No Way Out

Barbie?

Greenberg smiled.

You couldn’t make it up.

“Paul Greenberg. You can call me Paul.”

“Thanks. And you can call me Barbie. So what exactly do you do Paul? I mean what’s a… what did you call it… Administrator…”

“Systems Administrator.”

“Is that like higher than a programmer?”

Greenberg smiled at the prospect of enlightening this neophyte. She sounded like she was in awe of his knowledge already. Maybe he’d get lucky with her.

“Not exactly. I mean I am a programmer. But that’s not my job here. I’m in charge of the system as a whole. I make sure that it’s working okay, that all the computers on the network are okay, that everything gets properly backed up and all the passwords stored safely.”

“You mean you know everyone’s password? I guess they must really trust you.”

“No but if they lose it I can access their files and give them a new password. I mean they do trust me I guess. I’m what’s called a Superuser.”

“Superuser?” she repeated, rolling the words on her tongue. “That sounds kind of sexy. What does it mean?”

He smiled, his ego well and truly buttered.

“It means I’m a highly privileged user.”

“You make it sound so exciting.”

Looking around at the dimly lit room, he realized that he had built it up out of all proportion with a few simple words. It was time to let her down gently.

“Believe me it’s not. It’s actually rather boring.”

“Oh!” She sounded disappointed. “I always thought that sort of work was terribly exciting. I mean how do you do all these things or get the computer to do them. Do you have your own special privileged user password?”

“That’s exactly it. I have a password which the computer recognizes as a Superuser password and it gives me access to all sorts of things that other users don’t have access to.”

“My ex-boyfriend used to have a password for his computer. But I knew what it was.”

She sounded like an airhead. But so what? She was fun, and she seemed to like him… at least over the phone.

“What was it?”

“It was a four letter word,” she said, giggling.

He was now sure of his airhead theory. But then again, she had a kind of naive charm? It wasn’t her head that he was interested in. He imagined her with platinum blonde hair, silicone-enhanced breasts and wide child- bearing hips. That was the marvelous thing about the phone — and the Internet — you could imagine the other person as whatever you liked.

“A lot of user’s are like that. They pick a four letter word or a derogatory comment about their boss.”

“I bet you don’t. You sound too smart for that.”

He had the slightest inkling that she might be schmoozing him.

“I can just imagine you picking some long-winded off-the-wall password like rumplestiltskin.”

Well at least she reads children’s stories, he thought.

“No, I use a short password. They’re easier to remember and harder to mistype.”

“I can understand the bit about typing, but I’d’ve thought it doesn’t matter how long the password is, as long as it’s something you’re likely to remember.”

“Well I always use my mother’s maiden name.”

“Isn’t that two words?” she asked with another girlish giggle.”

“Just the surname,” he said.

“Okay, well I won’t ask you what it is. Listen, I’ve got to go now ‘cause I promised Linda I’d call her. I hope she’s not too busy. Look, maybe I could call you again tomorrow.”

“Sure. I’d like that. I’m on night duty all week.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Can I call you during the day?”

“No, I'm only on nights: ten at night till six in the morning.”

“Okay I'll call same time tomorrow.”

After she hung up, Paul Greenberg tried to get back into his book. But he couldn’t concentrate on it anymore.

Thursday, 27 August 2009 — 10:50

She called again in the morning at a time when she knew he would be off-duty.

“Ventura County” said the switchboard operator, answering the call. It was a woman’s voice, one of those artificially cheerful telephone voices that dripped saccharine from every word.

“Could you put me through to the IT System’s Administrator,” said the woman on the other end of the line. Her voice was deeper than the last time she called. Now she was trying to sound more like a serious educated professional than an airhead. She didn’t want her call to be diverted to some lackey away from the computer console.

“Who’s calling?”

“Oh, er Barbara,” the woman replied. “Barbara Jackson.” She sounded flustered, almost as if she had forgotten her name.

“Just one minute.”

“Systems Administration,” said a man’s voice.

“Hallo, can I speak to Paul Greenberg please.”

Now she sounded like the airhead again. The voice was higher, almost squeaky.

“I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment. He’s on nights this week.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” said the woman, sounding deeply embarrassed. “I guess I’m making a bit of a fool of myself.”

“I don’t understand.”

The Systems Administrator sounded confused, but there was a kind of enthusiasm in his voice. This meant that she “had” him.

“Well I spoke to last night. I got a wrong number and we started talking. He sounded kind of cute.”

“Oh yeh he-”

The Systems Administrator broke off. The woman well knew why. He had been about to say “he told me all about you,” presumably as he signed off and handed over in the morning. But realized it would have been tactless. It would have made Paul seem like a gossip.

“Yes?”

The Systems Administrator fumbled for something else to say instead.

“He’s working nights all this week.”

realized that he had said this a moment ago.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me if he… no I shouldn’t ask.

“What?” asked the man, smiling. He was enjoying listening to her. She had this kind of girlish way of babbling about her, just like Paul had said.

“Well I was just wondering if he had a girlfriend.”

The System’s Administrator was grinning broadly at this. No wonder Paul couldn’t stop talking about this woman.

“Not as far as I know.”