💾 Archived View for clemat.is › saccophore › library › ebooks › bofh › newbofh › bofh15jan97.txt captured on 2021-12-04 at 18:04:22.
⬅️ Previous capture (2021-12-03)
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TThhee BBaassttaarrdd OOppeerraattoorr FFrroomm HHeellll
JJuusstt hhooww ddoo yyoouu ggeett rroouunndd tthhaatt ttrriicckkyy vviissiitt ffrroomm tthhee aauuddiittoorrss?? TThhee BBOOFFHH
hhaass aa ffeeww iiddeeaass ......
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Things aren't good. The board of directors is after blood. Nothing's
been said yet, but everyone in the building knows what a visit from the
auditors means...
They didn't go up to the executive offices first, which means they're
primed with all the information they need. Someone's upset the top brass
big time, and that someone, judging by the troop of 'yes-persons'
laughingly referred to as my 'co-workers', can only be me. Or possibly
the pimply-faced-youth...
I remember electronically signing up the entire board of directors to
the mailing list of a seedy video parlour, but I hardly think that would
qualify for all this attention.
The auditors are a 'good cop, bad cop' team who'd make a VAT inspector
look like Mother Teresa.
I've got about a minute before they pay us a visit. So I dial up head
office's router and start a packet sniff operation, and then configure
some extra phone lines onto the voice recorder.
I've just finished when they arrive.
"This is a secure area," I call out, playing the dedicated worker to the
full.
"Company auditors," bad cop sneers.
"You have some ID?" I ask, buying time until I can clear my screen.
Their pictures look rough enough, but I make a point of checking their
ID photos under the magnifying lamp.
"They seem OK. Now, what can I help you with?" I ask.
"We're here to audit and inventory your equipment. You're to make
yourself available until we've finished the audit."
"How long will that take?" I reply.
"As long as it takes," bad cop says.
Excellent. I write them up in the visitors' book, then swipe them
through the door on my ID.
They potter around a bit calling out inventory numbers and making rude
noises to themselves. I pass the time by listening to my latest voice
recording on the headset. It only takes a few minutes of secretarial
gossip to find out that someone noticed that one of our microwave dishes
points at the middle of beancounter central instead of the sky. Mind
you, it's not as if we're actually transmitting through it... Still,
with the psychosomatic headaches and general illness it'll cause, I
guess it's worth the hassle.
"OK," bad cop says wandering back in.
"According to our records, over the past year you have written-off as
unserviceable; three televisions..."
"Ah, satellite reception monitors," I quickly interrupt, "very poor
quality, yes."
"Two stereo video recorders..."
"CCTV recorders with dual audio channels, again, poor quality"
"A microwave cooker..."
"Short range microwave transmission test device."
"And 112 videos."
"CCTV recording media, yes."
"Bought from the Megastore?"
"At a good price."
"Blank media at 15 quid a piece?"
"Quality costs money..."
"Then why are the titles listed?"
"Invoicing error. Call them, I'm sure the Megastore's records say blank
media. Now..."
"And you wrote them off?"
"Corporate secrecy requires us to destroy confidential media after three
months..."
"Well, what about these multi-colour indicator lamps?"
"We use them all over the place..."
"Yes, well they could be anything... Hell, Christmas tree lights fit
that bill."
Perceptive bastard really...
"I'm sure everything's in order," good cop says, in a manner designed to
engender trust. No doubt the same form of trust that preceded the
statement: "Watch my back Brutus." It can only mean one thing.
"Just one thing," bad cop asks, switching to pleasant mode. "You DO have
the asset disposal forms, signed by your head of department and co-
signed by the head of purchasing?"
Whoops. Things have turned a little grim for the home team.
"Because if you don't, you WOULD be liable for the loss of the assets
concerned. With a current book value of about �5,000..." he says,
savouring every syllable.
"Of course I do," I smile, indicating a huge pile of miscellaneous
papers kept expressly for occasions like this. "In there somewhere.
Sorry it's a bit of a mess."
While they wade through the pile, I look up the vehicle associated with
the identification cards of our two friends, then e-mail the PFY his
mission.
An hour later the auditors call it a day and wander off. The PFY and I
follow suit, in time to witness another 'random' security check at the
car park exit. We are both shocked and stunned to see a boot-sale-worth
of 'written-off' equipment in our erstwhile auditors' vehicle, along
with 30 or so 'asset disposal forms', blank but for an incriminating
signature and co-signature.
"So that's where all our kit has been going!" I blurt in passing in case
security has lost the plot, even after the anonymous tip-off.
Status quo returned, I offer to buy the PFY a beer to ease the cramp in
his signing hand.
It's a tough life at the top - don't let people tell you otherwise...
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