perfecting that are bound to be of use to my fellow bastards in years to come.

"Are we ready?" the PFY asks, cheerfully.

"Go for it" I say, waiting to see what he has for me.

"Item the first!" he cries, pulling out a small plate with a few wires coming out of it "an automatic toilet door opener!"

"For opening toilet doors?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Any toilet door?"

"No - for opening the toilet doors of those 'smart' pay public toilets."

"Uh...don't they open automatically by themselves already?"

"Yes, but there's one small difference..."

"Yes?"

"This one makes the door open when it hears an UUUURRRRGGGGGHHHH noise."

"...catching the user in an awkward moment," I finish.

"Yes"

"It's a bit...uh...untargeted isn't it?"

"But still a lot of fun!" the PFY says. "Well, what've you got?"

"I present," I cry, waving my hand at my PC. "Interactive focusing!"

"Huh?" the PFY says, looking at my machine.

"Sit down, look at the screen."

"...Nothing" the PFY says, after following my instructions.

"Give it time..."

"Hey, it's going blurry!"

"Now move your eyes."

"It's sharp again!"

"Indeed. I have some software which polls your eye movement and tweaks the display driver when you've stared at the same spot for too long. If you look away or blink more than twice it returns focus to normal."

"What's the point?"

"Well, there's a lot of configurables which can be used to good effect. I can tweak the amount of time you need to wait till focus drifts, the amount of drift, the amount of time till it comes back, etc - which would lead someone to the false assumption that they might need eyeglasses, eye drops, or just a new expensive monitor..."

"Hmmm." the PFY says doubtfully.

"Okay, what else have you got?"

"A business card scanner which translates job titles into what they really do," the PFY replies, pointing to a USB device attached to his machine.

"So you put in the business card of a personnel consultant in and..."

"...it magically changes their job title to slave trader."

"And a sales rep?"

"Crap peddler."

"A middle manager?" I ask, as the Boss enters.

"GIT! And it's got dip switches on the bottom to set the offensiveness of the lookup table. At the moment it's only on level one, too, but you can set it right up til..."

"Is that a business card scanner?" the Boss interrupts, blundering into Mission Control. "The head of IT has been looking for one for some time, but I haven't been able to located one for him."

"Well, what the hell, he can have this one," the PFY says magnanimously. "I hardly ever use it. I'll just set all the...uh...high density scanning options.

The boss wanders off happily, while I unveil my next invention.

"Self correcting keyboard," I say "It's got a dictionary built into the ROM."

"What's cool about that?" the PFY asks.

"The cool bit is that you can configure it to the user's IQ. All switches down for a MENSA candidate..."

"And for someone like the boss?"

"Break the switch!"

"It's pretty crap," the PFY says. "My remote control mouse driver is better."

"The one which uses an IR mouse to override the wired one?" I ask. "No, nothing flash there. HOWEVER, when you put it together with my SUITE of tools you've got a goer!!"

"Suite?"

"Indeed, your remote control mouse (with mods) and my self correcting keyboard."

"What mods?" the PFY asks, ignoring my prize creation completely.

"Well, your mouse driver requires someone to be there - my mods don't."

"How do they work then?" the PFY asks sulkily. "And how did you know about my mouse?"

"I see all. As for the mods, there's two basic mods, triggered by a menu activation. When a menu bar comes down the driver, upon getting a mouse click, moves the pointer up or down a random amount, then clicks - selecting a different option."

"Right," the PFY says thoughtfully.

"THEN, if a dialogue box appears, it waits for a mouse click and then moves the pointer a random amount sideways and clicks. It keeps trying till the dialogue box disappears. I call it the mickey mouse driver, although for obvious marketing reasons I'd call it something else."

"And the other mod?"

"When you're typing in a field the driver moves the pointer to another field and activates that - you know, like crap web forms do all the bloody time."

"And that's it - that's your suite?"

"Ok, I was holding this back - my tourettes spell checker. When you spell check your document it replaces personal pronouns with...uh...other words."

"You mean like my business card scanner does? You took my ideas?"

"The focusing thing is all my own work!"

"And you stole all the rest?"

"What can I say, all property is theft!" I say kindly.

"Who said that, Lenin?!"

"Nah, it was probably one of the other Beatles."


Episode 21 "It's a capacitor - uhhh, electrolytic," the PFY says, gazing into space, deep in concentration.

"What?" the Boss asks, looking vacant.

"Nah," I reply. "There was no bang, and besides it's got that siliconny edge to it."

"A Power Transistor?"

"BINGO!" I cry.

"WHAT!?" the Boss snaps.

"That smell. Something's cooked in the machine room and the smell's leaked through the aircon, so we're trying to figure out what it was."

"Can't you just look in the machine room?"

"Where's the fun in that?" the PFY asks.

"Yeah, that's no fun at all. Anyway, I'm thinking power supply," I add.

"If it's a power transistor it's almost certain to be, BUT, for the bonus point question, did it short out or open circuit?" the PFY asks.

"What does that mean?" the Boss interrupts.

"If it's shorted it will have almost certainly taken out a circuit breaker - plus all the power supplies of machines on that breaker - but if it's open circuit it'll just be the one machine."

"How can you tell that from a smell?"

"It's an educated guess thing," I reply. "For instance, older kit tended to have older technology with larger components which generally meant more current required to cook them which in combination meant more smell. Newer kit has such smaller componentry and advanced heatsinking that it often barely makes a sound when it fails - particularly if it's a short circuit failure."

"Huh?"

"If it's an open circuit failure," the PFY explains scribbling vague component diagrams on the whiteboard, "there's likely to be a small component which died meaning a small sound and a small smell, but if it's a short circuit failure there's liable to be a large bang and lots of smell."

"Hadn't you better go and check?"

"No, if there's a system outage we'd be paged and as you can see there's been no..."

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

"..?" the boss implies.

"No, that's just a single page, if it's important there'd be..."

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

"Now will you check?"

"In a moment, the second beep just means that it's an important server, but if it were really urg..."

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

...Seconds later, in the computer room...

"It's alright, no need to panic!" the PFY says. "It's just the salaries payments machine."

"And why shouldn't we panic about that!?" the Boss gasps.

"Because we're contractors, we get paid through accounts receivable," I reply.

"I'm not a contractor!"

"Ah, well in that case forget what I just said," the PFY says.

"So our payroll system is down?" the Boss gasps.

"No, no."

"Oh, it's a redundant system?"

"No, the payroll system is up, it's just the machine that dials up the bank to feed the data about who gets paid what isn't."

"How long will it take to fix?"

"It depends what's wrong with it"

"You just said it was a power supply!"

"Yes, it probably is, but it's not technically our machine - it's the bank's. That being the case we're not permitted to open it. To make it worse, the machine is fitted with a tamper evident high security locking system so we can't open it even if we had discovered that the lock wasn't all that 'high' security."

"Who's got the key then?"

"Finance, possibly - but if the case is opened the High Security BIOS in the machine will lock it from powering on until someone from the bank enters a special enabling number."

"Why?"

"I believe the thinking was that if the box was made super secure then no-one would be able to insert...uh.. extra payments...into the data that was sent to the bank."

"Yes, that probably makes sense," the Boss nods.

"Yeah, you're right," the PFY says sarcastically. "It would be so much more difficult to insert a couple of extra rows into our salaries database just before the data transfer to the payments machine then, delete them immediately after..."

"Or inserting a second machine - like that laptop over there - into the serial line between the salaries database and salaries payments machines and just add a couple of payments to the data stream..." I add.

"I'll...uh... call finance," the Boss mumbles.

...Later that day..

"A dud capacitor," the engineer says pointing into the power supply.

"Really?" the PFY says smugly. "Not something siliconny?"

"Point taken," I admit dryly. "So how long will it take to fix?"

"Hmmmmm" the engineer sighs, in the manner that only engineers and mechanics can manage. "...Tricky."

"How tricky?" the Boss asks.

"Dunno, when do you need it by?" the engineer asks shrewdly.

"As soon as possible," the Boss says, making the proverbial land-war-in-Asia classic blunder.

"Weeellllll, it'd probably be costly," he says, thinking pound signs.

"What if we have a replacement power supply?" the PFY suggests.

"You'd void the warranty," the engineer warns, countering the PFY's counteroffer.

"Not if an engineer were paid...CASH...to install it," the PFY observes.

...ten seconds later..

"So it's agreed, I'll give you a power supply and you get 50 quid to install it."

"And everyone's pay will go through," the Boss says happily. "I'll just go and sort out the 50 quid."

"A...hundred quid" the PFY says.

"Huh?"

"Fifty quid for installation, and 50 quid for the supply."

"They're our power supplies!"

"No, they're power supplies I rescued before the kit went into the bin!"

"I...guess I don't have time to argue," the Boss blurts, folding at the thought of missing an automatic mortgage payment.

...five minutes later...

"..and here's YOUR 50 quid"

"Thanks," the PFY says graciously. "Fire her up."

"Sure thing," the engineer says, flicking the switch.

>Click< >CRACK!<

"Now THAT was a power transistor!" I snap.

"Sure sounded like one," the engineer says. "So what do we do now?"

"Get a replacement power supply from your office before five!" the Boss gasps.

"Get there and back in an hour and install it? You've got to be joking"

"I may have another spare power supply..." the PFY suggests. "...But this one's a little more expensive."

"And there's probably going to be an additional power supply reinstallation charge..." the engineer hints.

Something tells me that's the start of a beautiful friendship... 


Episode 22 

"I don't know what to say," the PFY sniffles as the Boss breaks the sad news to him. "Will it be...quick?"

"It'll over in no time," the Boss reassures him.

"And how is everyone taking it?"

"Apart from you, pretty well actually," the Boss replies.

"But why?" the PFY bleats.

"Its time had come - we all knew that. It's just too expensive to keep."

"Wasn't there some other way? It was a piece of history."

"No, I'm afraid that once the bills started mounting up it was the best thing to do for everyone concerned."

"But it was a classic!"

"It was just a rusty old van!"

"It may have been a rusty old van to you, but to me it was a driving experience!"

"A bad experience," the Boss snaps, losing his hitherto supportive demeanour.

"No, it was great. You could hit a judder bar at 35mph with no problems - except that time we lost the muffler, of course. Not to mention it could get into any parking space - no matter how small - without any damage."

"Without any further damage, you mean," I correct.

"Granted, it had some...love bites."

"It was a wreck!" the Boss blurts.

"Only cosmetically. Structurally it was built like a battleship!"

"I hardly think it was all that..."

"He's right," I interrupt. "It was built like a battleship - we got it second-hand from the prison service when they privatised their transportation. It was unusually rare."

"And unusually expensive to keep running. Why, the diesel costs alone..."

"Are you sure we can't keep it?" the PFY pleads.

"No, it's going, we had a budget cut last week and we realised it was too costly to run," the Boss snaps.

"That's what they said about the espresso machine!"

"Yes, That's going tomorrow," the Boss mumbles.

"Beg pardon?" I croak.

"The espresso machine - it's going tomorrow."

"You can't do that - it's been part of the company for years!"

"So had the van."

"It means a great deal to people."

"So apparently did the van!"

"It's a landmark!"

"Only in that people knew the fax machine was beside it and that you need a swipe card to get to it!!!"

"It has cultural significance!"

"What culture?" the Boss asks.

"The coffee culture!"

"The 'coffee culture' can drink instant like everyone else!"

"Wash your mouth out with soap," the PFY fizzes. "Do you know how many harmful chemicals are in instant?"

"Next to none?"

"That's right, none! When you're three hours into a system install at midnight and need a caffeine pick-me-up to keep you going an instant's just not going to do it!"

"This is ridiculous!" the Boss snaps. "It's costly, only used by a few privileged people and hard to get to!"

"So's St Paul's Cathedral - are you proposing that should be got rid of to save costs too?"

"Now you're just being silly. It's going, tomorrow, so you'll have to make other plans to get your coffee. Perhaps you can get it delivered - at your expense - if you need it that badly."

"I'm telling you, you can't get rid of it," I say. "Or the van either for that matter. They're part of the company now!"

"They're already sold!" the Boss snaps, exiting.

..

"So what do we do?" the PFY asks. "Break them enough that the sale falls through but not so much that we can't repair them later?"

"That wouldn't work - once we'd repaired them the Boss would sneak in and take them. No, what we need is something truly original...Hmmmm...I think I have it."

...The next day...

"WHAT THE F*** IS THIS?!" the Boss shouts angrily, crashing into Mission Control full tilt.

"What's what?" I ask.

"This!" he cries, thrusting a couple of sheaves of paper at me.

"Uh...it's what it says," I reply.

"YOU APPLIED FOR HERITAGE PROTECTION FOR A VAN AND A COFFEE MACHINE!!!" he shouts.

"Oh that! Yes, I did," I say.

"You don't stand a chance of getting this approved!" he seethes.

"Why not, we agreed the landmark status and cultural significance?"

"You can't be serious."

"Of course we can. Both items are iconic and have a rich and significant history."

"It'll never get approved!" the Boss repeats.

"No, but then it doesn't have to be," I say.

"What do you mean?"

"Until their eligibility for heritage status is decided they're protected by law - you can't touch them."

"So you've really only protected them for... >shuffle< 15 days till the next hearing."

"Fifteen more days of coffee and driving," I counter.

"...if it even gets to the hearing," the PFY adds.

"What do you mean," the boss asks suspiciously.

"What if the submission got mislaid on the way to the hearing? We might need an extension till the next hearing date. Then the next...then there's the convoluted and escalating appeals process, which is bound to cost the company a lot more than the running costs of an old van and an espresso machine..."

"I...You...A...oh.." the Boss says, wandering out of Mission Control with defeat stencilled all over him.

"Should we tell him about the application to make the pub across the road an official place of worship?"

"Nah, let's leave that till we can muddy up the definition of 'religious observance' in our contracts..."


Episode 23 

"I have a little job for you," the Boss burbles handing a wadge of paper to the PFY.

"A...computer room fit out," the PFY says with disdain, eyeing the papers in the manner generally reserved for the observance of dog excrement on one's footwear. "What's the catch?"

"No catch - I thought you'd find it interesting."

"I didn't think the company had the money to fix the current computer room, let alone build a new one - and from scratch on a green fields site if I'm not mistaken," I add, giving the documents the once over.

"That's because it isn't our company building this computer room," the Boss replies.

"But you want us to design it?" the PFY asks.

"Yes."

"Even though we're not contracted to them?"

"No, no, we are contracted to them," the Boss says.

"I meant the Bastard 'we'"

"The Bastard 'we'?"

"It's like the Royal 'we' but far more dangerous," I add helpfully.

"Traffic tunnels in Paris excepted," the PFY adds.

"I...What do you mean not contracted?" the Boss asks.

"THIS company has a contract with ANOTHER company," the PFY explains slowly. "But WE do not."

"Yes, but YOU have a contract with THIS COMPANY," the Boss says equally slowly.

"But not to work for other companies, just to work for this one."

"And this company is subcontracting you to the other company," the Boss replies smugly.

"I think you'll find that our contract..."

"...mentions nothing about subcontracting your services to another company," he counters smartly. "I know - I had the company solicitors give your contract the once-over. As impressed as they were about the numerous strange clauses in your contract - their favourite being the extortionate penalty payment for remaining at work after a UFO sighting in the vicinity of the building - they believe that there's nothing to stop us using you to provide services to other companies."

"I..." the PFY says, looking to me for support.

"He's probably right," I admit grudgingly. "I doubt I ever thought of that contingency."

"It's not like you're not getting PAID for it," the Boss snaps nastily. "So anyway, how long do you think it'll take?"

"To write up a full specification for tender purposes?" I ask.

"Yes"

"Three days or so, depending on interruptions..."

"Ok, get to it then!!" the Boss chirps happily as he trundles out.

...Three days later...

"So this is it then?" the Boss asks, fingering an impressively large pile of paper.

"It is," I say. "The first 10 pages or so are a definition of terms so that some dodgy outfit can't reinterpret, for instance, the words CAT-6 as something other than that intended by a reputable standards body. After that there is a chapter each on power+lighting, generator+UPS, air-conditioning, structured cabling, acceptable cable ducting and feeding methods, underfloor and ceiling space provision, earthquake and flood protection, environmental monitoring and alarms, security systems + access + alarms, secure on and offsite data storage requirements and finally 24x7 services."

"24x7 services?"

"Espresso machine, sofa, TV, fridge, microwave, telephone with pizza company on speed-dial, etc."

"I think we might perhaps leave that one out, but the rest sounds fairly comprehensive."

"As indeed it is. It'll be a couple of weeks of someone's time wading through the responses to that baby," the PFY says, patting the pile of paper happily.

"Which reminds me of another little job I had for you..." the Boss adds smugly.

...

"...and the response we've decided to accept is this one," the PFY says, fingering the successful candidate.

"Why?" the head of IT asks, beating the Boss to the punch.

"They're inexpensive but not cheap, their response was clear and readable, they've got a good track record of putting machine rooms together in the past and they use reputable products and people," I say. "It's not often you see all that in one package."

"Well, I have to say that I'm both pleased and surprised," the Boss says cheerfully. "You appear to have done a thorough job of it."

"We are professionals, and after all, we were getting PAID to do it," the PFY says, handing this month's invoices to the head of IT.

"Who was it?" the head of IT sighs sadly.

"Him," the PFY says, pointing at the Boss.

"What?" the Boss asks.

"When?" the head of IT asks, ignoring the Boss.

"Moments after we got the word that we had to write up a spec," the PFY adds happily.

"WHAT?" the Boss asks.

"You would have been standing by a window," the head of IT says bitterly, a painful memory of his first week in the company rising to the surface. "And one of these two would have said something like 'look at that, is it an Airbus 320 or an Airbus 340'?"

"The actual question was 'is that a 747-200F or a 747-200C'?" the PFY says.

"Yes?" the Boss says.

"And you said something like 'I dunno' didn't you?" the head asks.

"Well, I don't know anything about planes," he replies defensively.

"And what do we call a flying object that you can't identify?" the PFY asks.

"Oh..." the Boss says. "I'll get me coat..."


Episode 24 "Whew," the PFY says wiping the tears from his eyes as he steps into Mission Control. "I don't think I've laughed so much since you slapped an old scanner one top of our shredder and convinced on of the Bosses that it was a self-feeding photocopier."

"Yes," I nod. "Who could have known he'd slip in late at night to copy some share certificates? He went through half his portfolio before he wondered why no paper was coming out..."

"But then in the morning you convinced him it was a paper jam AND HE PUT THE REST IN!!!" the PFY weeps, shaking his head happily.

"Yes, I have to admit it was a triumph of stupidity..." I reply. "So what was so funny?"

"He shredded his shares!!" the PFY explains.

"Yes, yes, but what was so funny today that reminded you of that?"

"Oh that!" he gasps. "We're being sued!"

"WE are, or the company is?"

"The company of course!"

"Why?"

"BECAUSE," the Head of IT says, pushing into both the office and conversation, "the specification we provided for a server room build wasn't quite kosher."

"Not kosher?!" I cry, preparing to defend my good name.

"Yes, apparently a basement housing 10 Vax 11/780s isn't a commonplace thing any more."

"That was a joke, just delete it!" I sigh.

"And what about Thick-Wire Ethernet cabling TO THE DESKTOP?"

"That was different - that was a GOOD joke, but just delete that as well."

"They can't delete it because they presented it for tender and accepted a proposal."

"In a week!" the PFY chuckles, "without even reading the document!"

"Well no-one's going to be able to supply 10 Vaxes or that much thickwire cabling, so why don't they just retender?"

"On the strength of the tender acceptance someone HAS sourced the computers and cabling AND contracted some VMS specialists out of retirement to install them - and now that the company wants to pull the pin on the project they're suing them. As a result that they're suing us and WE, in turn, are suing YOU!" the Head of IT snaps, just as the Head of HR enters Mission Control to provide moral support.

"You can't sue us!" the PFY snaps.

"Yes we can. We can sue you for malpractice."

"You could try, but you'd fail," I reply.

"Why?" the Head of HR responds.

"Here's the hidden bonus," I respond. "You'll note that this company entered into a supply contract with another company but that our contract was solely with (as was pointed out to us) this company. And our contract specifically states that we're liable for damages to company property that result from our work, not other damages or damages to another company. So in effect this company is the liable party."

"Is he right?" the Boss asks the HR bloke.

"I'd have to look over the contract but I fear that he might be correct," the Head of HR burbles, ducking out.

... ten minutes later ...

"He's right, they aren't liable," the Head of HR says.

"Told you," I chuckle.

"...Under the original contract," the Head of HR says. "But under a revision you signed six months ago - to get a performance bonus - it only mentions damages to the company, and not just its property."

!!!

Woopsy!

"So we're stuffed then?" the PFY says.

"I think so," the Head of HR smirks cheerfully.

"I'm not so sure," I say. "I don't recall signing any revision..."

"It's all here in black and white - and blue, where the signatures are..."

"Hmm. You don't mind if I take a copy for my solicitor?"

"I don't think so..."

"We'd get a copy during discovery anyway."

"Ok, I suppo..."

>SHRED< >SHRED<

"Oh dear, there's been a paper jam in the photocopier," I gasp.

"So you've accidentally destroyed the only evidence of an agreement mentioning our liability?" the PFY asks.

"I'm afraid so," I sigh. "Bloody technology!"

"So we're in the clear?"

"It... would seem so," the Head of HR seethes.

"Well to show there's no hard feelings, here's a possible solution: Instead of being sued why not just approach the successful tenderer and offer to pay them for the Vaxes and cabling plus some dumping costs as well as paying off their Vax specialists for doing nothing. It won't involve solicitors which will mean it'll be about one quarter of the expense"

"I... Hmmm," the HR Head says looking to the Head of IT for agreement. "I suppose it's probably our only option."

. . .

"That was a sneaky trick," the PFY says, tapping the shredding scanner benevolently.

"Which bit, the shredding of our contract or tendering to supply 10 Vaxes, three miles of thickwire and a couple of VMS experts?"

"I... You didn't! ... Isn't that a little, well, venal?"

"So you're not interested in being one of the VMS experts then?"

"I... Well I didn't say that..."

"I didn't think so..." 


Episode 25 

So, I'm approaching Mission Control one morning and can't help noticing a disturbance in...the force...It's almost as if a million souls were suddenly installing OS2. Ignoring the feeling, I slip inside to find the Boss and PFY discussing something heatedly.

"...so if you could just reinstall Office on his machine that would be good."

"There's nothing wrong with his Office install - outside of the whole selling-your-soul-to-Lucifer thing," the PFY argues.

"His Word documents aren't displaying properly, so it must be broken!" the Boss explains carefully.

"It's not Word that's broken, it's the archaic document he uses as a template which doesn't look like it used to when he was using the original years-ago version. If he just got off his arse and created a new, REAL template file he'd stop having problems!" the PFY snaps.

"I think you'll find these Office products are always backwards compatible, so it must be the program that's broken."

"Backwards compatible just means that people who are backwards can use them!"

"?"

"My assistant is simply suggesting Word's for wissies who can't manage vi," I say, realising that I'm not really interested in calming this situation down any...

"I want you to go and reinstall it," the Boss directs.

"It's just a waste of time," the PFY says, tapping away on his keyboard. "Look!"

I join the Boss as he takes a quick shufti at the PFY's screen, which shows a picture of the user in question picking his nose and eating it.

"What's this?" the Boss asks.

"This is live from his webcam," the PFY says. "We pushed some software around the building to allow us to activate webcams when desired to...uh - aid us in...debugging applications!"

"Shouldn't it be pointed at the screen then?" the Boss asks.

"No, we know what's on the screen from the remote help software - this is so we can see them using their keyboard."

"You can't even see their keyboard!" the Boss protests.

"Obviously, you can't see their keyboard now, but if we ever needed to we'd get them to move their camera."

"So you're saying you rarely need to see the keyboard?"

"No - you can tell he's an idiot just by looking at his face!"

"Wellll...perhaps you should do a reinstall anyway, just to be sure..." the Boss wheedles.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing wrong!"

"I think you should still go down there and reinstall it," the Boss sighs. "He's been complaining all week, and you know what they say about the squeaky wheel."

"Needs a good bash with a hammer?" the PFY asks.

"No, it gets the oil," the Boss answers.

"So you want me to grease up our user?"

"I want you to reinstall Office!"

The PFY resigns himself to the process and wanders off...

"There he is!" the Boss blurts a few minutes later as the PFY appears in the picture. "What's he doing?"

"Just shutting the office door - standard operating procedure for users who have become...a liability."

"Ay?" the Boss repeats. "I'm telling you, the problem isn't the user, it's Office! In fact, the way this is going we should probably install all our user's Office products - just to be on the safe side!"

"All our users. Reinstall every machine? It would take weeks! We'd have to listen to them talk about how it's not as good as what they used to use years ago."

"Yes, but it'll be for the best."

"I see..." I sigh, reaching into the drawer for some gaffer tape. "Could you... uhmmm.. just pop the door of Mission Control closed?"

>slam!<

"What's he saying?" the Boss asks, returning from the doorway.

"The Mic's off - he's probably just asking the usual support questions."

"Like what version of Word he's using?"

"No. More likely it's whether the office is soundproof, if he's got any important meetings this afternoon that he'd be missed at, whether he's got a large roll of carpet or a big duffel bag handy..."

"Why?" the Boss asks.

"I'm not sure, it's just something he does. I could ring him and ask, but it might take a while to get hold of him and you'll have meetings to get to..."

"No, no, miles of time! I'd like to see how this pans out first hand."

"Really? Oh well, in that case, I think I can help you. Can you do us a favour while I ring him and unroll that large sheet of plastic?"

"That black stuff with 'HAZARDOUS WASTE, DO NOT OPEN' on it?"

"Yeah, that's the one. It's actually an antistatic pad that we've been trying out which I thought you might want to look at while you're here."

"Oh, ok. Where do you want it?"

"Where you're standing will be fine"

>shuffle< >shuffle<

"What's he doing now!?" the Boss snaps angrily, peering back at the screen "I thought I told him to reinstall Office, not rewire his bloody machine! What's he handing to the user? Oh look! The screen's gone blank, that's just lovely!"

"It's just a static problem on the monitor," I say, plugging a lead into the wallsocket. "Just needs a degauss. Hang on to this...degaussing wand...for a second will you?"

"What? Oh sure"

>CLICK< >KZZZZEEERT!<

And suddenly the force is back to normal, shaken, but not disturbed...


Episode 26 

"BUT I DILIGENTLY BACKED MY FILES UP!" the user wails.

"TWO YEARS AGO!" I respond, not feeling the slightest bit of sympathy for my caller.

"It's still a backup!"

"No, what you wanted was an archive, not a backup."

"But the system let me backup the files and didn't warn me not to!"

"The system would also let you send your picture and contact details to a rough trade gay contact mailing list saying you like to be surprised with power tools in a non-consensual role play scenario � but that doesn�t mean you SHOULD do it.!

"I'm hardly likely to do that," he snaps.

>clickety< >clickety<

"I suppose not, but you can't blame the system for you not selecting the ARCHIVE option"

"How's a Backup different from an Archive?"

"A Backup is when we keep a file for six months because our users might need it, and an Archive is when we keep a copy indefinitely because our user is a prat."

"I beg your pardon?"

"And a pardon freely given," I respond benevolently.

"Are you aware of who you're talking to?"

"Strangely enough, no. The phone line detail database got corrupted a few nights ago and I've not got round to recovering it from the Archive."

"I thought you said you only used archives if the user is, as you say, a prat?" he chips in snidely.

"All our users are prats. So we use an archive!!!"

A click resounds in my ear with no further bluster, which smells distinctly like trouble brewing to me. Brewing like the six-day-old pot of coffee in the roadside cafe of the highway to hell, I'm guessing. And, based on the tone of the conversation, the coffee grinds in question are probably brewed by someone on the 4th floor, and judging by their command of the English language, a board member.

Bugger.

That's the problem with caller-id technology � you become dependent on it, then it lets you down. While searching the online phonebook for the owner of the number, I give the PFY a quick briefing on events so he's prepared for when the excreta encounters the cooling device - ie. the Boss gets involved.

And just in the nick of time as the Boss, looking slightly puffed, stumbles into the office at what passes for high speed.

"Who was just on the phone to the company auditor?" the demands angrily � answering my unasked question about the sort of person who leaves six months between backups.

"That would be me," I cry.

"YOU CALLED THE COMPANY AUDITOR A PRAT!?" he shouts.

"Not at all!" I gasp defensively.

"Oh."

"I called anyone who doesn't backup their files within six months a prat. No offence."

"Are you TRYING to get me fired!?" the boss snaps.

"To tell you the truth, I hadn't thought about it. I don't think so. Though that would be a bit of an undocumented bonus.

"Bet ya ten quid you can do it!" the PFY chirps.

"Done!"

"Sorry, you're having a wager about me getting fired?"

"Yep!" the PFY replies.

"For 10 quid."

"Uh-huh."

"You'd seriously try and get me fired, just to earn 10 quid?"

"I'd do it for five," the PFY adds.

"It's not the amount, it's the challenge," I add.

"I...It'll never happen. In any case, you can't talk to users like that!"

"Well technically, he already did - which proves it IS possible," the PFY adds helpfully.

"RIGHT!" the boss shouts, about-turning, and storming out.

"Looks like YOU'RE for the high jump!" the PFY murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Yeesss," I concur. "There's only one thing for it then..."

"PUB TRIP!" we both cry in unison, great minds thinking alike.

As it IS my unofficial leaving do, I stop at a few ports of call on the way out to notify some friends and useful contacts of my impending departure. Stopping briefly at security, cleaning and stores, I collect three more people for the Trip a la Pub.

...two hours later...

"So you haven't ACTUALLY been fired then?" George, my cleaner acquaintance asks.

"Not as such, but it looks imminent."

"And that robot isn't going to go ballistic again?" one of George's offsiders asks, remembering all too well the mess the last time caused.

"No, I decommissioned it with a Gas Axe and a hammer months ago. But...I...don't know what to say," I blurt, while the PFY gets another round in at the Bar. "I feel like some sort of speech is required.."

"Do that one about 'Ask not what you company can do to you but what you can do to your company'," George suggests.

"And exactly what can you do to your company?" the Boss asks, appearing from nowhere.

"I...don't think any of that will be necessary," the PFY interrupts, returning from the bar. "I've just been watching the news."

"And?" the Boss asks.

"Uh...apparently someone attacked the company auditor outside the building when he left for lunch - with a battery drill."

"Oh dear," I gasp, trying to avoid the mental picture. "I thought that list was a joke."

"So we'll be rushing back to the company to get back to work?" the PFY suggests.

"If by 'work' you mean zapping our mail logs with a nine-pass erase algorithm, changing the IP addresses of our mail gateways and removing any history of phone calls, then yes." "I think you're forgetting that more people involved in this than just the company auditor," the Boss chips in.

"You mean you sent email to that mailing list too?" the PFY gasps.

"No."

"And you're sure of that, given that there's 15 quid riding on this?" the PFY asks fingering his wireless PDA.

...



Episode 27 

"... and so I'd like to get one of those new five button mice," The Boss finishes, after what seems like an eternity of blather.

"Sorry, I think I slipped into a coma - why did you want one again?" I ask.

"Because they can do so much!"

"Yeah, that's where I'm a bit in the grey. I mean a one button mouse - I can see the shortcomings; and a two button mouse might be a little limited. I can even understand a scroll wheel mouse, but why would you need a five button mouse?"

"I can do more!"

"What?"

"I could program it with all the functions I most commonly do!"

"Yes but Sleep, Eat, and Crap aren't computer functions," The PFY chips in.

"ANYway," The Boss says, ignoring the unsolicited input. "I got to thinking that we should replace all the rolly mouses in the company with those optical ones which don't get all gunked up, and THEN I thought if we're going to change people's mice, why not let them choose which mouse they would like?"

"You're suggesting you give users a choice in their hardware?!" The PFY asks, shocked. "You realise what that would do to our 'small items' budget?"

"It's just a mouse and we're going to replace them anyway, so why not let people choose the mouse that they want? It can't be that bad!"

"Wouldn't it be more efficient just to burn a large portion of our 'small items' money?" I ask.

"I..."

"We'll just go to the bank, withdraw a pile of cash, and burn it. Burn it in the cafeteria, even - so that everyone can see. And we'll tell them it was the Mouse Replacement Project."

"I really do think that people should be able to choose their own mouse," The Boss says.

"But it'll cost a fortune!"

"I'm not so sure. I've been reading a magazine article about some new research that if people feel they can exercise even small amounts of control over their workplace they're happier for it. And when people are happier, they're more productive. They also say that if you treat people with respect they'll respect you for it!"

"So we should tip money down the toilet to make people happy?"

"I don't really think it's that much of a waste."

"Of course it is! Someone's bound to order the most expensive mouse they can find - the project will either run out of money or the online small item purchasing form will reject the purchase of the really expensive mice - which will actually damage morale!"

"I think you'll find you're wrong but I'll make a note to get a change to the form in this case."

"But you'll strip our budget!" I cry unhappily. "We won't even be able to buy backup media!"

"Even if one or two people do go over the top I doubt you'll lose all your money - and then we'll find that people are happier working here - and that's a small price to pay."

"No it's not, it's a high price."

"Well we're doing it!" The Boss snaps.

. . . Two days later . . .

"So, how are things on the front line of mouse replacement?" The Boss asks, happily entering Mission Control.

"FANTASTIC," the PFY says. "I thought the idea was a bunch of huggy feely crap, but I bought myself a new mouse and you know what - I feel really good!"

"What did I tell you!? It's the small things that make people feel appreciated. Now what did you get - a five button wirele.... IS THAT GOLD?!?!?"

"It is!" the PFY says. "I got it on eBay! A bargain at four thousand, five hundred quid."

"FOUR THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS."

"Yeah, it was a bit of a bidding war!"

"You bought a solid gold mouse!?!"

"It looked so nice."

"I.... Is the gold.. .. ..wearing off onto your mouse pad?!"

"I'm not sure - I was playing some games for a few hours last night and noticed a tinge of yellow on the pad."

"You... you're wearing out your mouse?!?!"

"Oh I shouldn't worry - at the rate the gold price is going up the mouse is actually holding it's value quite nicely," The PFY says.

"You'll have to sell it, we can't afford that!"

"But what about my freedom to choose, my exercising of control - my morale."

"STUFF THAT, just sell the mouse and put the money back!!"

"But.."

"DO IT - and quickly, before someone finds out!"

. . . The next day . . .

"I thought I told you to sell that!" The Boss gasps as he comes in to find me using the PFY's mouse.

"I did!" the PFY sniffs.

"And it was a BARGAIN!," I blurt. "Picked it up on eBay for a quid!"

"YOU SOLD IT TO HIM FOR ONE POUND!" The Boss screeches.

"Well yeah," the PFY replies. "You wanted it sold in a hurry so I put it on a one day auction."

"And as luck would have it, I spotted it," I add. "Of course the five thousand quid delivery and handling fee probably put most people off, but I got it cheap because I could pick it up"

>thud<

"Oh look at that" The PFY says "he's fainted. Probably heatstroke!"

. . . ten minutes later . . .

"Well, YOU can sell it - and this time, get more money for it!"

"Ah, but I bought the mouse with my own money," I said, "because our small items budget had run out - like I told you."

"I...."

"I shouldn't worry, though," I say to The Boss. "It's not as bad as it seems - it's just a plastic mouse painted gold with some lead weights in it."

"You paid 4500 quid for a plastic mouse?" the Boss gasps to The PFY.

"Yeah, well, it looked like it was solid gold"

"Caveat Emptor," I blurt. "I mean if you can't be bothered verifying the things you're buying from me before you make a bid..."

"It was your mouse in the first place?!?" The Boss asks me.

"Well yeah."

"And you sold it for �4,500 and bought it back for one."

"Yeah, I missed it. And I'd agree with The PFY, I feel a lot happier too!!"

>thud<

"Best open a window - I need to tell him about my new keyboard in a minute..." the PFY sighs. 


Episode 28 

"I can't believe it, I've been trying to get that thing to boot for hours!" the Boss says, shaking his head as the PFY steps back from his desktop.

"Yes," I respond. "I have to admit the PFY has a bit of a silicon thumb when it comes to dodgy hardware - in fact, we call him the computer whisperer."

"The computer whisperer?"

"Yeah, like the horse whisperer except you don't have to show a horse a dogfood tin that needs filling..."

"But you did point out where the problem started..." the PFY adds graciously.

"Yes, how did you work that out so quickly?" the Boss asks suspiciously.

"I just read the crash dump on the blue screen."

"You mean that actually means something?" the Boss blurts.

"To the right people, sometimes, yes. You know how in The Matrix the guy can look at all the numbers on the screen and it makes sense to him? Well, that's what a dump looks like to me. Or, for that matter, what the hex values of porn image are to the PFY here - he's got a sixth sense for it. Why, he could sniff a breast out of a compressed zip file in about 10 seconds!"

"It's true," the PFY admits. "They think it's some autistic thing, I've pretty much always been able to do it. Like yesterday I was looking at a 'data file' and noticed #FFDAB96432FF127F43434378A19F76A166A1321F! The dirty slappers!"

"I..." the Boss asks, before deciding not to pursue this conversation. "So what was wrong?"

"It's faulty memory", the PFY says, undoing the screws on the lid of the Boss' desktop. "I disabled most of it and the machine started, which tends to indicate that some of it is faulty, so what we'll do is just start removing blocks of it till it boots ok

"But how can it be faulty? How can memory fail?"

"Things fail," I say to him. "Washing machines fail, cars fail, searches for weapons of mass destruction fail, it's inevitable!"

"Yes, but it's failed four times!"

"Four times?" the PFY asks, looking up from his work. "What do you mean four times? You've never called about problems before!"

"No, well, I...uh...one of the accountant people was in the office when it crashed recently and he helped me."

"You got a beancounter to fix your machine?!"

"Yeah, well he'd done it a couple of times before."

"Of course he'd done it a couple of times before, he's never done it properly! He's a beancounter! What a beancounter knows about computers you could tattoo on a DIMM with a jackhammer! So what did he say was wrong with it?"

"He said I needed more memory, so he took some out of some old machines of theirs."

"You used old F***ing memory?!" the PFY snaps.

"It wasn't being used any more."

"Neither are underpants at a thrift shop but you don't slap them on!"

"He said it'd be ok - and he did seem to know what he was doing!"

"Yuh," the PFY nods. "Next time someone seems to know what they're doing, get them to tune your car..."

. . . >creak<

"Ohmigoodness" the PFY gasps as he opens the box.

"What?" I ask looking over his shoulder "What's the ma...Oh! I...It's not even matched! You're using about four different types of memory!"

"It's a miracle it ever booted!" the PFY adds. "What an amateur!"

"That's what he said about you buying expensive memory all the time."

"Who cares what he thinks about me, he's a bloody cowboy!" the PFY shouts angrily.

"Look, it's all ok, no real harm done" the Boss says soothingly. "I'll get you some petty cash, you can replace the memory and we'll get the accountant down here so you can tell him what the problem was, what you've done to fix it, and generally bury the hatchet"

"I...I...uh...ok!" the PFY stutters. "Givvus 20 quid."

"Really, is that all memory costs?"

"No, that's what a hatchet costs," I add as the PFY stamps off, being abreast of the price fluctuations in certain retail hardware lines...

...10 minutes later...

"He's hasn't really gone to buy a hatchet has he?" the Boss asks as we kill time waiting for the PFY's return by rebuilding the disk on his desktop machine.

"Nah!" I reply happily.

"Oh good."

"No, there's a perfectly good hatchet in his top drawer."

"You can't be serious!"

"Of course not, he wouldn't do anything like that!"

"Oh, you really had me going there" he sighs.

>CLACK!<

"Now that is more like what he'd do."

"Why's it gone dark?"

"You need the power off when you install some things."

"What things?"

"Hatchets mainly..."

"I..."

>CLACK!<

"And there was light!" I blurt. "And your machine's booting sans extra memory...and it's crashed again because the disk is corrupt from the...uh...power failure"

"So what does it mean?" the boss asks.

"Strangely, that doesn't mean anything to me - it's just a bunch of hex."

"Ooooh" the PFY says, returning to the Boss's office. "Where'd you get the dirty pictures?!"


Episode 29 

And so it is - as circumstance would have it - that the PFY and I find ourselves single and bored on a Friday afternoon.

"Pub?" the PFY asks as the clock approaches 4pm.

"To prime ourselves in expectation of the Friday evening female advertising executive onslaught?" I ask. "I like the way you think!"

"DENNY CRANE!" the PFY replies, grabbing his coat.

"So let's get our stories straight," the PFY says carefully. "I'm a solicitor's assistant, specialising in the environment - and the current case I'm working on is how to save the baby seals from oil spills."

"A greeny caring so much he wants to look after baby seals..." I say. "Smooth!"

"Denny Crane," the PFY repeats. "And you?"

"I thought I'd just go with the truth, that I'm a moderately senior IT support professional."

"So what are you really going as?" the PFY asks, after we'd stopped in the foyer for a good laugh - knowing as we do that the IT profession holds about as much mystique 'with the ladies' as a cup of cold vomit with a hair in it."

"Airline Pilot..." I say

"Sticking to the old faithfuls," the PFY sighs, shaking his head. "I tell you, women today want more than a fancy uniform and the possibility of a cheap overse..."

"Airline Pilot who's been suspended for two weeks for...smuggling orphan babies out of war torn...somewhere...so they can have a real future...in the West."

"Almost makes me want to weep," the PFY says as he waves to the Barman and orders a couple of pints.

...Two hours later...

"...and what do you do?" one of the women we're chatting to asks the PFY.

"What do I NORMALLY do you mean?" the PFY asks. "Normally, I'm a pilot, but at the moment I'm under suspension."

"Oh? Why?" the woman asks.

"It's a long story," the PFY says, forgetting to add that it was someone ELSE'S career only moments earlier. His long-winded account of how he had his hand luggage modified to save two babies per flight has gilded the lily a little too much and I'm starting to see doubt in their eyes...

"And what do you do?" her friend asks me.

"I'm an astronaut" I say, pulling the ripcord on my backup career option to the PFY's surprise and disgust.

Well, it is a much better story.

"An...astronaut..." she responds dubiously, while the PFY gets a slight green patina.

"Yes."

"For...who?"

"The British Space program," I respond with just a hint of indignation.

"What British Space program? You mean the Beagle thing?"

"Nah, the Beagle thing was just a diversion so we could send the real spacecraft up under the pretence of it being a booster unit. You know, like the Yanks faked the moon landing so they could open up a McDonalds in Russia."

"I...You don't really believe that America faked the moon landings do you?"

"Of course they did! You've got a better computer in your toaster than the spaceships had back then, and it can't even land a piece of toast on your plate!"

"So is there really a British space program?" the PFY's friend asks me, avoiding computer talk like the plague.

"Well," I say, looking around the pub "I could tell you, but then I'd have to have sex with you."

"Don't you mean kill her?" the PFY snaps in nastily.

"No, no, I'm not that good," I tell the women. "But obviously you'd be taking your chances as I can't make any guarantees...Perhaps you should write down your medical insurance number and next of kin just to be on the safe side."

So things are going pretty well all things considered, and while no one's buying the astronaut story it's still better than admitting you're a furry toothed geek who spends half his day writing Perl scripts and the other half browsing porn...

...

Just as the glow of sweet success overtakes me I realise that the Boss has just entered the pub with a couple of beancounters and that the game is about to be up. Sure, I might be able to steer the conversation away from why we install service paks or something equally dull, but once the beancounters wade into the conversation it'll be duller than a hardware install guide.

HAVE TO THINK FAST!

"Isn't that those mental patients?" the PFY says, going for the save.

"No," one of our acquaintances says. "Those two work in our department - they're Accounts too."

"Sorry, you're accountants?" the PFY says, feeling the kryptonite-like effects already.

"Yes!" one responds "We specialise in tax accounting and are working on a plan to estimate VAT returns by looking at the previous quarters..."

"WE WORK IN IT!" the PFY blurts. "AND I'D LIKE TO TALK ABOUT THE IP V6 PROTOCOL. DO YOU KNOW IT"

"That was a close one!" I say to the PFY as we return to the bar alone. "For a moment I thought we were done for. Good call on the IPV6 stuff, that even scares me!"

"DENNY CRANE!" the PFY says, handing over a new pint.


Episode 30 

So the PFY and I are having a quick three hour lunch at the pub across the road when George, our faithful cleaner, walks in looking a little bit despondent.

"Everything all right George?" the PFY asks, noticing his unhappy visage.

"What? Oh, no, not really."

"What's the matter?"

"They're, uh, forcing me to retire," he mumbles sadly.

"WHAT?!" the PFY and I cry in unison.

"They say I'm past the mandatory retirement age."

"They can't do that!" the PFY gasps. "You're indispensable. You're the sane voice in an insane world - our ear to the ground and eye in the sky - the Alfred to our Batman and Robin!"

"I don't have a lot of choice," George sighs sadly. "My contract says I retire at 65."

"Well can't we lie about your age?" the PFY asks, firing up his laptop and connecting to the company's wireless network. "I mean, you don't look a day over...well...73."

"Seventy-four actually," George admits. "I lied about my age when I started and told them I was 53."

"Did you suggest that their data was wrong - as indeed it is...?"

"Yes, but they just said that it's on the computer now so it must be right. Then they said that I'd have to bring in supporting documents if I wanted anything changed."

"Hmm," the PFY says, poring through George's personnel entry. "It looks like you're only >tappity< >click< sixty >click< three"

"I...Really? Can you do that?"

"Do what?" the PFY asks, looking around innocently.

"So I can work here for another couple of years?" he asks.

"Unless the company can 'bring in supporting documents' to say that you're not, as I checked the box saying 'documents sighted'."

"So it's that easy?" George asks.

"Possibly," I reply, "but the couple of years we've just bought you is a good stop-gap - I think the real issue here is the company persecuting you for being a woman in what is traditionally a traditional male role."

"I'm not a woman!"

"You're only 1 bit away from being one. In fact, you are one >click< now." the PFY replies, looking up from his work long enough to drag deeply on his pint. "Obviously you didn't disclose this information in your original application because (a) there was no question on the form requesting such information and (b) gender reassignment had its stigmas back then and you felt that you might be unduly handicapped by revealing it."

"So you're saying I'm a woman so they won't fire me?"

"No, no, it's not that easy. Positive discrimination is a thing of the past."

"But they'll never buy it, I've got children!"

"...and you remain ever appreciative to the sperm donor programs," the PFY adds tapping away on his keyboard some more.

"So why won't they just fire me?"

"Because we're going to put you into the sort of niche where no HR person would dare force you to retire. We'll marginalise you to such an extent that the head of HR will lay awake nights hoping you'll die peacefully in your sleep."

"How?"

"I'm guessing my faithful assistant here has been ticking a broad selection of boxes in your HR record so as to make you one in a million person."

"One in several million," the PFY says. "Unless you know of any other 63 year old former women with a hip replacement, dyslexia, a 25 per cent share of four different ethnicities who has sustained multiple workplace injuries in the course of his work, has 15 dependants, and votes communist every election."

"Do they have voting information?" George asks.

"No, it's a note I added at the bottom alongside the one about the company suspecting you've had intimate relations with a board member. If you ever have to subpoena your record it'll look like they were out to get you."

"But how can you do this?"

"Easy, it's just data, 1s and 0s." the PFY says, forgoing the lesson on binary. "Change the right 1 to a 0 and you change sex. Slap in the right mix of ones and zeros and suddenly your ethnicity changes."

"Surely they'll get me to verify this information?"

"Not once you've visited your local Union official and authorise him up take a copy of all the information the company has on you."

"I...well...I...thank you!"

"Don't thank me, buy my something - small and inexpensive in the shape of a pint."

"I would lads, but I don't want to be late back."

"Late back? It's only 11:45!"

"No, it's 1:15!"

"No, >clickety< I think you'll find the company clock says it's 11:45, and will till 5pm."

"Ones and Zeros again?" George asks.

"Indeed. Now, who wants to see the head of HR reach mandatory retirement age in the space of half an hour???"

...


Episode 31 

"Ah, could we borrow you for a couple of minutes?" the Boss asks quietly, interrupting the PFY's riveting (if somewhat longwinded and one-sided) discussion of RS6000 boot flags.

"Of course," I yawn, getting up quickly for fear that the PFY will mistake my patience for interest and tell me what each of the hundreds of associated boot codes means. "How can I help?"

"Well, I...must say I appreciate your enthusiasm," the Boss says. "But it's just a simple thing. We're interviewing for the new senior management IT support person role..."

"Oh yes, after the previous person left on medical grounds."

"He tripped carrying a PC down a stairwell and was subsequently hit by a 19" monitor!" the Boss says recalling the tragedy.

"Nasty," the PFY adds.

"Yes, although he did claim the monitor had been thrown down on him after he had been pushed down the stairwell."

"I think you'll find that that was just the concussion talking," I add. "My theory is that he put the monitor at the top of the stairs to save two journeys back to the original office, then tripped over the cable when he was carrying the base unit..."

"I..." the Boss replies, thinking about it for a bit. "Hmm, well I still think it was a little unfair of you to press the company to make him pay for the damaged machine."

"It was all entirely avoidable!" I say, neglecting to mention that the way to avoid such an accident was to ensure you didn't mention to an easily-led board member that outsourcing IT was cheaper than contractors...

"In any case, he didn't leave on medical grounds - he was taken to hospital!"

"And where are hospitals located?"

"?"

"ON MEDICAL GROUNDS!" the PFY chuckles.

"!"

"So anyway, you're interviewing for this person," I say. "And you need our help how?"

"We have two candidates and we can't really pick between them because they both seem to be equally qualified."

"Just pick one at random then," the PFY suggests.

"We can't do that, it's not right. Anyway we called them both in and thought we'd have a face to face with them both."

"So you've got them both in the same room?"

"Yes, we thought it would be fair for them to see who they were up against."

"And HR okayed this?" the PFY asks dubiously.

"We didn't ask, it's really just another type of interview process."

"I see. And so where would you see us fitting into this...process?"

"We thought that some form of testing might help."

"You want us to test them?"

"Yes."

"What on?"

"On their suitability for the support role."

"To be quite honest," the PFY chips in. "If you want an accurate assessment of their abilities you'd probably want to opt for a less formal environment where they're unlikely to be on their guard."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I dunno, something less rigidly structured and more aimed at finding out their strengths and weaknesses - while at the same time giving us a chance to gauge their technical abilities."

"And this could be achieved how?"

...Later, at the pub...

"So you realise that while this is a less formal environment it still constitutes part of the interview process?" the PFY asks.

"Yes," both the candidates respond.

"So, who fancies a pint?"

"I'll just have a water," contestant number one says.

"Shandy for me," contestant number two says.

"Good choice," the PFY replies, sarcastically.

"Actually, make mine a lager," number one counters.

"A pint of extra strength heavy!" number two responds.

...

...10 triple tequila slammers later...

"So why do you want the job?" the PFY asks.

"What job?" number two asks.

"The IT support job at our company."

"Oh, that job," number one replies. "It looked like it paid well."

"IS THE RIGHT ANSWER!" the PFY blurts.

"Is that it?" number two gasps.

"Of course not, we'll have to do second interviews with you both, same time, same place tomorrow - the company's paying."

"Oh, ok then. But won't you just pick him again?"

"It's possible, but then you get to appeal the decision because your comments were made under duress and you can't be judged for suitability based solely on your ability to drink..."

"...although that's obviously an important feature in an IT support person," the PFY adds.

"...and after that you'll get to do the whole interview process again!" I cry.

...

"Actually, I don't want the job, come to think of it," number one says. "It sounded like a lot of work."

"Me either," number two says. "Those senior managers sound like a hassle."

"True, but remember the job pays well," the PFY adds.

"Nah, I think I'll stay where I am," number two slurs.

"Me too."

"But the interview's only half over - there's hours to go to till closing time," the PFY whimpers at the exiting figures.

"Bugger," I blurt from the bar. "Two pints of lager and a packet of salt and vinegar crisps, and...Have you considered a role in IT - you'd be a shoe-in with your ability to put up with idiots!!!?"


Episode 32 

"Look at this," the Boss says, handing me a well-fingered computer rag.

"What, the magazine?"

"No, the survey they mention on the front cover."

"The Top 500 IT-savvy companies in the UK for 2005?"

"Yes."

"And what should I be looking for?"

"Our company, of course."

"In there?" I ask dubiously.

"EXACTLY!" the Boss says.

"Exactly what?"

"We're NOT in there!"

"I know," I counter.

"But we should be - we've got a lot of machines!"

"More than large internet cafe companies?"

"No, not more than them, obviously."

"Or larger than the huge multi-national beancounters?"

"No, I suppose not."

"The large insurance companies?"

"I..."

"What about large universities?"

"I DON'T KNOW - But we should be listed there!"

"Why?"

"Because we're a large company!"

"That's hardly a compelling reason is it?"

"But we should be listed! Investors rate companies by their technical ability."

"So you're saying that an investor would be happier if they knew we spend a lot of money buying large numbers of machines?"

"No, but they'd feel happier knowing that we have a lot of computing power behind us!"

"And why exactly are you talking to us about this?" the PFY asks.

"Because they've sent us a form for this year's survey which we'd like you to fill out so that we make the top 500," the head of IT says, entering Mission Control.

"But these surveys are pointless and only used to boost magazine circulation figures!"

"How?" the Boss asks. "They send each of the top 500 companies a free copy!"

"At which time they all buy up a stack of copies to leave strategically in their waiting rooms, send to their investors, etc."

"It's still worth doing," the Boss says.

"So what are you suggesting we do, buy two machines for every person - or I suppose for five grand we could just say we have?"

"Why would that cost five grand" the head of IT asks.

"To shut people up," I say, nodding towards the PFY.

...Two days later...

>RING<

"Ah Simon," the Boss mumbles nervously over handsfree.

"Mmm?"

"I've just got an email from the publishing company - saying they'd like to come and verify the data we supplied."

"Of course they do," I say. "And we should applaud them in that. Reply, saying we'd be most happy to take them around our sites at their earliest convenience."

"But surely they'll find out that we've been...uh...economical with the truth?" the Boss asks.

"Not if that five grand in fifties arrives as requested...Besides if they sent someone out to verify every respondent they'd never get the bloody thing published! Just tell them you're looking forward to showing them our sub-sub basement state of the art super-secure computing bunker."

"What bunker?" the Boss asks, ignoring the five grand question yet again.

"If it sounds like we've got stuff that we're gagging to show them they'll be less suspicious," the PFY says over my shoulder.

"Oh I see, righto then, I'll do that."

...Two days later...

"Ah Simon," the Boss mumbles - once again nervously - as he leads a geeky beancounter type into Mission Control. "This is David, from the publishing company, he's here to verify our computer equipment and check out our...bunker."

"Excellent!" I say getting up from my desk. "And might I just say how five grand it is to meet you!"

"Five grand?" David says.

"What?"

"You just said 'how five grand it is to see me'?"

"Really, how odd," I say, staring pointedly at the Boss till he leaves to make a quick petty cash transaction - returning scant moments later with a cardboard box.

Given the rapid arrival of the cash a less trusting person might think that the Boss had received this money earlier and had simply conspired with himself to remain in possession of it...

"Uh...your current rating is 303rd, but not all the survey numbers are in just at the moment, so that's subject to change."

"So where would you like to start?" I ask.

"With the Bunker," David responds.

"The Bunker it is!" I say as the Boss's eyes widen.

...Two minutes later, in the basement...

"And there you have it," I say, pointing at a section of floor.

"What?" David asks.

"The bunker!"

"That's not a bunker, it's just a section of concrete!"

"No," I sigh, "That's the door to the bunker."

"Uh.. .can you open it then?"

"Of course not, it's a super secure server room!"

"So I'm supposed to take your word that there's a bunker under there."

"I...You could wait till shift change!" I suggest.

"And when's that?"

"A week from Wednesday - It's a fortnight on a fortnight off thing, two crews."

"You don't seriously expect me to believe that?"

"Of course."

"In that case I'll be wanting to see invoices for the equipment supposedly housed in the bunker," David says.

"Hmmmmm," I say, the game up. "I don't have those, but I do have this box of non-sequentially numbered fifty pound notes..."

"Oh why didn't you tell me it was a 2000 host supercluster grid facility with a million terabytes of storage!" David gasps, grabbing the box.

...Later, at the pub...

"That was a close thing" the PFY says as he finishes his fourth lager.

"You're telling me," I say.

"Yeah, I thought he'd never buy the publishing company auditor story," David adds.

"Cheers!"


Episode 33 

"Check it out," the PFY says, pointing at the pair of fat blokes who are levering a large crate into the Boss's office on a heavy duty trolley. "What do you think it is?"

"I'm not sure - It's carefully packaged and very heavy so whatever it is is probably bloody expensive,� I reply.

No sooner is it in the Boss's office than the door is closed, blinds wound shut and the sounds of hammering are heard.

"Curiouser and curiouser," the PFY mumbles.

"To the Batcave!" I blurt as we both make a dash for Mission Control.

"I can't see, the Boss is in the way!" the PFY snaps once he's activated the hidden camera on the Boss' bookshelf, strategically placed where it'll never be touched (inside the spine of a volume of The VAX/VMS Architecture Planning Guide).

"Plan B," I say, as the PFY taps away furiously.

"...No, there's a fatbloke blocking...everything!" the PFY seethes as its vantage point (the spine of Improving your Management style) proves useless.

"Ok, easy," I say. "We'll catch the fat blokes as they leave and offer them some pikey cider if they spill the beans."

"Sorted!" the PFY says, preceding me out the door. "Bugger!"

"What?"

"They've gone!" he says, pointing at the Boss' office, which is now open and empty.

"Weird," I say. "I didn't know they could move the fast, unless..."

"...Someone else offered them some pikey cider to make themselves scarce!" the PFY finishes.

"Ok, well lets just strike while the iron's hot," I say, making a move for the empty office.

...

"Armourworth 3000 Intelligent Datasafe," the PFY reads off the front panel.

"Hmmm," I say. "No dial, no keypad no external cabling. It's either wireless, a timelock or has some fancy mechanism inside it which determines the opening criteria. But how 'intelligent' can it be?"

"Smarter than me," the Boss burbles, entering through the doorway.

"Yeah, I've got an intelligent paperweight like that," the PFY responds.

"Is it computerised?" the Boss asks.

"No it's a brick," the PFY replies.

Sadly, the Boss' attention span expired between the PFY's sentences so the Boss probably now thinks the PFY has computerised brick.

Sigh

"Yes, this is the Armourworth Intelligent safe!" the Boss says. "Top of the line for storing data. In fact, it's a safe within a safe. The outside safe talks to my laptop through a special webpage which talks via a special short range network which is encrypted to 512 thingies."

"512 thingies," the PFY gasps. "That sounds pretty secure!"

"It is! I had to take my laptop to the dealer to get it setup for this safe, and it would apparently take ALL the computers in the world over TEN YEARS to break into this safe."

"Well, no time to lose then!" I say, making to leave.

"Are you suggesting you could break into this safe?" the Boss asks. "They use these to store Government secrets!"

"You mean secrets like how the Weapons of Mass Destruction disappeared?"

"I... ... It's impenetrable!" the Boss states ignoring the PFY's outburst.

"You're on!" I say.

...

"So what's our plan?"

"Spend a couple of days printing safe manuals and looking frustrated till the Boss gets complacent"

...two days later...

"So, who fancies a couple of drinks after work - my shout - to celebrate the PFY's birthday?" I ask.

No sooner had the Boss heard free beers than he was up for it. I make a mental note to suggest he attends a Richard Stallman talk about GPL sometime.

...Later that night...

"Ok, so he's left his laptop at work," the PFY whispers, "but you've still got to get into it"

>tappity< >tap<

"How did you..."

"Keystroke logger," I reply. "And we open up his browser and check his favourites and...lookee, Armourworth Login�

"It'll be password protected!" the PFY says. "And the password's bound to be..."

"SAVED IN THE BROWSER!" I blurt happily, seeing the prefilled fields. "Bonus!"

>click<

>CLUNK< >CLICK< >WHIRRRRRRRRRR< >CLACK<

"You little dancer!" the PFY says opening the door. "Who'd have thought it'd be so eas.."

"Uh-oh," I say, recognising the internal safe from our recent documentation downloads. "Now THAT is a serious safe. 12 digits, with three successive failures initiating a lockout requiring a serviceperson reset."

"So we'd better get it right then." the PFY says. "What do we think, birthday, twice?"

"Bound to be. So first of April, but what year??"

"'54." the PFY says. "Same as my Dad's."

>BUZZ<

"One down," I say. "Home phone number?"

"With internationl prefix," the PFY adds.

"Of course!"

>BUZZ<

"Bugger, one try left, what could it be?"

"The factory default?" the PFY suggests.

"He wouldn't!"

..Twelve zeros later...

>CLACK< >WHIRRR<

"He would," the PFY sighs. "So what's he hiding???"

"......" I say

"What?!" the PFY says, pushing past "...."

...

"Why would you keep nothing in an expensive safe like that?" the PFY wonders out loud.

"Because he has nothing of any value," I say, opening my backpack. "Which is why I've bought along this expensive item of my own to store."

"What?" the PFY says as I pull my present out. "Is that a...salmon?"

"Oh yes," I say, slapping the fish in the safe, pulling the airtight seal off the internal door and slamming it shut.

"That's just cruel!" the PFY says.

"No," I say, tapping away at the keypad. "Cruel is entering the wrong number in three times."

"Oh."

"Cruel," I continue. "Is breaking off the wireless antenna connection."

>SLAM!< >WHIRRRR<

"Cruel," I add. "Is chucking your housekeys into the safe before I close it."

"I... Y... You BASTARD!" the PFY gasps.

"Yeah I know," I chuckle happily.


Episode 34 

"Mmmm?" the PFY asks as the Boss hovers for another stretch in front of his desk.

"It's this purchase order," the Boss says.

"Mmmm?" the PFY repeats.

"You spent 400 quid on your desktop to buy a...er...graphics card...with ...dual...head capability."

"Yes, a Tasmanian graphics card, that's right."

"I was under the impression that your machine had a...graphics card...built into it."

"It had a graphics card, yes, but not a very good one. This was a top line model with the ability to drive two screens."

"But you're only using one screen!"

"Yes, I wanted to buy one with the capability to run two screens. Much the same as you buy trainers with the capability of being run on," the PFY says, pointing at the Boss' casual Friday shoeware. "It doesn't mean that you'll actually do any running on them though, just that at some point in the future you might. Anyway, why the sudden interest in our desktop hardware?"

"It's this printout I found on the printer last week," the Boss replies holding up - if I'm not mistaken - a copy of "Building the Perfect Games Beast on the Company dime" which the PFY downloaded recently - a copy of which must have got mislaid when the Print Server "packed a mental", to use the PFY's technical description, late last week. "And it touches on several recent upgrades you've requested - like faster disk and extra memory."

"I think you'll find that the resource needs of the workplace often bear a striking resemblance to those of the advanced gamer," the PFY counters.

"And the joystick?"

"AH! Now that is to control the security cameras as I shall now demonstrate. Hang on, I'll just save my space shuttle simulator."

"So you are playing games!"

"Calibrating my reflexes, yes," the PFY sniffs. "You need to get used to the pan and zoom activities otherwise you spend all your time searching for a video target instead of following them..."

"And so how is this...calibration...going?" the Boss asks dryly.

"I'm coming along nicely!" the PFY chirps. "Here's some footage I shot with the external cameras earlier in the morning. And here we see a young woman walking outside the building...and she drops her purse...and here's a test of the zoom...a closer zoom...a wide shot...then back to Zoom...and she's moving on."

"And this wouldn't be referred to in here..." the Boss asks, shuffling a few sheets of paper from the bottom of the Games Beast report. "...Violating the public's privacy for fun and website profit."

"The time will come," the PFY says. "When we're going to need someone to track suspicious individuals outside the building, and when that time comes we're going to want to be sure that someone can capture a stable and focused image to be used as evidence. Here, you try, see how hard it is."

"I'm sure it can't be...woah!"

"See, the joystick runs away on you and requires a very gentle hand," the PFY says.

"That still doesn't mean that you need a...Tasmanian graphics card!" the Boss says, returning to his main point. "And I think you should return it and use the on-board one."

"It doesn't even do proper 3-D rendering!" the PFY blurts. "Anyway, there's licensing to worry about."

"What licensing?"

"The two head thing. If two people are looking at the screen - like now - you need a dual head license which comes with the card."

"That's preposterous!" The boss snaps. "What if I looked over your shoulder when two of you were working on your machine."

"We'd have to spend another 400 quid," I say. "But luckily the licenses are transferable, so you could just get me a dual head graphics card and we'd be sweet."

"Ridiculous, I sometimes have four or five people looking at my PowerPoints!"

"Then you're violating the license!" the PFY gasps. "You could go to prison for that!"

"But only if someone talks," I add.

"Is this some form of blackmail to let me keep your screen card?" the Boss asks. "Because if it is, it's not working."

"What?" the PFY asks, suppressing disappointment at a plan spoiled. "Of course not!"

"No," I add. "We were just advising you of some legal considerations. It's up to you what you choose to do. But if you don't mind we won't be a party to the crime - time for a couple of quick lunchtime lagers..."

"Well, if that's the case I should be able to use your newfound 'tool' to keep an eye on you from here to see that you get back in on time," the Boss adds.

...

"It's my fault," the PFY gasps. "I didn't realise what he'd actually want to use the cameras for."

"No, it's my fault," I say. "I should have realised that he couldn't be trusted."

"So what you're saying," the head of security says, "Is that you believe your manager has been...filming individuals in unguarded moments and sending them to a website?"

"...a candid film website," the PFY says. "The one we saw was of him zooming in on some poor woman's bum when she dropped her purse outside the building."

"And you believe that he's doing it right now?"

"Sure to be," the PFY sighs. "Don't you just hate seeing people go off the deep end like that."

"It's a bloody tragedy," I concur.


Episode 35 

"We've, ah, got a bit of a problem," the head of IT says, entering Mission Control.

"What's that then?" I ask, always willing to help management out - particularly if they've just come in.

"It's about that Top 500 IT-Savvy companies survey we did a few weeks back."

"What's that then?"

"The editor of the magazine would like to see the room."

"I'm sure he would."

"And so would dozens of readers of the IT Survey, apparently," the head adds.

"Of course, you told them that as a secure underground facility we couldn't possibly let just anyone have access?"

"They said they'd be happy with photos."

"Well why didn't you ask sooner!"

...quarter of an hour of the PFY's time later...

"So what do you think - too many Crays?" I ask, handing over an image to the head of IT.

"Perhaps...10 is a little over the top - and you can tell that one's just a mirror image of that one because the label's back to front."

"Good point - we'll drop the Crays down to...three and add a few more racks of 1U machines. And don't worry, I'll put you in the background somewhere checking the dipstick of a machine."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, thank the PFY and the good folk at Adobe!"

...Later that day in the head of IT's office...

"A problem with the photo we sent," the head murmurs with his hand over the handset.

"Yes?"

"They say that by their calculations the facility is about three times larger than our building."

"Of course it is," I say. "It's a bunker!"

"Under our building..."

"Yes."

I take a seat while this information is relayed with the relevant hint of indignation.

"And they say the local council records don't show any consents for the building of this facility?" the Head asks, getting a little worried.

"They wouldn't would they - it's...uhmmm...one the ex Ministry of Defence Cold War command shelters!" I ad lib. "No records were ever kept - uh...for security reasons."

...

"Now they want to know how we managed to get those large Cray computers down there."

"Down the missile shafts," I say, wondering if I'm going a BIT far...

...Later that week...

"Uh Simon...Could we have a word?" the head of IT asks, looking slightly pale.

"Mmm?" I ask, noticing a couple of suited figures behind him.

"This is...Mr...uhm...John and David from the Ministry of...Defence."

"And how can we help you?" the PFY asks, entering the conversation from the Tape Safe room.

"It's about your computer bunker" Mr...uhm...John says. "We were contacted by a magazine publisher interested in the details of our disused site..."

"Yes?"

"I think we all know that it doesn't exist."

"Have you not seen the photos?" the PFY asks. "That's some of my best work."

"And highly imaginative. But still not real."

"What's your point?" the PFY asks.

"The point is you can't go around fabricating ex-MOD sites."

"So fabrication can only be used for Weapons of Mass Destruction purposes?" the PFY asks.

"I..."

"What is the real problem?" I ask, before things can turn nasty.

"You said you had an ex-MOD site."

"Yes..."

"And you referred to a missile silo."

"A missile shaft."

"Which has caused some concerns about missiles sites in inner London."

"Just tell them it was a Cold War plan which was never put into effect," the PFY suggests.

"And there's the crux of the matter - why should we lie just to support your lie?"

"Two reasons," I say. "One, because there's always going to be some people who'll think there was a site here - even if you excavated the ground to prove there wasn't, and two, with a 'neither confirm nor deny policy' you could make a small fortune selling fictitious ex-MOD bunkers."

"I think you'll need to expand a bit why people would believe the bunker," John says.

"Actually, I'd rather hear about the small fortune stuff," David says.

...a day later...

"...so I've lined up a couple of companies, one who'd like to be number 200 or so, and the other who'd like to be in the 400s somewhere," I say. "...so what have you got?"

"Trafalgar and Russell Squares," David says.

"The place is riddled with underground stations!" the PFY comments.

"These are very deep installations - made to survive even the heaviest bombings," David says.

"And there might be a bit of a problem given that one of the sites is on the other side of the Thames."

"Linked to the site by a tunnel similar to the one which links MI5 and MI6," David adds.

"You've pretty much got it all sewn up then...apart from the finder's fee," I say.

"How about we waive that given that your company is getting your facility for nothing. After all, we'd hate to have a disastrous structural failure."

Bugger, Checkmate!

"How about 10 pints and a curry then?" the PFY suggests - always the peacemaker.

"That'll do nicely!"


Episode 36 

"Why," the boss asks us early one morning, looking thoughtful "don't we use virtual servers?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, dreading the possible problems the Boss is about to bestow on us.

"Virtual Servers - you know, ones which aren't real."

"Oh, we've got a stack of those," the PFY adds. "Downstairs in the virtual bunker, remember."

"I..." the Boss says, trying to avoid a topic that upsets him. "I mean that we should be able to use...virtual servers on a...blade...er...platform...to deliver thin client...uh solutions."

I take a moment from wondering who the Boss has been speaking to in order to be impressed by his almost faultless delivery. Ordinarily, a sentence like that with it's multiple technical terms and seeming logic should have given someone of his mental capacity a couple of fatal memory errors trying to get that all out, but not this time...

It's almost like he's been practising.

"In theory it's a workable solution," the PFY responds. "But in practice we haven't got any thin clients."

"Really?" the Boss asks.

"Nah, they're a bunch of fat bastards who complain about the speed of the Mailserver or how we won't let them keep all their MP3s in the content management system. Whiney salad dodgers to a man!"

"I was talking about a thin server clients," the Boss adds dryly.

Honestly, it's almost like he knows what he's talking about!!!! While I'm looking out the window for one of the other signs of the apocalypse the PFY decides to get to the root of the problem.

"Oh right," the PFY responds, faking a misunderstanding. "So why would we be wanting to install them?"

"To make more use of our servers, of course!" the Boss explains.

"We already make a lot of use of them."

"Yes, but it seems to me that we just keep on buying machines!" he says.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this for instance. You want me to sign off two new mail servers and yet I notice that my predecessors have approved over 20 new servers in this financial year alone!"

"That's about normal," I say. "It's something to do with the fiscal advantages of an accelerated depreciation program. Apparently, it saves us money if we have a lowered expectation of server life due to the amount of work they do."

"But it costs us money in buying new machines."

"Well, I don't pretend to understand the workings of high finance," I say. "But what with that and the ongoing growth in use of all our services..."

"But you already replaced the two email servers in the servers you bought earlier in the year!" the Boss gasps.

I think quickly while mentally cursing the PFY for his poor research into a back story...

"Again, nothing out of the ordinary in that - we're simply maximising the use of the machines by replacing them on the same schedule as the original machines were purchased - two in the first quarter and two in the third quarter. Replacing them all at the same time would mean outages and possible loss of communication channels which could affect our business reputation - and we definitely wouldn't want that."

"No, I suppose you're right," the Boss sighs. "But surely we could consolidate all these servers into a single...uh...blade server and save ourselves some money?"

"We could, but then we have service redundancy to consider and putting all our eggs in one blade basket, so to speak, could lead to a complete disaster. So it pays to have our services scattered on various servers in what appears - to the casual observer - to be a random and ad-hoc manner designed to increase our spend with a computing vendor so as to qualify for free conferences at holiday destinations."

"Did you say free holidays?" the Boss asks, shucking off the dead weight of his principles.

"Free conferences, at holiday destinations, yes."

"Destinations like?"

"Well, there's a conference coming up on the Spanish Coast in a couple of weeks - but I don't think our spend currently qualifies us for attendance."

"What about with the two email servers?" he asks.

"Almost, but I don't think it'll push us over the edge."

"You could get a third one for...uh...redundancy," the Boss hints.

"Yes, you're probably right," the PFY says, taking the order form from the Boss' hand and making some alterations.

"Right, well, I'm glad we cleared that up," the Boss pinnochios, shakedown complete. "So I'll just pass this through to our financials people then. When do you think they'll be delivered?"

"I think they've got some in stock," the PFY says, opening the Blade configurator. "In fact, I think they'll be here quicker than you can say Jack Robinson."

"I don't think so!" the Boss chortles "Jack >CLICK< >CLICK< Robinson."

...


Episode 37 

It's early-ish morning and the Boss is stalking around the workplace on a mission. What that mission entails is anyone's guess but his stalking is purposeful, which means sooner or later he's going to end up here. The PFY and I know it's only a matter of time, but why rush into confrontation?

I quietly lock the door of Mission Control, turn the lights out and fire up a quick game of FEAR against the PFY...

Two hours later we're obliged to emerge due of the effects of the four cups of early morning coffee we downed. If we'd been thinking we'd have had a toilet installed in Mission Control ages ago, but the nearest we ever came to that was when the CEO brought his nephew's Archimedes in to have some software installed. In the PFY's defence what he installed was soft, just not exactly software...

No sooner am I back than the Boss is in Mission Control ferreting around under tables and in cupboards.

"Looking for something?" the PFY asks noticing the Boss crawling around under his desk.

"No, no, I think I've found what I'm looking for," he says.

"What's that then?" I ask.

"This machine here," he says, pointing at an ancient desktop that the PFY uses as a footrest.

"Yes."

"What's it doing?"

"It's a footrest," the PFY says.

"And what's it used for?"

"Resting my feet on?" the PFY sighs.

"And when you've finished with it, what happens to it?"

"You mean when it wears down to the ground?" I ask.

"When it's no longer fit for use, what happens to it?"

"It goes into the bin?" the PFY asks.

"AH HAH!" the Boss shouts triumphantly. "So you DON'T ensure that the hard drive is erased or destroyed?"

"It doesn't have a hard drive," the PFY says. "It's ancient."

"Oh," the Boss says, slightly deflated. "So what do you do with your old machines then?"

"We give them to schools," I lie. "...After first erasing drives with a bootable CD which kicks off an aggressive erase utility."

Truth be known we sell them to the PFY's cousin who onsells them out of a car boot after "erasing" them with the latest pirated XP install, but we could do it properly if we wanted...

"What about the rest of the company's machines?"

"Each area is responsible for their own equipment disposals," the PFY says knowingly.

"Just as I thought!" the Boss responds smugly, pulling a video tape out of his pocket and plugging it into our player.

The video turns out to be a "news" item about corporate data being recovered from old hard drives.

"Oh that," the PFY says dryly. "Has it been six months already?"

"Six months?" the Boss asks.

"Yeah," I respond. "Every six months or so on a slow news day they get a guy in a lab coat to buy a couple of machines off eBay and recover data off them and imply that it's some newly discovered threat to security."

"But it IS real risk?" the Boss asks.

"Only if you don't erase your disks properly"

"And would each area in the company be erasing their data properly?"

"They don't do anything properly..." the PFY replies.

Quicker than you can say "we should have a company policy on this" the Boss has said: "We should have a company policy on this" to a number of people.

...

"So what will happen is that everyone will ship their machines to you here," the Boss burbles. "You will erase them, then send them on for disposal."

"But..." the PFY whimpers, echoing my own sentiments. "We replace a crapload of machines every year - we'll be inundated!"

"I'm sure you'll cope," the Boss remarks dryly.

...three days later...

"What's all this?!" the Boss asks as he navigates his way through the piles of old kit blocking up Mission Control.

"It's all the replaced kit that you've said we're going to erase!"

"Can't you store it in...the tape safe room?" the Boss suggests.

"We filled that up yesterday," the PFY snaps.

"So...I...was actually coming to see if you could install Service Pack 2 on my home laptop. I would do it from home but my dialup line is so slow that..."

"You're kidding aren't you?" the PFY gasps.

"I... No"

"Here, I'll take care of this," I say to the PFY before he has a conniption, turning my attention to the Boss. "We've got no time so you'll have to do the install yourself. We're going to be spending most of the afternoon just clearing a path through to the tapes so that we can load the backup library."

"Is it...complicated?" the Boss asks.

"Nah, just boot your machine from this CD, say yes to the first question and yes when it asks you if you're sure."

"And there's no other questions?"

"Nope, it'll be off and running - takes a couple of hours."

"Excellent!" the Boss burbles, wandering off happily.

...

"So" I say to the PFY, "I seem to have accidentally mislaid that Auto-erasing boot CD of ours - where can it be?"

"No idea," the PFY adds woodenly. "And we have such a lot of machines to get through. Should we do the responsible thing and call in a contractor to do the erasure for us."

"Good idea," I respond. "You ring your cousin and I'll lock the door and fire up the FEAR server..."

...


Episode 38 

"Oh this is bad," the PFY says.

"Yep, this is bad," I concur, looking at the pile of rubble a floor below what used to be the floor of our 'Operations Rest and Recreation facility' - or to be more technically correct, the cleaner's room the floor below Mission Control that we had walled in by an accommodating builder when the former occupant retired.

Admittedly, the room wasn't optimal, being a floor below Mission Control and all, but another cash job got a set of stairs installed and a tape safe door installed as the entranceway...

"My magazines!" the PFY sniffs, seeing his almost complete collection of Playboys in amongst the rubble. "I...I'd just completed the 1950s - including the March '55 Issue."

"I thought you said there wasn't one," I say, tapping a bit of rubble into the hole.

"That's what they want you to think," the PFY says, tapping his nose." But how did this happen?"

"You mean how did a cleaner's room built to sustain the weight of a couple of people, a couple of vacuum cleaners, 1,000 bars of tiny soap and 200 packages of greaseproof toilet paper fail under the weight of almost all the Playboys ever printed - including several shelves of non-English editions..."

"I was going to work on them next," the PFY sniffs.

"...a large TV stolen from the boardroom, two armchairs stolen from the boardroom atrium, a bar fridge stolen from the CEO's office, and the contents of the boardroom bar?"

"I..."

"Perhaps if you hadn't piled all your to-be-sorted magazines in the centre of the room?"

"I..."

"Be that as it may, I think we have a real problem. It looks like the room's collapsed into...the visitor's toilets on the ground floor? So we're going to have to lock those and come up with something to divert company attention till we can get that mess tidied up."

"Fire Alarm?" the PFY suggests.

"I think we're going to need more than an hour..."

"What do you suggest?"

"I'm thinking of a two-pronged operation," I say, thinking cap on. "The first, Operation Just Desserts, we tell the head of IT that we think the beancounters have a bulk eraser!"

"Weren't we going to get one for them - because their old one failed - which we'd supplied them in the first place?"

"Yes, yes, but we convince the head that it poses a threat to the whole company - that they could erase data at a whim!"

"And?"

"And that we need to go into beancounter central and look for it!"

"Why do we need to go in?"

"It's all part of the plan - so we can steal their office supplies."

"Why?"

"Unbeknownst to you we're all out of printer paper and our budget is spent - so we steal theirs while diverting attention from the cave in. It's Win-Win!"

"I..."

"Hang on...I've got another idea - while we're looking for the bulk eraser, we trash all their desktops so they'll have to get us to fix them when it's all over. We can bill them for our time - and take office supplies instead of money!!! Win-Win-Win!"

"The head of IT won't back that!"

"Of course he will! No one likes the head beancounter, and half the departments in the company have run out of stationery budget. We'll get a few of them on board and they'll demand we go in to 'find the bulk eraser'."

"But what happens when we don't find a bulk eraser?"

"We have a 'mission successful' party to say we've made the company safe, then hold the head beancounter responsible for all the data he's destroyed in the past..."

"With the eraser that we sold him and showed him how to use?"

"Yes."

"And won't the beancounters get a little irate at us stealing all their office supplies, shafting their Boss and trashing their machines? Won't they want some sort of...revenge?"

"Which is where the second phase, Operation...uh...Cannon Fodder comes in."

"How about a better idea?" the PFY interrupts.

"Which is?"

"Let's see..." the PFY says thoughtfully. "How about: We nip over to the sewer inspection company that does our drains and steal the head off an underwater camera and leave it sticking out of one of the women's toilets..."

"So it looks like we've got a pervert in the building!!!" I cry.

"And when the you know what hits the fan..."

"We leap in saying all toilets should be secured until we can check them over with our...camera detector!!" I finish. "I suppose it has a sort of...elegance."

...Three hours, a loud scream from the fourth floor and some running around later...

"I find it hard to believe that someone would use something like this to...spy...on people," the head of IT says to the head of security as they look the device over in Mission Control.

"Yeah," the head of security admits. "It's very unlikely. We checked our camera logs to see if anyone was carrying one of these around, but there was nothing. It's probably someone's idea of a joke - so we'll just check the other toilets, just in case."

"No camera records at all?" the PFY asks.

"Nothing."

"So it's almost as if the camera data had been...erased?"

I REPEAT!!!OPERATION JUST DESSERTS IS A GO!!!


Episode 39 

It's going to be a bad day, I can just feel it. All it'd take is the Boss to walk in with...

"Hi, could you cast your eye over this?" the Boss asks, placing a large folder on the desk in front of me.

"I...I'm rather busy," I lie.

"But I told the guy we'd look over it," the Boss says.

"And everyone loves a man of his word," I comment noncommittally.

"It does look pretty good..." the boss wheedles.

"No it doesn't," I respond, seeing the huge pile of paper entitled Pinnacle of Content Management Devices.

"It does. And anyway, the guy's coming to see you after lunch," the boss blurts, moving back a couple of steps.

"What?!"

"Well he wanted to explain some of the technical details of it to someone."

"And the cleaner was busy?" I sigh.

...

And wouldn't you know it, the guy, justcallmejohn, is so bloody nice and the product's so crap I almost feel like I'm kicking a puppy as I pop his business card into the shredder...

...just as he walks back into the office to offer me a one time discount.

"?!" he says wordlessly.

"Ahhhhh, I was just...uhm...using the first thing that came to hand to clear a paper jam," I say.

"Oh," he says helpfully. "You can just press the reverse button. >prod<"

...as the last half of his shredded brochure slides out

"That was... ah...the first thing I used to try and clear the jam, but unfortunately..."

"It's okay," he sighs, sitting down brokenly. "It's crap. We both know it's crap. The manufacturer knows it's crap - but they went out of business, so we bought all their stock and rebadged it - and it's still crap. You'd have to be an absolute idiot to buy it!"

"But the brochure says..."

"The brochure's crap too. We just reworded and reformatted a competitor's blurb. The only technical spec that our guys could work out was that it runs on 110V."

"Not 240?"

"No - it took a machine to find that out."

"Well, I have to say while I appreciate your frankness I can't see how it will help with sales."

"I think we both know there's not going to be any sales," he sniffs.

"Sooner or later you're bound to get someone who's keen," I say, trying to cheer him up.

"It's unlikely."

"Well, my Boss was keen!"

"That's just because your CEO and my sales director went to school together."

And it all starts to make sense - the Boss's wheedling, his saying how good it looked from the brochure. One truth of computing is that the crapness of a product is proportional to how high up in the organisation they start to market it. This really is a chunk of...

"We'll take two," I say, awaking from my thoughts.

"They're expensive," John warns.

"Yes, you're right, better make it three."

"But they're crap!"

"Even better," I say as the PFY wanders in.

"What have we bought?"

"Something the Boss was keen on," I say. "Two of them...plus uh...one for... redundancy!"

"What is it?"

"This," I say, handing over half shredded brochure.

"Ohh looks nasty. Hey, it only runs on 110! Why are we buying it again?"

"The CEO is keen, and he's expressed his keenness to the head of IT, who's expressed his keenness to the Boss, who's expressed both this keenness and the virtue of this product to us."

"But it's a piece of crap!" the PFY says.

"It is," John concurs.

"Yes. but every now and then you have to buy a piece of crap - or three - as an example of what happens when non-IT people make IT decisions. So I'll just say mildly disparaging things about the product and meantime the CEO will pressure the head of IT who will in turn pressure the Boss who will in turn pressure us. We'll buy and install them, they'll fail within weeks - if not days - and we'll move them into the basement with all the other foolish IT purchases including the non-upgradeable SAN device, the 100+ brand new 10 Meg 24 port hubs and the automatic potato peeler."

"Potato peeler?" John asks.

"Don't ask," the PFY sighs.

...three days later...

"My, but that was a quick delivery!" the Boss gushes as the three boxes arrive. "Shouldn't we install them straight away?"

"No, I thought we'd run some checks on them first - you know H&S and all that," the PFY says, executing stage one of the great setup.

"Nonsense, plug one in and lets see what it does!"

"It's a box with a switch, a couple of network ports and a green LED - what are you hoping to see??" the PFY asks.

"Just plug it in!"

>plug< >click< >CLACK<

Stage One Complete...

"What was that?" the Boss asks.

"That was the power going off to this set of desks," the PFY says.

"Oh - do you think it's using too much power?"

"More than 10 amps?"

"Yes."

"Yes, that'll be it." the PFY says, disguising his sarcasm well. "Hang on, we've got the UPS tap which is rated at 80 Amps continuous - should we run it off that?"

"Why not?" the Boss says, still caught up in the excitement.

"We could plug them all in at the same time?" the PFY suggests evilly.

"Sure."

"I think I'll just get the tester," the PFY says.

"Just do it!" the Boss Nikes.

Stage Two complete!

>plug< >rustle< >plug< >rustle< >plug<

"Ready?"

"Yes"

>click<

>CLACK< >CLACKETY< >CLACK< >CLACKETY< >CLACK<

"What was that?" the Boss asks from the darkness.

"Well, I could be wrong" the PFY says. "But I'm guessing it was the unfused tap to the UPS back-EMFing the mains with an unsynchronised phase - tripping the building breaker."

>woop!< >woop!<

"And that will be the smoke from the blown 110 volt supplies in this expensive, un-safety tested, destroyed kit, tripping the oxidation detectors in the smoke alarms, in turn causing a building evacuation."

"And that," I continue, "will cause the inquisition into who signed off the purchase and authorised the untested installation."

>Slam!<

Stage Three complete!


Episode 40 

"What's this about?" the PFY asks, tapping his screen curiously.

"What?" I ask, looking up from the internals of my desktop machine mid-harddrive installation.

"The review of IT services."

"What review of IT services?"

"There's a review of IT services across the company," the PFY says. "What does it mean?"

"Ahhhh..", I say. "It could mean a number of things."

"Like?"

"The company wants to try to improve the quality of the IT experienc..."

"Or?"

"The company wants to save money and IT is the 'low hanging fruit' of expenditure..."

"Or?"

"They want to get rid of someone. Or two."

"So it's about us?"

"Could be. How's the memo worded?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, if it says something huggy feely like looking for innovative answers and future directions, then it's about improving IT."

"No.."

"Didn't think so - that never happens. Ok, if it says something about centralisation, recognising efficiencies, or anything at all about total cost of ownership, it's about saving money."

"Nope.."

"Ok, in that case I'm betting it says something about 'right-tasking', 'examining organisational structure' and identifying roles and the people best suited to them."

"Yeah, sort of."

"Then yes, they want to get rid of someone."

"They're saying they want to ensure key business areas receive tailored support - which they suggest may involve rationalisations."

"Oooh, that means they're REALLY want to get rid of someone. Does it mention any specific areas?"

"uhmm...they mention their aim is to improve the reporting and tracking of service problems."

"Reporting and tracking - So it's someone from the helpdesk. Oooh!!! It'll be the new guy who spent all that time installing ADSL at the CEO's place!"

"Because he took so long?"

"Partly."

"And the other part."

"He had to make several visits - usually at short notice when the CEO was involved in some high level meetings. Surely you listen to the rumour mill?"

"So he had problems getting into the CEO's house?"

"It wasn't the CEO's house that he was apparently getting into."

"?"

"Let me spell it out for you. It took him three hours a time, seven times in two weeks. Returning to work slightly dishevelled with lipstick garnish..."

"You mean that he's hitting the CEO's Mrs?"

"If by Mrs you mean the silicon enhanced chunk of trophyware 20 years his junior who used to be his executive assistant and by hit you mean consensual extramarital sexual activity, then yes."

"You're suggesting she's... promiscuous?"

"Promiscuous - such a quaint term. But to use your vernacular, I believe she's probably been hit more times than [Return]. But let's get an expert opinion..."

I make a quick call to the head of IT and fabricate a story of Union disquiet at the review...within minutes the head of IT and the review consultant, Geoff, are in Mission Control...

"I can assure you that this review will be conducted in full consultation with the staff," the head of IT burbles along sagely.

"Yes, I'll be going through the terms of reference to ensure that all relevant areas are discussed and covered," Geoff adds.

"The most relevant area concerned being which staff member we want to axe."

"Look" the Head of IT snaps. "Just keep your head down and it'll all be ok. It's not you they're after."

"So it IS the helpdesk guy!" the PFY says.

"Who told you that?!" the Head asks.

"I did," I respond.

"How did you find out?" he gasps.

"What? Half the building knows! But let me get this straight - the plan is to review the place and find - through due process - that ONE helpdesk person is for the high jump?

"I..."

"Yes," Geoff interjects. "He'll never work in the IT industry again!"

"Oh, so we're taking him on as a consultant!" the PFY chips.

"It'll never work - he'll get a lawyer in and you'll be forced to pay out for an unfair dismissal."

"The CEO.. doesn't care," the head of IT says, nodding at Geoff. "He wants him gone."

"But paying him an unfair dismissal penalty plus redundancy - it all seems so wrong," I say. "Why don't you just pay us to find one of the three Ps?"

"The three Ps?" Geoff and the head ask.

"Yeah, porn, piracy or phishing - on his desktop machine - then he can be down the road by the end of the day!"

"You can do that?" Geoff asks.

"Please, the PFY will have C$ mounted, one of more of the Ps installed and appropriate timestamps forged in no time. And just think of the money you'll save on Geoff's fees!"

"I think you'll find I have a fixed one month contract," Geoff replies smugly.

"Not with >clickety< a harddrive full of Ps you don't!" the PFY says.

"Look what I found on Geoff's machine!!!" I gasp - pointing at the PFY's hastily prepared handiwork.

...

One day later it's official, the helldesk is one man down, Geoff has disappeared, and the PFY and I have a couple of hundred quid of the CEO's dosh to spend at the pub this afternoon...

"So..." I say to the PFY. "Fancy 20 or 30 large ones?"

"I...'d like to," the PFY says.

"But?"

"I have a little job to do - won't take more than a couple of hours. Today anyway."

"What, working during drinking time?!?!?!"

"Well, the CEO's ADSL isn't going to fix itself..."


Episode 41 "I... what?" the PFY sniffles, reading through his email.

"Hmm?" I ask.

"My attendance at a Linux forum has been canceled because.. the IT Training budget for this quarter has been exceeded?!"

"That's ridiculous," I counter. "It's about 10 grand a quarter and we haven't used any of it!"

"Well that's what it says," The PFY replies, tapping his screen.

"Let's just have a little look, then," I say, using the DBA credentials to rifle through our financials database.

>clickety<

"Hmmm, how much was your course worth?"

"108 quid plus VAT," The PFY says

">clickety<

Ah, well in that case they're right, there isn't sufficient funds to pay for it."

"Why?" The PFY asks, getting a little whiny.

"Because... 9972 quid was spent on a.. >clickety<..... >clickety clickety<..... >clickety<, >tap< >tap<.. >clickety< Hierarchical Storage and Collocated Data Expo."

"A what?"

"Hierarchical Storage and Collocated Data Expo."

"You're going to an Expo?" The PFY asks.

"No."

"Who else could manage to slip a 10 grand junket past the Head of IT?"

"Ahmm, let's see... >clickety< Ah. The Boss. Oh! AND the Head of IT!"

"So they've wangled themselves a top-shelf junket?"

"It would appear so."

"Where is it?"

">Clickety< Where isn't it would be the better question," I say. "It's a cruise ship, stopping in The Hague, Paris, Lisbon, Morocco..."

"A cruise ship, stopping in... Paris?" the PFY says, dubiously.

"That's what it says!" I say, tapping the query results.

"Who's running it?" the PFY asks.

"Let's see. The company's called... Can you pronounce that?"

"I can't even read it, it's 8-bit characters!"

"Look it up on the web?" The PFY suggests.

And no sooner suggested than done. The 'course' is just a top-shelf junket complete with bus tours, hotels, drinks and meals included.

"It's good," the PFY says, looking over my shoulder. "Looks to be completely content free - as if they just pasted photos of Disk Devices and Tape Libraries from Vendor websites to make it legit."

"Hmmm," I concur. "And I'm guessing that the technical content of it will come in a faux leather folder at the end of the tour."

"Just a show bag to prove you went..." The PFY nods.

"Indeed."

"I'm a little surprised The Boss invited The Head of IT, though"

"Nothing's more likely to get a junket approved than getting your boss to go as well - to 'familiarise themselves with the technology'."

"But why would The Head of IT want to spend a week in the company of The Boss?!"

"I'm betting he doesn't. I think he's got a cunning plan to create an unexpected vacancy just before the ship sails - a vacancy which can be filled by Natasha, his new PA. and her even newer fake tan."

"When does it leave??" The PFY asks, looking over my shoulder.

"Tomorrow."

"Ah," The PFY nods. "So a particularly vigorous case of salmonella...."

"Would really upset The Boss's holiday plans. However, The Boss has been spending rather a lot of time in the company of the secretary, so I'd also take a bet that he has his own cunning plan which would see the Head of IT unable to attend."

"So whatever happens my Linux forum's a goner?"

"Perhaps you could always WIN the 108 quid in a small wager?"

"How?"

"By correctly guessing the junket-goer."

"Okay, 108 quid says it'll be The Boss!"

"True, he's sneaky, but perhaps you forget that the Head of IT was handing out homemade savoury nibbles earlier this morning..."

"*I* had some of those!" The PFY gasps, downing several glasses of water from the cooler in an effort to wash away the germs.

"Yeah I know," I chuckle. "I would've too if you hadn't pushed to the front of the line."

"I.... Okay, I've changed my mind, it's The Head of IT who'll be going."

"You're sure now? After all, it was The Boss who changed the bottle on the water cooler this morning - when the old one was still half full."

"But I just bloody drank some of that!!"

"Yeah, I know," I smirk. "So it's The Boss - or the Head of IT...tell me now, quickly, before you go and get your stomach pumped."

"The Boss" The PFY gasps.

. . . The next day. . .

"So that will be 108 quid you owe me," I say to the PFY from my cellphone as I scan the small crowd beside the ship for a familiar face. "The Boss was taken distressingly ill on the Tube on his way home last night. It broke my heart to have to pass on his apologies to the secretary."

"So it was the Head of IT!"

"As it happened he came down with a nasty case of Giardia - much the same as you, I'm guessing - before he'd left the building."

"So no one's going?"

"Well that's what I was ringing about. It would be a shame to just waste the trip, and an even bigger shame if Natasha were unable to exercise that new tan of hers, so I guess I'll bring you back some brochures."

"You Ba.." the PFY says, as I ring off, just as Natasha appears.

Stunning tan.


Episode 42 "I... what?" the PFY sniffles, reading through his email.

Once in a while - not very often mind - I could swear the PFY had been to a customer service course or maybe worked in one of those soulless fast food chains. Like today for instance:

"Hi there, I need someone to come up and change the toner cartridge in my machine."

"Well, I can probably make it up there after lunch," the PFY says nicely. "Where's the replacement cartridge held?"

"Nowhere, you'll have to bring one with you."

"Ah. I'm sorry, but we don't have spare cartridges because of the number of varieties of printers out there. You'll need to order one and give us a call when it comes in," the PFY says.

"I don't have time to do that!"

"Well in the interim you might try rocking the cartridge from side to side to stir up the remaining toner - that might buy you a few pages," the PFY suggests helpfully.

"No, I really do think I'll need a replacement cartridge!" the user insists.

"As I said, if you don't have one we can't replace it," the PFY repeats.

"Surely you can order it!?"

"Yes, but that will probably take a number of days and then I'd have to bill you through our convoluted internal charging system - it'd be quicker for you to just order it yourself."

"Can't you just run down to the shop and pick one up?"

"Oh, and pay for it myself, claim the money back through petty cash after filling in several forms including the one about why I got something outside of the procurement procedure - finally being reimbursed weeks later? I think I'll give it a miss..."

"Do you know who I am?" the user says, uttering the words most guaranteed to get on my wick.

"I ... No" the PFY says

"Just a minute!" I cry, dashing over to the PFY's desk and interrupting the conversation. "It's you isn't it?!!!?!?!"

"Who?" the PFY and the caller say simultaneously.

"You... THE MOST IMPORTANT USER IN THE WORLD!!! I'm very sorry, I didn't recognise your voice at first - I thought you were someone else."

"I... Who did you think I was?"

"For a minute there I thought you were... EVERY BLOODY USER WHO RINGS US! So how's about you get off your arse and call stores for a replacement cartridge?"

>Click<

"Well," the PFY says. "That was effective. Think we'll hear from him again?"

"Bound to," I say.

. . Half an hour later . .

"Ok," the Boss sighs wearily "Which of you was talking to the new Head of Financial Services?"

"There's a new Head Beancounter?" the PFY says "Since when?"

"Since the last one found a horse's head in his bed," the Boss says, staring at the PFY.

"It wasn't a real horse!" the PFY says defensively. "It was just the head of his kid's rocking horse."

"And you think that was appropriate?"

"Which circumstances were these?"

"He rejected an expenses claim for a meal I had on a conference."

"And that made it appropriate for you to sneak into the man's house, saw the head of his child's rocking horse and pop it between him and his wife while he slept?"

"I... uhmm.. yes. It was an expensive dinner," the PFY blusters.

"Well anyway, the new guy isn't impressed and has demanded that someone come up and fix his printer."

"It's not broken, it's just out of toner," the PFY says. "And he doesn't have a replacement cartridge."

"I have a replacement cartridge," the Boss says. "I went down the road an bought one."

"Oh," the PFY says.

"And I'd like you to go and replace it, now if you don't mind."

"Fair enough," the PFY says graciously.

This I just have to see!

. . .

And what a disappointment it is. I was expecting the PFY to 'accidentally' drop the cartridge in such a manner that the toner reservoir became damaged, filling the printer with toner, but no. Whereas I expected him to get a heat gun to make sure the toner got nice and stuck to every part of the inside of the printer he instead did a perfect 10/10 install - even putting all the parts back in the box for recycling. Could the young man be getting jaded?

"About time too," the new Head Beancounter says, creeping up behind us when the job is done. "Is it ready to go?"

"Yep," the PFY says. "Should be all go. You can do that urgent printing now."

"Oh, it wasn't urgent, it was just a couple of black and white prints of our new home that I wanted to send to the wife's parents."

"I..." the PFY says, lost for words.

"But I suppose I should send them through - if only to test the printer."

>Click< >Whirrrr< >Whirrrrr< >Whirr<

>Ring<

"Hello," the PFY says, picking up the printer room phone in a dedicated service professionals manner. "...Sure"

"What?" I ask.

"He wants me to bring his printouts to him," the PFY says, grabbing the printouts and heading towards the door - WITHOUT picking up some blunt instrument!!!

. . . 30 seconds later in the Head Beancounters office . . .

"Here you go," the PFY says handing the printouts over. "Nice house."

"Yes," the Head Beancounter says. "We like it."

"And is that your family?" the PFY asks.

"Yes, that's Peter and that's Nigel."

"Lovely kids," the PFY chirps. "Oh... and is that a rocking horse in the background?"

Uh-oh...


Episode 43 

"Check it out!" the PFY gasps, pointing at a large basket of goodies sitting on the secretary's desk.

"Bonus!" I cry, looking for a card. "Is it for us?"

"No, it's for the Boss," Cathy the secretary sighs before putting the basket into a large cardboard box beside her desk. "The third present he's got today."

"But he's only been in the job a month!" the PFY blurts.

"I know, but that's the tip of the iceberg if you compare it to the head of IT's goodies," Cathy replies, "He got an iPod, a digital camera, some tickets to..."

"An iPod!" the PFY interrupts. "He won't know how to use it!"

"His PA said he thought it was a remote control," Cathy sniggers.

"He can't keep it!" the PFY snaps. "I predict...an emergency disciplinary action."

"Pardon?" Cathy says.

"Disciplinary action," I say. "You know, when we find unspeakable amounts of porn on his machine. Or when he emails the CEO and explains just how much he hates him."

"I was thinking more along the lines of photoshopping him and the CEO's wife in some form of athletic encounter," the PFY says.

"You're...going to get him...fired...at Christmas...for an iPod?"

"The PFY would have him bounced on his birthday for a bread roll," I say.

"Because it's Christmas!" the PFY adds, in so much of a hurry to get his creative work done that he crashes into me on the way to Mission Control.

"No!" Cathy gasps, horrified.

"Sure. He once shut a group of beancounters in the lift for three hours just to make sure he'd get two helpings of Onion Bhajis at the cafeteria. He knows no shame. Who knows what he'd do for an iPod!"

"So I shouldn't tell him about the portable DVD players which were delivered for both the Boss and the head of IT this morning?" Cathy asks, pointing at a couple of Christmas wrapped boxes.

"No, best I take a look at them and check them for...electrical safety," I say, pulling the cards off the boxes and leaving them on the counter.

"But won't they miss them?"

"No, customers rarely know what vendors are going to send them so I'm sure the cards will suffice."

"But won't you miss one?" Cathy asks pointedly.

"No, I wasn't expecting them so I...Oh, I see," I say, handing a player back to Cathy. "Did I...I mean we get anything else?

"Uhmmmm," Cathy says, browsing through a large cardboard box beside my desk. "Some bottles of port, a couple of posh corkscrews, and some tickets to a riverboat cruise, some calendars and a couple of...remote controlled cars?"

"Did you say remote controlled cars?" I gasp, suppressing what might otherwise have been an expression of excitement.

"Yes."

"They're here then?"

"They're your cars?"

"Technically they're mine and the PFY's because between us we made the company the largest purchaser of Serial ATA disks in November."

"But in reality...?"

"I told him we missed out by five drives and what he doesn't know can't hurt me."

"I...So are you're just going to take them?"

"Oh yes. And in my position I'm sure he'd do the same thing - after all It's CHRISTMAS!!!"

"I see," Cathy says, watching the descent of man with disgust. "And you're going to get them now?"

"Uh-huh, while my assistant's otherwise occupied..."

"Can you pick up my chocolate?" she asks sweetly, handing over a large bucket.

"What's the bucket for?"

"To carry 73 bars of chocolate."

"73 bars of chocolate?"

"The packaging burst," she says. "I think security took some, there was supposed to be 100."

"And the bottled water?" I ask, pointing to the flagon of bottled water in the bucket.

"A bribe for security."

"Fair enough," I say, making for the lifts as soon as the coast is clear and the PFY's busy with Photoshop.

...

I can't help sparing a thought for Cathy's naivet�. I mean who'd entrust 73 chocolate bars to me? In fact, who'd entrust them to security!? Especially at Christmas!

I'm still thinking these thoughts when the lift panel goes dead.

...and the lift stops.

...and the emergency light goes out.

..

It's only then that I realise that there are no chocolate bars - and by the time I get out of here, no remote controlled cars either.

And then I realise what the bucket and water are for...

And >rustle< that the PFY lifted my cellphone when he bumped into me...

And that someone's removed the lift call button...

...

And then I start wondering if the lift camera is an infra red one or not - and if so whether the ensuing hours and what the entail will be all streamed live to the web...

...because that's what I'd do.

...because it's Christmas.


Episode 44 

Ah, the strange twists of fate which conspire both for and against us.

Against us when I believed that my trusty co-worker would treat me with the respect I deserved from my years at the coal face of IT and cut me a little slack when it came to me stealing his Christmas presents. And locking me in a lift. And for us when The Boss, supposedly the victim of a convoluted photoshop inspired blackmail scheme, instead calls lift maintenance because he doesn't want to carry his presents down three flights of stairs.

And so it is that I am free from my elevatory prison...

... and seeking revenge.

First stop, Mission Control - but The PFY has long gone. Second stop, the secretary's desk because it's more than apparent that the PFY and Cathy are acting in collusion - but she too has departed hastily. A brief ferret around her desk reveals nothing however a couple of moments thought (plus those hours trapped in a lift) have given me a plan...

I dash off a quick email to Cathy, ostensibly ordering a batch of new paper-clips or something, and quick as a flash her out-of-office message pops back to say that she's off to Spain for a week and won't be contactable over the break. I shove a Knoppix disk into The PFY's machine and peruse the contents of his hard drive until I hit paydirt in his webcache. A set of transactions with an online travel agency. Interesting..

A further disk scrape or two reveals a deleted PDF file containing the e-ticket receipt and flight information including departure time - and joy of joys - it's not going to depart for another couple of hours!

While the PFY and Cathy no doubt spend a couple of hours sampling the fare of a Heathrow drinking establishment I work a little magic on the airline's telephony server... It is criminal how little care and attention is paid to proper security on these machines. A quick rummage through the information therein gives me a couple of suitable names, numbers and locations. A few quick modifications later and I'm on the tube rattling my way to Heathrow...

I get there about 10 minutes after the plane's departed, which suits me just fine. It's a timing game this - too soon and they'd never get on the plane and too late and it'll never work. I search for the public phone I'm after and bash out the first number I'm after, departure control..

�Hello?�

�Hi Jim in baggage handling. We've got a burst case here and I need to know if the flight's gone?�

�Which flight?� I'm asked without further query - given that the guy's phone caller-ID tells him I'm ringing from baggage handling.

I blurt out The PFY's flight number, only to be told that the flight has just left.

�We can let the owner know when he gets in. jJst tell me the barcode number,� Control says, helpfully.

"I can't," I sigh. "The bag got caught in a conveyor mechanism and it's been pulled to bits. There's part of his luggage label though, so I can give you the guy's name?"

"Sure, that'll do."

I rattle off the PFY's name before going off onto a tangent about the unreliability of the model C17-A conveyor system and how they never should have replaced the Bristol 12s which were so reliable they actually used them in the first Gulf War to aid in the loading of munitions, etc., etc., etc., until the guy cuts me off.

"Okay, I'll send a note through to the other side letting them know and they'll tell the passenger when he arrives. Can you bag up the contents and send them on?"

"Well that's the thing," I say, getting into the whole 'Jim' role. "I can package up most of it in a 3T4 bag, although they're not as robust as the 3F4s but their cost per unit's about twice that of the 3T4, but we're not allowed to package drugs in transparent packaging..."

"Drugs?!" the guy snaps.

"Yeah, flu medication."

"Oh," the guy says, almost sounding disappointed.

"Yeah, it's just those anticongestant tablets - the ones they make poor-man's-Speed out of. There must be 10 cartons of them."

"TEN CARTONS!" he gasps.

"Yeah, and condoms, lots of condoms. Although it looks like he's used about three packs of them, the lucky bastard!"

Before Jim can tangent off onto the subject of the Spanish package holiday him and the little woman had back in '74, I'm put on hold while the guy has a quick chat on the other line to someone from HM Customs...

"Okay, that's all sorted, they're going to contact Spanish Customs, but they want you to get the bag up here, ASAP."

"You've got to be joking!" I gasp. "We're two men down and one of the C17-A's is on the fritz. I've rung a couple of the on call guys and I can probably get one of them to drop it off to you in about an hour or so..." I say.

";Hang on... Yeah, they say that'll be OK -they'll hold the guy at the other end...";

"Right then!" Jim says, and I hang up and wander back to the Tube entrance.

Looks like the PFY will be getting a little more sex than he bargained on this trip...