#15

This is a series at a help desk at a pharma company in 2000-2001

A few days after my interview, I'm in something of a holding pattern. I've heard unofficial rumors that I have the sysadmin job, but nothing's official. I've found a new apartment but it won't be ready for another few weeks. My relationship with Boris has soured.

I'm working on a rollout of about six shiny new G4 Mac fileservers. I've selected AppleShareIP 6.1 instead of the original Mac Os X Server (the rebranded NextStep, not OS X 10.0). These six servers are replacing about ten Mac fileservers of different vintages. I'm hoping standard hardware and software means better reliability. I've even found afte rmarket 'ears' to make my G4s rack-mountable. I'm planning to do a cutover Saturday night, so there won't be too many users. I'll have a few users on Sunday to be a final bug check for anything I didn't anticipate.

Unfortunately, I start late. It takes me longer than I expected to copy over data from the soon to be decommissioned file servers. Between assembling and configuring these servers, verifying users and data, configuring backups and everything else, it's going to be a late night.

There's still some platform rivalry with the sysadmins, but it's more gentle, even fun loving. I decide while I'm waiting for files to copy to prank the lead Windows admin, Ivan. He's also using the Saturday downtime to do some domain controller stuff.

While he's having a drink or three in his office, I change the screensavers to display a BSOD message, even the Macs and Unix boxes. To make the blue light even creepier, I turn off the main lights in the server room. I hide behind a cabinet.

Ten minutes later, he walks in. He's stunned, but curious. I start giggling.

Ivan:"LT, you asshole. I thought I was in trouble until I realized that Macs don't blue screen when they die"

Me:"well, I figured you'd get the joke"

Ivan:"Welcome to the sysadmin group. Drink?". He holds out a bottle of Polish vodka and two small beakers.

I have a few too many shots with Ivan, finish testing and go home. I get home around midnight and pass out.

I wake up hung over. I decide to start my day. Coffee is required. I throw some clothes on and walk out of my room. I'm greeted with a sight that'd be hard to stomach if I were 100%.

Boris is waiting for me to inform me of some house rules infraction. That isn't the problem. He's getting dressed for some kind of event. He's topless. Instead of pants he's wearing some kind of dark gray furry costume.

And not the normal kind.

I realize this assumes the re's a normal kind of furry costume, which in Boris' case, his aren't. His are like chaps- crotchless and assless. He's wearing banana hammock like underwear in what might be Federal Safety Yellow.

Whatever harsh words he may have for me have no impact compared to Boris' sartorial choices. As soon as Boris is done, I throw some clothes, tools and my laptop into my car. I drive back to work.

to be continued...