💾 Archived View for clemat.is › saccophore › library › ebooks › bofh › newbofh › bofh5feb97.txt captured on 2021-12-03 at 14:04:38.
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ssiiddeekkiicckk.. WWhhaatt aa vveerryy ffoooolliisshh tthhiinngg ttoo aatttteemmpptt ......
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It's not often that we're 'honoured' by a visit from the chief bean
counter.
In fact, the last time he disturbed the peace of the BOFH sanctuary was
when he discovered that the 'satellite-based data reception technology'
seemed to be pointed at the local bookie's and was carrying mainly
racing results.
I can sense that this time he's got something to tell me. He's looking
decidedly pleased with himself. His well-fed face bears an uncanny
resemblance to a wolf spying a solitary sheep. Pulling himself up to his
full five-foot-four, he speaks firmly but with a noticeable hint of
nervousness.
"In view of the fact that your idea of technical support is
idiosyncratic to say the least, we've decided to install our own server
and employ our own network manager."
He pauses as the implication of what he's saying slowly sinks in.
"Can I take it that you're not happy with the support that my assistant
and I offer you?" I reply, gesturing at the PFY.
"Him?" gurgled the bean counter. "He's nothing but a psychopath."
The PFY beams at the compliment. The suit from upstairs continues.
"We're going to employ a proper networking person so we don't have to
let you two maniacs anywhere near our network again. ANYONE we find is
bound to be an improvement on you two."
Foolish words, but hey, I was bored anyway.
A week or so later, the memo is delivered from on-high by the Bean
Counter Central office-boy (obviously our previous confrontation used up
all his boss's courage). As of 9am today, Operations is no longer
responsible for technical support in the financial division.
I pass the note to the PFY, and I detect menace in his eyes. "Since
we're not supporting them any more, I guess that means they have their
own routers," I point out, pulling a few plugs. Interestingly, the
remote probe I built into their coffee machine tells me that they're
still getting packets off the Internet ... hmmm ... not daft, this lot.
I bash out a quick message and drop it on the 'pager' icon. Some seconds
later my really-terribly-private cellphone blasts into action. The PFY
is impressed and worried; only important, powerful people know the
number to that phone, and the fact that it's ringing usually means that
we're in serious trouble and are calling in some big favours. He has
never heard it ring before, and looks decidedly worried.
"Hello? Yes, that's right ... yes, I thought so ... no, we're not
allowed to touch anything, it's entirely down to the new network manager
up there. Oh, you are, are you? That's nice ... yes, okay, the Victoria
in fifteen minutes."
The PFY looks puzzled, and is startled to hear the fire alarm. I point
out that the fire alarm might be something to do with the smoke
emanating from Bean Counter Central, and he rushes outside to see. The
penny drops and he dashes back in and demands to know how I knew that
something was amiss upstairs, given that you can't see the smoke or the
alarm panel from where I'm sitting.
"Well, okay. You remember Martin?"
"What, that guy you introduced me to once?"
"I've introduced you to so many people..."
"Okay, the one with the pony tail and the alcohol fixation whose
temperament and attitude to users makes both of us look like St Francis
of Assisi?"
"Yes, that's him."
"The one who you told me last week was out of a job?"
"Hmmm ... more like the one whose name by some chance found its way to
the top of the Bean Counter recruitment list," I point out.
It suddenly dawns on him. Now he knows why I spent so much time on the
personnel database last week - and why I was so keen in calling in a few
favours to that friendly recruitment consultant.
A thought struck me. "Heh, heh ... wait until you see the router they've
got upstairs. It's one of these cobbled-together things that you don't
see very often. I predict they're going to have a lot of trouble with
that in the future.
"In fact there are only two people in the world with the code, and
they're the guys who wrote it. And you're looking at one of them."
"And the other?"
"... knows the number of my private cellphone and is now on his way
round the corner to the pub. Come on, my expense account has some beer
to buy."
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