176 lines
4.7 KiB
Plaintext
176 lines
4.7 KiB
Plaintext
The Bastard Operator from Hell Rides Again.
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Don't ask how I got back, I just did. Suffice to say that work frowns upon
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management material that uses electrodes to gain client information.
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Especially when you do it to the boss's in-laws. That's his entertainment.
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So I'm back in the saddle. Unfortunately, that means there's a surplus of
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operators in the computer room. One slam of the tape safe door later, the
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problem is solved. The knocking dies down in a couple of hours, so I guess
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the safes really *are* airtight.
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To welcome myself back, I send a message out saying there's a shutdown in
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10 minutes. 5 minutes later I shut the system down. I love doing that.
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I see the hard-disk activity lights flicker as the "disk recovery" phase of
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startup run through, globally deleting journal files. Funny how we always
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start up with lots of free disk..
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I just get Wolfenstein started and the phone rings. What the hell, I almost
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missed it while I was away, so I answer it.
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"Computer Room" I say
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"THAT WASN'T TEN MINUTES!!!!" the voice at the other end screams
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"What wasn't 10 minutes?" I ask in a pleasant manner. I can see that things
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have deteriorated in my absence. Spare the rod and spoil the rm -r, that's
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what I always say.
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"THAT! You said it was going to be te... >pause<... Um, who is this?"
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"This is the Operator; who did you expect it to be?"
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"Darren? Is that Darren?"
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"Uh, No. Darren.. Darren is... unavailable... at the moment."
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"Oh. Do you know when he'll be back in the control room?"
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"Probably around the time of our next backup - the year 2007 or sometime
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thereabouts I should imagine"
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He's toying with asking me if he can recover their files or not. I let
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him dangle for a few moments.
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"Was that all?", I say, nice as pie
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"Well.... NO, it doesn't matter"
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"Of course it doesn't. Would you like me to check if your files are ok?" I
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prompt
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"Would you? I'm a bit new to this system and I'm not too sure what to do"
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"Sure. What was your username?"
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Everything inside him is screaming at him not to say it - People beside him
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are screaming at him not to say it.
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He says it.
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You just can't tell some people.
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"Ok. Well, it looks ok to me, all your files are in perfect condition!" I say
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"THEY ARE!! GREAT!!"
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The relief in his voice is overwhelming
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>clickety< >clickety<
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"Yep. Both your x-defaults and AND your newsrc file are ok"
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"But.. But what about my site monitoring data?"
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"Sorry?"
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"There were about 10 files in my research subdirectory, data I'd collected
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over the past year."
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"Oh. Well, I can't see anything. Perhaps you backed them up somewhere?"
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"I put a copy in my girlfriend's account.."
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"What was her username?"
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"Uh.... >pause< ... "
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Is he going to do it? Is he?
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He does.
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Like running down a snail with a steamroller...
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>clickety clickety<
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"Nope, nothing there either. OH! Hang on, there looks like some form
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of journal file in your account, it's quite large... I think maybe you should
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login there and try to recover with it..."
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I cat about 100 man files together and slop them in his girlfriends
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account under then name "rsrch.j"
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"How do I do that?"
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"Ok; can you login yet?"
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"Yeah, I think so..... Ok, I'm logged in"
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"Ok, You need to run the file thru the mailer to clear the eigth bit, other-
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wise the journal recovery will probably choke with an instruction error"
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>DUMMY MODE ON<
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"Oh... How do I do that?"
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"Well, you have to type in `mail root < rsrch.j'"
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"Ok!"
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"HANG ON! You have to type it with your nose."
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"WH..? WHY?"
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I flip the excuse card till something appropriate pops up. "HARDWARE STRESS
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FRACTURES"
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"Well, it's got to do with hardware stress fractures. You probably type too
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hard with your fingers which upsets the internals of the keyboard. It's
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got to do with dry joints and electromagnetic inductance"
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>DUMMY MODE IRREVOCABLY ON<
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"Oh. Ok"
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"Now, you've got to type it in 20 times"
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"Sure, ok"
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He hangs up.
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I ring campus security
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"Hey, we've got another crazy in the lab. Apparently he's typing with his
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nose. He might be armed..."
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3 minutes later I hear the shots. I close his account, he won't be needing
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it any more..
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The phone rings. It's my mum.
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"Hi Ma, what can I do for you"
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"Simon, I've got a problem at work, the floppy disk with all my personal stuff
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on it is failing I think"
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"Oh. Ok. Well, have you got any nail polish remover and some cotton wool
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buds?"
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"Yes"
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"Ok, take your disk out, and clean that brown stuff off the inside of the disk.
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That's what gets the heads dirty. You should just have a nice clean plastic
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disk when you've cleaned it completely"
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"Oh, Ok Simon, Thanks"
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"You're welcome. Oh; remember that time you wouldn't let me go over to
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Graeme's place to watch videos when I was 5?"
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"Yeah, why?"
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"Nothing.."
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--
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Simon Travaglia, spt@waikato.ac.nz
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