 | Category: Work
Tuesday, August 31st, 2004 @ 03:11 pm
|
Work is becoming stranger and stranger for me as the days go by. Due to my status as "only person around here that knows the differences between holes in the ground and my ass", I'm getting bugged constantly.
I sit here in my little world, surrounded by humming computers, and throw myself into projects. Truth be told, it's pretty fun having to create functionality for new and weird shit that management dreams up and decides is a necessity. I can sit here, tacking away at code, figuring out 18 ways to skin a cat, coming up with "neat", and to some extent impressive, algorithms to create the odd outcome that I've been requested to provide.
Then, the inevitable happens, I hear the shuffling of feet on carpet behind me. Hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I sense the living incarnation of Yosemite -fucking- Sam breathing down my neck. I turn to see him standing there, gut hanging over his "Don't Mess with Texas" belt buckle. Under one arm, a disheveled pile of claims, sticking haphazardly out of a crumpled manilla folder. Under the other, a laptop which, from the looks of it, was bestowed to him by Jesus Christ himself shortly before the son of God's untimely execution.
"Yah tha man that fixin's tha puters?", he drawls, his words crumbling my technological, zen-like state.
I turn around to face him to see if I recognize him as having been in here before, but it's impossible. His face is rapidly shape-shifting, quickly becoming a blurry amalgam of every one of these spawns of dixie that has stepped into this office.
"Yes, I suppose that would be me," I respond as pleasantly as possible, trying my damndest to earn the title of "most personable" member of the IT staff, a title I've been honored with more than once.
He rears back, with moustache flairing and firey balls of chewing tobacco spewing forth, the demon speaks, "Well, ah don't really whatsa wrong with it, I can't seems to git it on tha intarweb, it dull-gern locks up on me every time."
He doesn't fool me. I know the devil's tricks by now. You see "locks up" is the way this multi formed beast refers to the actual human phrase "isn't working". A "lock up" could be an actual "lock up", a program crashing, an error when trying to save something, or best yet, just not knowing what to do at all.
I prepare to throw myself headlong into this issue to resolve it as expeditiously as humanly possible. "What kind of wireless card are you using?" I inquire, hoping to start from the ground up and find something before I actually have to lay hands on this creature's computer.
"Dunno if ah got one ah those things," he ripostes, his ignorance skewering me through the heart, wounding me mortally.
In my last, dying breath, I fire up my email client and shoot an email to my coworker currently working onsite in Florida: "Avenge me," I write as I feel the life draining from my body. I press the "Send" button and steady myself in preparation to meet my maker.
|
