>clickety clickety d-e-l b-a-s-i-c.e-x-e<
'Um no, we don't have that. We used to though..'
'oh. Oh well, the other thing I wanted to know was, could the contents of my account be copied to tape to I have a permanent copy of them to save at home in case the worst happens..'
'The worst?'
'Well, like they get deleted or something...'
'DELETED! Oh, don't worry about that, we have backups!' (I'm such a *shit*) 'What was your username?'
He gives me his lusername. (What an idiot)
>clickety clikc<
'But you haven't got any files in your account!' I say, mock surprise leaping from my vocal chords.
'Yes I have, you must be looking in the wrong place!'
So first he spoils my x-tank game, and *now* he's calling me a liar...
>clickety click<
'Oh no, I made a mistake' I say.
Did he mutter 'typical' under his breath??!? Oh dear, oh dear..
'I MEANT TO SAY: That USERNAME doesn't exist'
'Huh? >wimper< It must do, I was only using it this morning!'
'Ah well, that'll be the problem, there was a virus in our system this morning, the... uh... DE VINCI Virus, wipes out users who are logged in when it goes off.'
'That can't be right, my girlfriend was logged in, and I'm in her account now!'
'Which one was that?'
He tells me the username. Some people NEVER learn...
'Oh, yeah, her account was just after we discovered the virus.'...
>clickety clikc< '..she only lost all her files'
'But...'
'But don't worry, we've got them all on tape'
'Oh, thank goodness!!!'
'Paper tape. Have you got a magnifying glass and a pencil? SEE YOU IN THE MACHINE ROOM!!!! NYAHAHAHAHAHA!'
I'm such a prick!
BOfH #3
So I'm working so hard I barely have time to drive into town and watch a movie before I told people their printing will be ready. The queue's WAAAAAY too long to have everything printed (and sorted) by the time I told them, so I kill all the small jobs so 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 tho. 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 usual.
. . .
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 (sent off for repair, due back sometime in '97) 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 seem to have accidentally deleted my C.V!' the voice at the other end of the line says.
'You have? What was your username?'
He tells me. What the hell, I AM bored.
'Ah no, you didn't delete it – I did.'
'What?'
'I deleted it. It was full of shit! You didn't ever get more than a B– in any of your subjects!'
'Huh?'
'And that crap about being a foreign exchange student, that was your girlfriend and we both know it!'
'Huh?!!'
'Your academic records. I checked them, you were lying.. Besides which, you forgot to include your criminal record..'
'How did y..' He clicks. 'It's you isn't it? THE BASTARD OPERATOR FROM HELL!'
'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 such graphic terms...'
'I didn't send any..'
>clickety< >click<......
'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 back, and...'
'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 start over...'
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 then 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.
BOfH #4
It's a thursday, and I'm in a good mood. It's payday. I think I'll take some calls. I put the phone back on the hook. It rings.
'I've been trying to get you for hours!' the voice at the other end screams.
'Not, it can't be hours' I say, putting 'Blade Runner' back into it's cover and looking at the back, 'it was more like 114 minutes. I was on a long phone call with the big boss, trying to get you users some better facilities'
Hook; Line; and Sinker...
'Oh. I'm sorry.'
