💾 Archived View for clemat.is › saccophore › library › ebooks › bofh › newbofh › bofh30oct.txt captured on 2021-12-03 at 14:04:38.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
TThhee BBaassttaarrdd OOppeerraattoorr FFrroomm HHeellll
RRuullee oonnee ooff sseettttiinngg uupp aa nneettwwoorrkk:: ddoonn''tt lleett tthhee bboossss uussee hhiiss
''iinniittiiaattiivvee'' aanndd sseett oonnee uupp hhiimmsseellff ......
========================================================================
Things aren't well in boss-land. Sadly, the managers have found out
about his poorly planned foray into network design and installation.
They are NOT pleased. How they got wind of it is anybody's guess, but I
did notice that the pimply-faced-youth has completely finished the 'to
do' list I left him last night. His attention to detail is commendable.
Fitting substandard cable wouldn't have gone so badly for the boss but
for his choice of installation technique. Although it may have been
adversely affected by a friendly discussion with the PFY and myself over
a couple of lagers.
Boss: "So I'm looking at multi-pair plug looms running along the bottom
of raised floor offices, and terminated at the three outlet points I've
allocated per room ..."
Me: "Plug looms? Not like the ones we used in the offices downstairs a
couple of years ago? One nudge and the connectors went open circuit."
Boss: "But then I thought that single runs of Cat 5 direct from the
comms cupboard would be a better option."
PFY: "Along the floor? So when someone spills their coffee it'll trickle
through onto the cable, shorting out th..."
Boss (quickly): "Did I say along the floor? I meant inside the wall
cavities ..."
I'm sure you can imagine the rest - like shooting a fish in a barrel.
Still, the three useless wall outlets make interesting conversation
pieces. But I could even have forgiven the boss for that, had he not
tried for a save by installing some expensive wireless LAN equipment in
the outer offices, in the mistaken belief that infra-red was some form
of short distance radio transmission medium. (I have absolutely no idea
where he got that idea from, although the PFY's nose does look a little
longer in recent days). From this, the boss has discovered the negative
career potential of installing networking that only works when your
office door is open ...
"We've really got a problem here," he chirps in a hunted manner as he
paces my office.
"What's that?" I ask helpfully.
"The bloody network, it's a shambles!"
"Well I don't mean to rub salt into your wounds, but you probably
should've let us do the planning. After all, that's what we're paid
for."
"And what would you have done that was so different?" he demands
offensively.
"Hmm..." the PFY cuts in, "I would have run some multi-pair plug looms
of real Cat 5 (and not some cheap imitation) under the raised floors,
and terminated them at the three outlet points that I'd have allocated
per room."
"But that's what I proposed!" he blurts, realisation hitting him.
"Well actions do speak louder than words," I sigh. "Speaking of which, I
believe there's a legal one heading your way real soon."
"What am I going to do," he wails in a voice very reminiscent of a user
at disk defragmentation time.
"Well you could have the cabling replaced," I reply.
"Yes, you're right, I'll do that."
"Only its cable-tied every six inches inside a wall, and that means
they'll have to partially demolish it to ..."
"That's no good!"
"Well then there's only plan B left."
"What is it?"
"You pay a one-time subscription to 'Bastard-Net Inc' and agree to large
overtime bills. The problem will be gone by tomorrow and just a memory
by next Wednesday."
"What's the subscription and where do I pay?" he blurts.
"Two hundred quid; the PFY and me."
Seeing the rock and hard place at close proximity once more, the boss
reaches for his wallet.
The next day, security are combing the building for the eight office
doors mysteriously stolen during the night. Strangely, the CCTV noted
nothing but a rerun of The Beverley Hillbillies.
Network stability in the new offices is at an all-time high, except for
when the head of PR (a heavily built gentleman who looks like he was
poured into his clothes and forgot to say when) passes by. His
popularity around those offices appears to be waning fast.
One week later, the sub-floor recable is completed and the PFY and I
present our overtime sheets for approval.
"Hang on," the boss shouts. "168 hours? That's 24 hours a day for seven
days!"
"We did work extremely hard," the PFY chips in.
"You can't seriously expect me to sign this," the boss says, ever so
slightly annoyed.
"Of course not," I reply. "We'll just put the network back the way it
was then. Oh, and I wonder ..."
"Wonder what?!" the boss snarls.
"Whose fingerprints were on that pile of stolen doors that security
found ..."
"When?!"
"Tomorrow morning ..."
One autograph later, the PFY and I take the rest of the day off to
recuperate from our stressful overtime.
========================================================================
Previous : _T_h_e_ _B_._O_._F_._H_._ _b_i_d_e_s_ _h_i_s_ _t_i_m_e_ _t_o_ _u_n_r_a_v_e_l_ _a_ _m_e_s_s_ _._._.
Next : _I_n_f_i_l_t_r_a_t_i_o_n_ _o_f_ _t_h_e_ _e_-_m_a_i_l_ _s_y_s_t_e_m_ _._._.
Back to _T_h_e_ _B_a_s_t_a_r_d_ _M_e_n_u.