Cube Sharing with Cthulu

First you hear the

(shh+shh)
                (shh+shh)

                                of thigh-induced friction.

Then the heavy breathing.

(Get your mind out of the gutter.)

It’s the raspy panting of an overweight person working beyond capacity, followed by the squeaky complaints of two small wheels. Just when you expect to hear the sound of collapsing bodies and toppled cubicle walls, it stops.

You sense a presence very close. Very short.

More heavy breathing, combined with an unhealthy liquidy rasping sound. A deep rattling breath followed by a muttered, "Shoot!"

You brace for it … you know it's coming … the pause is crushing in its length — made worse because you know what's coming …

Hyuck ckaw ckaw

There it is - oh, the horror! - the disgusting cough clenches your bowels and starts a clawing at the back of your throat.

You scramble for your headphones but you're never fast enough.

Hyuck ckaw ckaw
Erph ack!

And so another day begins.

A Penny for Your Thoughts

In honor of St. Patrick's Day I thought I'd actually post something. But since I have neither the time or the energy to actually write something, I thought I'd just embed this Dilbert Strip.

The cool (and terrible) thing about this strip is that is based on an actual event that I experienced. I sent a short synopsis of the affair to Mr. Scott Adams. The next thing I know, this shows up in my Sunday paper.

And I have to admit -- his final two panels were much funnier than the point I emphasized in my synopsis.

A Christmas Message from the Boss

As we gather together for this small celebration, we should pause, if only for a moment, to reflect on all the great things we have accomplished over the past year. We've had some good times, but we've also had a few rough times. For the most part, we have accomplished much of what we set out to do. And in those few cases where we had to backtrack, or re-think a goal, we have usually ended up with something that is better in the long run for all of us.

It reminds me of that old joke about the three henchmen, and you'll have to forgive me if you've heard this one before, but I've always heard it's best to open with a joke. Anyhow, it seems one afternoon these three henchmen walk into a bar. The bartender asks, "What can I get you gentlemen?"

The first henchman was the smallest of the three. He was only about the size of a large van. He was also a bit of a newbie, so he immediately mutters, "Gimme all your cash."

The bartender sighed and gave the other two henchmen a look of disapproval. Ignoring the demand, he turned to the second henchman, and said, "How about you, sir?"

Trying to show the newbie how it's done, the second henchman, who was about as big as two vans, or maybe a bread truck and a compact sedan, slammed his fists down on the counter so that every glass in the bar shook, spat on the floor, and growled at the bartender, "Listen barkeep, you're going to do just what I tell you to do, or else!" He slammed the bar again. "Put all the cash in a bag, then fill that box over there with the best scotch and bourbon you can find in this lousy place, and if your quick about it, I might not have to kill you, got it?"

The bartender smiled, just a little bit, and turned towards the cash register. As he started filling up the bag, he asked the third henchman, "And what do you fancy, fine sir?"

The third henchman was larger than the biggest UPS truck you've ever seen. Most people, when seeing him walking down the street, don't only cross to the other side, they often move out-of-state with no forwarding address.

The third henchman curled his lip, glared at the first henchman, then the second. Finally, he looked at the bartender and said, in a high, squeaky voice, "I just came in here for a Rum and coke."

The point of that little story is to remind all of you that when we sometimes don't get what we want, we may still get what we need - a good drink and the company of our peers.

Moving on.

The most obvious recent accomplishment to share with all of you has to be the completion of our new, state-of-the-art anti-intrusion system and its successful implementation around the entire perimeter of our evil-lair island and resort spa. Kudos especially, to our minefield developers. They managed to come in under budget and two weeks early.

On a side note, Gus, remember to give my condolences to the families of our four stalwart munitions placement professionals. It's always a tragedy to lose anyone on this great team, but remember; they died doing something they loved. And on the plus-side, the four remaining team members will get a much larger Christmas bonus.

I don't want to forget to mention this year's corporate challenge team. I share the team's disappointment in finishing in third place. I guess we all know that we had a first place finish in the bag until we were betrayed in the improvised poisons event by our former head of the BMF Gun research lab. Let me just say that beheading was too good for him, which is why I am delighted to present Dirk Crandall, Poisons team captain, with this Spirit Award recognizing not just his hard work, but the ingenuous method of death he improvised just for the traitorous scoundrel. I had no idea a grown man could turn so many different lovely shades of color. Well done, Dirk.

Moving on. We had some good times this year -- wonderful times. We got to flex our muscles a bit in the competition, our latest line of designer cudgels and brass knuckles is feeling the positive impact of the economic downturn, and against all predictions, our new line of apparel, Nefarious Nightwear, directed at the fairer sex, is doing fantastic, Some of this is probably due to the tie-in with our new designer perfume Nefarious, a beautiful scent that, when ingested, can render a person immobile for up to half an hour, with few lasting side-effects. It was especially gratifying to learn that none other than Dick Cheney is a regular Nefarious Nightwear customer. He apparently has a penchant for our Tazer Bra, the Nefarious Nipple Neutralizer. Luckily, Tom Stephens, director of the Nefarious line, had the foresight to order all these products in Plus sizes.

The other big project in the pipeline is our PeopleSoft implementation. Now I know a lot of you are asking what does an evil-genius like me, or a dreadful league of professionals such as ourselves need with an enterprise resource planning tool? I'm not real sure myself, but there must be some way I can use it to advance my evil schemes.

Well, I don't want to take up anymore of your time, but before we open the buffet, I would like to say what a pleasure I get out of working with the best team of henchmen, evil side-kicks and general technicians and brainiacs you all are. As we begin the New Year, let's approach our jobs with a renewed determination. If we can stay on-target with our schedules, and the economic downturn continues I am certain that this year we will achieve world domination.

Oh, and one last note. Please remember to stay out of sector 17. We don't want any more mishaps with our genetically engineered crocodiles.

Thank you again, and good night.

Thundering Dunderheads

Back when I was a dedicated worker-bee with a naive belief that I could change a business culture without a blowtorch and serious body-armor, I managed to impress my boss enough that he decided to make me a Team leader.

Of course things are never simple, especially since my role at the time was in the support area of the company. In order not to confuse anyone who might mistake me for a senior staff member with the power to actually affect change, the powers-that-be decided that I should henceforth be referred to as the "Unit Leader." Politics, beautiful politics.

The whole thing was a bit of an embarrassment to me, and actually just added one more level of confusion to an already chaotic work environment.

As Unit Leader (and that's Unit, not UNIT, as in "United Nations Intelligence Taskforce"), I oversaw a group of about four or five technical writers. People, one would assume, who could spell.

While I may have still been clinging to some optimism about working change, I wasn't completely naive. I had already spent a few years in the Big Apple, where complaining is a form of entertainment, if not a full-blown sport. Good times, my friend, good times. Also, I was under no illusions about the pool of "talent" that my team possessed. In fact, in private conversation, I described my role as riding herd on the Thundering Dunderheads.

Not a particularly bright group, no Rhodes Scholars would be banging down their doors. And this brings me to the topic of today's post: AW.

In my frustration one day, it is possible that I was a tad too loud when I described my team, the Thundering Dunderheads, as a bunch of dumbasses. Sure, it wasn't terribly smart, and it was clearly unkind, but the truth is sometimes painful.

Roberto*, a member of said Dunderheads, apparently took offense at my poorly timed candor, and objected to being referred to as a dumbass. His head popped up over the ubiquitous cubicle wall and he defended his honor. "If I'm a dumbass, then you are an asshole!"

"Okay, Dumbass."

"Okay, Asshole."

We spent the rest of the day lightheartedly continuing in this vein in the manner of two men humorously joshing each other, while silently believing we both were right.

So, we smiled our simian smiles and went about our business. I pretty much forgot all about it before I was out of the parking lot.

The next morning Roberto and I were meeting with a programmer. I was still a little hazy, as it was before noon, so I was a little nonplussed when Roberto kept referring to me as AW.

I would say something and he would respond, "Sure thing, AW."

Or, "I'll get right on it, AW."

Every time he said AW, a mischievous grin would flicker across his face. This went on for about 15 minutes as we continued to talk to the programmer.

Finally, I had heard "AW" enough and was growing tired of the strange looks the programmer gave me.

"Roberto, why do you keep calling me AW?"

"You know."

I looked at the programmer who shrugged.

"AW?" I asked again.

"Yeah, you know -- A-W!" He dragged out the letters for emphasis.

A dim light flickered to life in my muffled brain. No, I was sure I was wrong. I mean I had to be, didn't I?

But I had to know. "AW? AW!? As in asshole AW?"

"Yeah," Roberto said, "AW."

I could barely keep from bursting into a hysterical hyena laugh. "Do you mean ass whole, as in Whole Ass?"

A confused and only slightly embarrassed look replaced Roberto's grin. "Huh?"

I nearly shouted it -- "You really are a dumbass!"

Life in the flatlands

A couple of years ago I had this horrible job. It wasn't really terrible, It just had certain elements that made it horrible. It wasn't dangerous, I wasn't exposed to harmful chemicals, or forced to perform degrading acts of sexual depravity. It wasn't even a dirty or smelly job. In fact it was such an easy and laid back job, it was kind of ridiculous that they paid me an hourly wage. And I would have been happy except for one thing (yes, that is clearly hyperbole on my part) -- the job required interacting with that unwashed mass of idiot rabble called the general public. To make matters worse, the majority of these brainiacs were students at a private (and of course disgustingly over-priced) party school that has been coasting on its reputation for about twenty years.

So, my expectations were low. Hearing these kids complain about finding a parking space for their Cadillac Escalades, or watching them bounce past my office in their designer sweats and leased tans grated on my nerves. Listening to them talk about philosophy or literature as if they had discovered something no one else had heard about or could understand was simply embarrassing. But I persevered, and found a certain joy in relating some of the more ridiculous episodes to my quickly shrinking circle of friends.

Still, one day I found out what writers mean when they say a person is dumbfounded. "Shocked," "surprised," "astonished," not even "flabbergasted," could describe my amazement to discover someone dumber than the dumbest thundering dunderhead I had ever met.

Perhaps I've oversold this story.

Let me back up and preface this story by saying that I live in a very flat state. The building I worked in does not sit on rolling hills. It does not overlook a lake, or a canyon. In fact, I would bet there is no change in elevation within 20 miles of this site, if you don't count the concrete canyon cut through the middle of the city for the interstate highway.

We are talking about a lot of flat flat farmland. Let me make myself absolutely clear, I want to stress to you, gentle reader, that there is no hill or hummock or steep grade or meandering staircase up which a person must climb to enter the front doors of this building.

On this particular afternoon a student entered the front door of our establishment. He stepped up to the worker at the front desk and asked, "Is this the second floor?"

When he was informed that no, this was not the second floor, and would not be considered the second floor in Britain, or any other backwards culture, he asked, "Where is the second floor?" The stairs behind the worker were, perhaps, too obvious a clue.

I must admit that there is a slight, very slight rise, as one strolls up the Ashley Taylor* Promenade (courtesy of her loving husband, a famous war-criminal) in front of the building. But in no way would a normal person believe he or she was entering a split-level ranch house overlooking the Pacific Ocean, or that perhaps we had a hidden network of terraces dropping down the slope of a dormant volcano on the opposite, hidden, side of the building.

So, no, the worker told him, this is not the second floor.

I sometimes wonder about this poor lost soul and ponder on what kind of world he must live in. It reminds me of my own days in the heady world of academia where I was introduced to the strange and mystical world of certain eastern philosophical schools of thought. Apparently there was a group of Indians, I think they were called Charvaka Materialists (I'm sure that spelling is wrong), who held the odd belief that one cannot make inferences about the world around them. I guess they had to experience anything for it to be considered real. So, for instance, if they were off in the woods collecting mushrooms and saw a giant cloud of smoke rising from the vicinity of the temple, the would simply consider that they were seeing a giant cloud of smoke. Just because every time they saw large billowing clouds of smoke a fire of not inconsiderable size was found under it, a Charvaka Materialist could not infer that a fire was the source of this black cloud, or that every time a fire burned it would produce smoke

So, their answer to some of the more tricky philosophical questions that have plagued liberal arts majors for decades, were actually quite simple. A falling tree does not make a noise in the forest unless they are there to hear it. In fact, how can you know that the tree actually fell? -- Maybe aliens placed it on its side for unknowable aesthetic alien reasons. Just because it's on it's side doesn't mean it fell. Perhaps it got tired. I like to think the Charvaka Materialist, faced with a glass containing water near its midpoint, would simply drink it. It's not a glass of water until it is drunk, is it?

But I wander. Personally, when it's 2:00 AM and I've been imbibing alcoholic beverages for a considerable amount of time, I find myself remembering the stranger who didn't know what floor he was on. Perhaps he was the last surviving member of this confused tribe of people who couldn't understand that sex brings babies any more than a gorilla (and I don't mean to be unkind to gorillas here) can understand quantum physics.

Good luck young man. Good luck.

The Pet Goat

My 10:00 Monday meeting is with our CIO and Senior Management. We review the project list (that I pretend to maintain). It usually lasts for about 30 minutes. When we're done, I get to leave and the Sr. Staff and the CIO have a staff meeting. Once in a while I'll be asked to stay because I'm working on a project they will be discussing, but that rarely happens. Today, though I really wish I'd been able to stay.

Just as we are about to get started, our Director of Information Security, Savanna Samson* walked into the meeting looking like she's one step away from her eternal afterlife (this is actually pretty normal, however today she was looking particularly funereal). Anyhow, she drags herself through the door and announces, "There's been another one."

By another one, she is referring to another Security Breach. About two weeks ago our system was "compromised" and a hacker was able to obtain sensitive information like SSNs for nearly 10,000 people (mentioned in The Inmates Are In Control, Part Uno).

Peter North*, the CIO, asks if it's bad. She replies that it is "worse than last time." and that she has been working on it all weekend.

The first thought that pops into my head is, "She's been working on it for 2-3 days and hasn't informed her CIO?"

Peter leaps to action, "Do we need to talk about it now?" Talk about bold leadership.

"No," she says, "we can talk about it in our 10:30." Meaning she won't say anything more until I am out of the room. I guess she knows I'll be informing all my hacker buddies of the countermeasures.

Super CIO says okay, and that's it. Not the slightest sign of being perturbed or upset about this.

And that is Standard Operating Procedure.

He reminds me of George W. Bush sitting in an elementary classroom reading the children's book, The Pet Goat. You can see the wheels turning, but instead of formulating a plan of response you can tell he's thinking, "must look presidential, must look presidential."

The Inmates are in Control, Part B

Now let us return to that special place that resides between what is and what could be, in a dark corner of the improbably chaotic, surreal, and ridiculous. That little patch of insanity that I call Work Is Hell, otherwise known as my job.

Previously our hero was attempting the herculean effort of navigating the red tape and barriers thrown up by the dastardly staff of the infrastructure services group. Ginger Lynn* and her cronies were stonewalling our man in his attempt to order some mission critical (at least to him) equipment. As we join him he is on the brink of snapping.

The problem is this. These people are morons. Complete. Utter. Morons. And I can't go around them.

For example, the friend who writes hardware specs I mentioned in Part 1 of this little saga, is actually the hardware procurement manager for a major web-based service provider. I sent him pretty much the same information I sent my infrastructure team. He replied within 10 minutes with a basic server configuration specification. I'm still waiting on the infrastructure team more than a week later.

Even if I had the exact hardware requirements and great documentation, I would still have to deal with this. I'll write up the spec, and then these same people will again say, "You can't do that -- we have to have meetings and discuss the funding and the purpose and whether it fits our strategic goals (which we haven't looked at since they were written five years ago) and by the way, have you checked to see if you could do this in Excel?"

And that is not bullshit.

This should only take 10 f*king minutes. But instead it will take at least another week of my time. A week I don't have and will never get back.

After multiple secondhand conversations, between my engineer contact and Ginger Lynn* and Ron Jeremy*, the infrastructure team has this recommendation: if we want to integrate the help system content with the ERP, we will need, get this, three servers. One database server (for the content indexes), one web server (which has to be secured out the wazoo because it is "public" facing), and the App server (contains and pushes the content out).

On a side note, perhaps you can explain this to me -- since the Help system will only be available to the "outside world" through the exceedingly secure ERP, why does it need to be so heavily secured itself. I'm sure there are a lot of good reasons, but nothing explains why we need to secure a server that contains absolutely no sensitive data on it. Unless we're worried some hackers are going to steal Mighty Mouse's Social Security number, or get Bruce Wayne's employee ID, I don't think we have to worry about this stuff. Most companies don't even bother securing this type of data. Is anyone really going to be able to hack our system because they know how to use the ERP to assign Service Indicators? I don't think so.

And here's another logic-challenging conundrum. Apparently, since power is such an issue here, we need to host these three servers on three separate machines -- that's physical machines, not virtual machines. Huh? Apparently our power problems mean we aren't configured correctly to power Blade Servers, and I guess I'm crazy to think one can create virtual servers on anything other than a Blade, ergo, our power problems require us to use three servers instead of one. Does anyone else expect Alan Arkin to show up just about now?

Now, if we decide not to integrate the help (which makes complete fucking sense since we wouldn't want anyone to actually know how to use the new system), we will still need two hardware servers. And, unless we can somehow manage the help system development without any administrative rights, we will have to purchase and support these servers ourselves. At least that's what I understand from my conversations with my engineer contact. Of course it would be helpful if we could have a meeting about this, but since I don't know the answers to the question I want to discuss in the meeting, I can't call the meeting. Makes sense.

I think the infrastructure team is possessed by the spirit of Dilbert's pointy-haired-boss. Either that, or that other Dilbert character, Mordac, The Preventer of Information Services, or probably the guy with the spoon - Phil, the prince of insufficient light, the ruler of Heck, the punisher of minor sins, the dark angel of demos:

Yossarian: Let me see if I've got this straight: in order to be grounded, I've got to be crazy and I must be crazy to keep flying. But if I ask to be grounded, that means I'm not crazy any more and I have to keep flying.

The Inmates are in Control, Part Uno

Over the years I have worked at a variety of different places some small, some megalithic in size. In that time I have come to the not surprising conclusion that all companies are dysfunctional. And to paraphrase Oscar Wilde (?), all companies are dysfunctional in their own unique way.

This list includes a variety of issues and ills. One small startup company suffered from some major delusions of grandeur. An international conglomerate was more religion than multi-level marketing company.

Currently I work for a medium to gigantic (it depends on how you count) corporation. It suffers so many ills that it’s hard to know where to start. It’s equally hard to believe.

My latest trials and tribulations will have to serve for now.

Recently, I started (or tried to start) the process of ordering a web server and a database server. I’m pretty sure these can run on the same piece of equipment. The web server will host a help/training solution for our Enterprise resource planning (ERP) package. I don't expect a lot of heavy usage of this small help system, except at the beginning of the implementation.

The file server would house the shared content for developers to work with. The application is a process capture/playback tool that will (possibly) hook into the ERP. I know the fileserver piece will host a SQL database. But beyond that I’ve had difficulty discovering the actual hardware requirements. The associated installation documentation never deviates from the procedural style: Click this, Type that, wipe my butt. I think you know what I mean.

As I pursued this simple item, my encounters confirmed my worst suspicion: The people here have their heads so far up their asses they can watch their dentist at work.

All I want is a web-server/file server. I know nothing about writing hardware specs, but how hard can it be? A friend of mine does it for a living – and he used to be technical writer. Anyway -- Friday I met with an engineer who also knows nothing about writing any kind of hardware spec. He had talked to one of our managers in the infrastructure services area. He said we needed to talk to another manager (let’s call her Ginger Lynn) in his group who does database stuff. Of course, she was on vacation until today.

When Ginger Lynn got back she sent me a reply to my meeting request (which she tentatively accepted). It was classic SOP for this company:

Unless there is (sic) any database requirements for this software, my team would not be involved. You probably should ask Tera Patrick* (windows) and Ron Jeremy* (unix) to review the technical specifications. If there is (sic) staffing resources needed to implement and support this product, you would need to send the request to Rocco Siffredi* [ed. note: her director].

I replied with some more background – trying to explain this simple task. Her reply to that was also more red tape.

You will need to get the Windows and Unix teams included for these areas. I can only represent the database team. I think it would be best to put this request to Rocco Siffredi for his group involvement. What is the priority of this project? With other projects, security incident and the ERP go-live [ed. note: I did mention in my request that this was for the ERP implementation], resource availability for John’s team is limited. What funding is available for hardware/software for this project? Is this a product for which we are licensed [ed. note: WTF?]? What about using product X [ed. note: Again, WTF? Product X is a tool a different department purchased 2-3 years ago to track temporary employee’s hours for state reporting purposes. On an ironic side note – this has yet to be implemented, because they don't have a server!]

She goes on:

What do you plan on achieving in this meeting? I don’t have a space available that can hold more than three people. You can ask Bree Olson* if she knows of a room available or your admin. assistant.

If I weren't so angry, I'd cry. And trust me, this is very typical. In fact, the infrastructure group is so screwed up they seem to think every web application needs to reside on its own web server hardware. The other problem this request faces is something I've never heard affecting a company, especially one of this size -- most server requests are currently on indefinite hold because we don't have the power to support the servers we already have.

Then of course we have the other idiocies - Rocco Siffredi filled an entire room with server racks only to find out they are too small (or maybe too big) for our servers. Also, I'm pretty sure that the security incident referred to above was related to a DNS flaw -- the hacker was able to mimic a DNS and redirect traffic or something like that. This is just a hunch, but I think that flaw was publicly exposed and documented more than a week before the breach was discovered. The most annoying thing for me is, I don't think anyone will even be written up for this, never mind fired. Our CIO has really fostered a culture for accepting failure as standard practice.

I feel like a true idiot for working here.