💾 Archived View for clemat.is › saccophore › library › ebooks › bofh › newbofh › bofh26feb97.txt captured on 2021-12-03 at 14:04:38.
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It's a slow day in Mission Control and I have a hangover that would have
even the toughest superhero whimpering.
I'm not exactly sure how I got home, but I think it had something to do
with a very long taxi ride and someone else's credit card...
It was inevitable after spending most of yesterday 'supplier baiting' at
a computing exhibition on the other side of town, then trundling off
with some slavering salespeople to all night drinkies. The first one to
collapse loses - the sale, the initiative and his corporate credit card
when he's not looking.
Because of my health, I'd temporarily forgotten that we'd told the boss
that the PFY and I would sit in for the Helldesk while they attended a
health and safety course on how to type a whole word without dying of
RSI or whatever they call it these days. The boss, of course, did not
come down in the last shower and is well aware I'm up to something, but
lacks the mental capacity to work out what it is. No surprises there
then.
Sadly, he shall be wondering about it at the RSI course along with the
other mortals as the company's health and safety policy makes it
mandatory for all computing staff to attend. His protestations of
already having attended amount to nothing in the light of the fact that
there's no record of it in the Human Resources Database (whoops), nor
does he appear to possess the 'get-out-of-jail-free' RSI course
completion certificate.
The PFY and I, on the other hand, have several of these certificates and
corresponding database entries, yet still have no idea what the
instructor looks like nor what exactly the course is about.
Knowing he's beaten, the boss goes quietly.
Meanwhile, in the Helldesk area, I'm reconnecting the smoke detectors
after the freak fire that destroyed an RSI Course Completion Certificate
with the boss's name on it. I blame the heating system - it's been
working overtime recently.
"Hello? Is this the helpdesk?"
"Yes it is," I answer, all sweet, fluffy loveliness.
"Can you tell me the number for the modem pool?"
"I sure can!" I gush, then give the number for a fax machine on the
fourth floor, which should keep them confused for a couple of weeks.
I hang up and have barely dropped off to sleep when the phone rings
again.
"My laptop seems to be running quite slowly. Can you help?"
"Of course I can. Now don't tell me, you're still using the power filter
unit aren't you?"