In which our hero opens a can of whup ass, eats a piece of humble pie and generally makes a nuisance of himself. Some locks are fiddled with, the logs in the Future Projects file are put to good use, and a donation from an unexpected direction helps improve the server room functionality.
Thursday Morning 9:something or other.
Thursdays shouldn't be allowed.
Thursdays are always the day that auditors show up asking if they can please connect to the network using the same account they had before, and what was that printer name again, and why can't I access the internet to read my email? Thursdays are when unannounced new employees show up and say where's my computer and I'm trying to print my business cards, so what's my email and phone number going to be?
Sales Manager, Hell-Freezing-Over District
Thursdays are when the week should really end.
Instead the phone rings.
"What?" I say.
"Is this IT?" Asks a luser from customer support.
"No. This is Mike."
"Mike in IT?"
"Mike in I.S. Information Systems." I say.
"Oh," says the luser. "Well, I don't know if you can help me then. I'm having problems with my computer."
"Not sure I can help you either. One can only do one's best. What kind of problems are you having?"
"Well," says the luser, trying his best to pull his thumb out of his ass, "it keeps moving."
"Moving?" I squint at the ceiling and think about counting to ten.
"Yeah, it keeps moving." He's beginning to sound sure of himself now. "It keeps moving around and I'd really wish it would stop."
"Well," I say, "This has to do with the Electromagnetic Interference that we've been experiencing on the network recently. We're working on it and should have it resolved soon."
He sounds practically euphoric now. "Oh, so you guys know about it?"
"Indeed we do," I say.
"Well good. So, could you send me an email when it's fixed?"
I sigh. Do I mention the fact that if his computer is 'moving' then he'll know it's fixed because it will no longer be 'moving'? No. He's a customer support luser. He'd never understand.
"Sure." I say, and wait patiently for him to say thanks and hang up and get out of my hair.
"So, don't you need my email address." asks the luser.
Who does he think he's talking to, anyway?
"No. I don't need it." I say.
"Then how are you going to email me?"
My desk starts to shake, and I look down at my knee and find that it's bouncing up and down at nearly 50mhz. Shall I reveal myself? Shall I show the puny little customer support luser the power I wield? Yes! It is good that they fear me!
"Jim Johanssen," I say. "Jim dot Johanssen at fuckyou.com. Married to Brenda. Brenda with the breast implants. Two children, little Jimmy and little Betsie. You make 39k a year. Pitiful. You're having an affair with Melinda in finance, and while her husband knows, you haven't gotten around to telling Brenda yet. Shall I go on? Maybe I shouldn't, but it's just so fun."
There was silence on the phone, and then a very timid, horse voice said, "No. No. You're fine. Don't worry about it. I'm sorry I bothered you." And then he hung up.
Ah, life is good.
I open up my little database of All Important Knowledge and make a note of what information I've revealed to Jimmy. Ever played the game Clue? Well it's good to keep track of what pieces of information your opponents know.
Once done, I open up the web code I'm working on. I've got this little side business where I design web sites for strippers and escorts for free. Well, kind of for free. I provide my professional services in exchange for their professional services. It all works out very well for both sides.
.... There is more of this story ...