💾 Archived View for clemat.is › saccophore › library › ebooks › bofh › newbofh › bofh23oct.txt captured on 2021-12-03 at 14:04:38.
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TThhee BBaassttaarrdd OOppeerraattoorr FFrroomm HHeellll
AAss tthhee bboossss ggeettss iinn aa ttwwiisstt aabboouutt CCaatt 55 ccaabblleess,, tthhee BBOOFFHH bbiiddeess hhiiss ttiimmee
ttoo uunnrraavveell tthhee mmeessss ......
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I'm trying to make a deal with Raoul, a local cabling contractor, about
supplying us with some Cat 5 cable, only he's playing hard to get
because he knows he's the only one who has any in stock ... which is all
according to plan, as I've mentioned the secret code, 'the boss wants',
which instantly means I'll go halves in any excess profit.
The boss has suspected something like this for some time but has never
had hard proof, despite his request that all telephone transactions be
done on 'Hands Free' so he can listen in. Deciding to plan the cabling
of a set of refurbished offices single handedly was his second foolish
move.
"Well, it's a bit of a tricky one," says my supplier down the phone.
"You see, I have the cable you want - in fact, I have about twice what
you'll need - but it's already been purchased and is going to be
delivered today. Have you tried another supplier?"
Smooth as greased silk ...
"Yeah, but unfortunately they're all out of Cat 5 too," I reply.
"You're joking!" he gasps, convincingly.
"Yep, it's as if someone has ordered up the entire cable market in one
gulp - everyone's sold out for the next couple of days. Are you sure
there's nothing you can do?"
"No, not really - about all I've got left is a stack of that untested
stuff that we got dirt cheap. It looks like Cat 5, but it's got some
foreign military spec on it which doesn't equate to any known rating."
"We'll take it! Get it here by lunchtime!" the boss shouts.
"Hang on a minute there," I say, sneakily flipping on the voice
recorder. "Wouldn't it be better to find out what the spec is - it could
be field-phone cable for all we know."
"We haven't got time, I've committed to having the new offices up and
running in three days!" the boss cries, then dashes off to confirm the
attendance of our cabling contractors.
I switch the voice recorder off.
"So, what are we getting?" I ask.
"Not really sure. It was salvaged from a sunken Romanian container - I
only bought it for the copper value."
"And will it carry signal?"
"Oh yes"
"Really?"
"Well, maybe - unshielded, untwisted - I'd think twice about using it
for Christmas tree lights myself, but there you go."
"So why did you say it looked like Cat 5?" I ask.
"Well, the sheathing is similar, and it comes on a drum," he replies.
"And all ours comes on easy-flow cartons?"
"I didn't say it looked exactly like Cat 5!"
"Excellent!" I chuckle. "Talk to you later."
Later that afternoon, I'm interrupted by the boss in an agitated mood.
"That bloody cable is crap!" he cries.
"Well, I did warn you not to purchase it," I mention, indicating the
voice-recording lamp on my phone. "Which reminds me, I must get that
bulb fixed."
The boss is now trapped; he has no cable, a deadline, and four or five
cabling contractors kicking around in the lobby at a reasonably hefty
hourly rate. And he's just paid good money for crap cable.
Being a benevolent sort, I decide to help the boss out. I call Raoul.
"Raoul, what would we be paying for some Cat 5 cable?" I ask.
"I've already told you that we don't have any c..."
"Sorry, let me re-phrase that, what would we be paying for someone
else's Cat 5 cable?"
The boss's eyes light up as a solution presents itself. Raoul mentions
some disgusting figure which the boss nods at rapidly.
"But our delivery van has been stolen," Raoul adds, according to plan.
"You could pick it up from here though."
"No can do," I reply, "my car's a two seater."
"TAKE MINE!" the boss cries, mental clock ticking.
Half an hour later, the pimply-faced-youth and I are loading cartons of
cable into the back of the boss's palace on wheels. I decide to drive
back now that the PFY has admitted he's actually only had two driving
lessons.
Still, I'm sure all the dents (except for the ones left by the three
parking meters) will hammer out eventually.
I bid Raoul goodbye and ask him to cancel the mass of Cat 5 orders I
placed that caused the artificial shortage of the last two days.
Back at the office, the boss is so pleased he doesn't even mention the
remains of his radiator left by the PFY's parking meter interlude. He
sends the cabling contractors over.
"Right ...," I say, "... your cable's on the drum over there."
"That stuff?" one of them asks. "Isn't that Romanian writing?" Ten
minutes later Raoul is making me an offer on some excess Cat 5 that I
just cannot refuse...
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