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I?m not quite sure where it says it?s my time for some negative
karma, but I certainly hope that there is a bug in the system. Either
that, or I?m atoning for some heinous sin that I carry on committing.
Like breathing.
Last week was well and truly the Week From Hell. Starting off with a
reorganisation of the entire department that left me moving things for
the head of Tables and Chairs (Buildings and Maintenance), the day
dragged on for two hours of moving desks, chairs, filing cabinets, the
entire SysAdmin applications and backups library (fortunately not the
two-ton backup safe), and more computers than I care to name. I was
about the only person in the department not to move, and yet I was the
one to be yelled at the most for not getting things done. Despite the
fact that I had other work to do, despite the fact that whatever that
mineral life form that was ordering me around might think, I had other
things to do. Of course, such feeble excuses count for naught when the
person protested at has more hands than brain cells. Tuesday saw much
the same kind of crap, but instead I had to empty half of our server
room. Half of a bloody long room full of humming, throbbing computer
equipment with enough combined power to fight a medium sized border war
taking up a room the size of a swimming pool. Where was I to put it? In
the words of our favourite Desks and Chairs guy: ?Use your initiative?.
Bastard.
Of course, to stop any thoughts I might have been having of the week
getting any easier were dashed come Wednesday. Returning to see what my
office actually looked like, I noted not only was I now sharing an
office with Roy (a good thing), and also with one of the new students
that started on Monday (that I hadn?t seen on account of being a human
forklift for the first two days of the week). This of course, turns out
to be a total distraction. I happen to enjoy doing my work from phone,
e-mail and the comfort of a smoke-filled office with rock and indie
blaring out of my computer. How I am supposed to play a decent game of
networked X-Blaster when people are streaming through my door looking
for the other inhabitant of the office, looking at what I am doing and
asking me to turn the music down? Damn them. And above all of that, I
had all of these new users whining at me that they wanted accounts.
Fucking users. My job would be so much easier without them. I bombarded
them with paperwork until they retreated. I need a gun at work.
Come Thursday, I?m about ready to go nuclear on anyone or anything I
want (normally that doesn?t happen until the second coffee of the
morning). It doesn?t help me that these new students are stupid enough
to have filled out the forms (as opposed to the tried and true method of
slipping me forty marks and a beer), and thus I find myself confronted
by a sea of paperwork. No sooner have I looked over it to see what needs
to be signed, what doesn?t need to be signed, and what I can?t do
anything about (and thus file in the bin). Of course, I don?t have time
to do any of this as irate lusers wanting to know when their accounts
will be done keep hammering on my door. Like some bizarre management
simulator, they reject the answer of ?When they?re done, if they?re
done? and ask for some real numbers. Freaks. The rest of the day passes
in a blur of users and paper work and I do a grand total of negative
four hours of anything either me or my boss would consider proper work.
Hence, on Friday, I call off my early morning, sleep in a bit, miss the
nine o?clock buss and thus have to go to McMoron for breakfast, and show
up at work at half ten. The storm of users doesn?t abate, and I find
myself trapped in a mazelike telephone system that would have done
Doctor Kevorkian proud, trying to find someone that speaks a semblance
of a language I understand. After five and a half hours of this, I?m
sick of it, and head off home, pausing only to tell a coming user to go
fuck himself.
So endeth the Week from Hell
* * *
Saturday, I needed a change of pace so I went shopping with Wookie. Of
course, our definition of shopping is rather different from anyone
else?s. Finding ourseves in front of a shop selling everything from air
rifles to Atari 2600?s to mobile phones to Bowie knives, we went for a
bit of a wander inside. I picked myself up a Leatherman multi-tool so I
don?t get accused of stealing tools from the test bench and because it
has a really wickedy-keen knife blade. This and the weapons shop we
found kept us entertained for part of the afternoon.
To waste even more time, we headed to Conrad, where Wookie found that
they let you test the guitars. After running through all of the Iron
Maiden, Black Sabbath, Metallica and Sex Pistols that he knew (with me
doing the vocals), we stepped outside at the polite urging of the
management. Not because we were being insulting or because they found
the lyrics offensive, but because that particular shop was closing.
Going to have to go back there soon, I think. Especially if we can get a
bass player. On the way out, we happened to pass somewhere calling
itself some kind of specialist shop. Heading inside, the walls were
covered with herbs, incense, elements of the bizarre and strange, and
bongs. Lots and lots of bongs. Hell, they even had cannabis soap.
Unfortunately, they were lacking the two components that the dedicated
toker needs: Actual stuff to smoke, and king sized Rizlas to roll them
in. Then again, we?re going back to make sure. After last week, altered
states of conscious (read: getting high then going out and getting so
supremely rat arsed that you can?t even walk) are certainly sounding
appealing.
Of course, that?s needed. When I returned, it so happened that we have
not only my flatmate?s sister sleeping here, but also her bit on the
side, her friend, and her bit on the side. I had to turn up my music
past loud on Saturday to avoid the sounds of them having wild athletic
monkey sex for nine hours. They could at least have had the decency to
neuter themselves at the door. Hell, I wouldn?t care if they were paying
rent, but using a place that I am paying rent for as free crash space
and a shagging pad is just a bit much. Especially as I have had celibacy
forced upon my by some uncaring force, and yet I am forced to listen to
these sub-humans fucking each other?s brains out for nine consecutive
hours. Roll on a year?s time when I can be the one having the fun. Until
then, fuck off. If I can?t have fun, no bugger can
But that?s for another day. Tomorrow brings more users, and my new,
shiny multi-tool.
* * *
Signing off,
Stewart Wilson, The Digital Raven
Munich, 10th September 2001
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