Date: Sun, 16 May 93 13:52:13 PDT
Subject: BOFH #3
["Forwards? We don't need no steenking forwards!"]
Dear Sir Fun_People,
A reader in netland writes in to ask:
So what's this about Reid Fleming becoming a computer operator?
-- firstname.lastname@example.org (Guy Harris)
No, Guy, that pleasant Mr. Fleming is still delivering milk, this is his
evil twin, the Bastard Operator From Hell! Nice talking to you, Guy... >click<
>clickety< >click< ...
BASTARD OPERATOR FROM HELL #3
So, I'm working so hard I barely have time to drive into town and watch a
movie before the time I told people their printing would be ready. The
queue's WAAAAY too long to have everything printed (and sorted) by the time
I told them, so I kill all the small jobs. Now there's only 2 left and I
can sort them in no time.
Then, after the movie, (which was one of those slack Bertolucci ones that
takes about 3 hours till the main character is killed off in a visionary
experience) I get back and clear the printouts.
There's about 50 people waiting outside and I've got two printouts. That's
about average for me. I thought I'd killed more though. Anyway, I put out
the printouts and walk slooowly inside, fingering the clipboard with
"ACCOUNTS TO REMOVE" in big letters on the back. No-one says anything. As
. . .
I'm sitting back in the Operations Armchair, watching the computer room
closed circuit TV, which just happens to be connected to the frame-grabber's
Video player (I sent the frame-grabber off for repair, due back sometime in
'94) when the phone rings. That must be the 2nd time today, and it's really
starting to get to me!
"Yes?" I say, pausing the picture.
"I've accidentally deleted my C.V!" the voice at the other end of the line
"You have? What was your username?"
He tells me. What the hell, I AM bored.
"Ah no, you didn't delete it - I did."
"I deleted it. It was full of shit! You didn't ever get more than a B- in
any of your subjects!"
"And that crap about being a foreign exchange student, that was your
girlfriend and we both know it."
"Your academic records. I checked them, you were lying.."
"How did y.." He clicks. "It's you isn't it? THE BASTARD OPERATOR FROM
"In the flesh, on the phone and in your account.... You shouldn't have
called you know. You especially shouldn't have given me your username.."
>clickety< >click< "Neither should you have sent that mail to the System
Manager telling him what you think of him in graphic terms..."
"I didn't send any.."
"No, you didn't did you? But who can tell these days. Not to worry though,
It'll all be over VERY soon.." >clickedy clikc< "..change my username
"b-b-b.." he blubs, like a stood-up date
"Goodbye now" I say pleasantly, "you've got bags to pack and a life to
I hang up.
Two seconds later the red phone goes. I pick it up, it's the boss. He
mumbles the username of the person I was just talking to, mentions something
about a nasty mail message, and utters the words "You know what to do...",
with the dots and everything.
Later, inside the Municipal Energy Authority Computer, as I'm modifying the
poor pleb's Energy Bill by several zeros, I can't help but think about what
lapse of judgement - what act of heinous stupidity causes them to call.
Then, even later, when I'm adding the poor pleb's photo image over the top
of the FBI's online "MOST Wanted Armed and Dangerous, SHOOT ON SIGHT"
offenders list, I realise, I'll probably never know; but life goes on.
A couple of hours later, as I see the SWAT vehicle roll up outside the
poor pleb's apartment I realise that for some, it just doesn't.
But tommorrow is another day.
© 1993 Peter Langston