It can’t do that… Oh, really?

Okay, so my life is weird. This is a well established fact.

Or, it should be anyway.

I have this job… well, I have a few of them actually, but what the hell… and of course there are computer tools (not the one’s manning them, the ones that are on them) that are supposed to perform certain functions.

So the great mystery strikes again.

My current program is not doing what it should be doing and doing things that it is according to support impossible for it to do. Sound familiar? Yeah, well, if you’ve read any of my previous posts you’ll be well acquainted with the fact that this happens to me. A lot. Enough that I would rant about it anyway.

I swear, if I have to talk to one more tech who tells me “it can’t do that” I am personally going to … well, I don’t know what I’ll do. But it won’t be pretty, that much I can assure you.

Anyway – I swear that’s the reason they stick the support guys in a city nowhere near you. There just comes a point where you want to be able to look a nerd in the face (and believe me I have nothing against nerds –more power to ‘em, I have my own nerd tendencies) and quietly, but with some force explain that it just did the thing it’s not supposed to be able to do… twice. With sprinkles on top.

May they all ride to hell on a saddle made of hedgehog skins!

So until next time – signing off, you’re faithful captain of the great ship It Can’t Do That…

ROL

Holden Caulfield? Really?

Some days are stranger than others.

I’m not getting into how much I’m working right now, or how much that fucks with your perception. I have more interesting stuff on my mind.

Ok. So I have a couple of brothers. Actually there’s a whole pack of us. Not enough to organise a sports team, but enough to cause trouble. So one of my brothers calls me this week. His computer has gone all funny. He has to reinstall someting or other – I forget what. His internet connection isn’t working. There’s a lot of that going around.

And like so many of us he laughs his balls off when the support tells him to just go to their website and download something or other to fix it. You know the conversation.

“-Just log on to our website…

-Yes. And how do you expect me to do that?

-?

-If I could do that do you think I would be calling you?

-?”

And so it goes. So he calls me and asks if he can do the down load thing from my computer. I ask him how he’s planning on transferring the information to his own computer. He goes blank. I tell him I have my USB for that. Ten minutes later he’s at my computer, drinking my coffee and cursing a blue streak. As you do.

Same day – couple of hours later. One of my other brothers sends a slightly freaked out email telling me he needs my help with a project he’s doing for Christmas. I help him out, actually doing that while I’m doing other stuff, which is pretty arrogant, I know, but I can get away with it because right now my mind is in hyperdrive anyway. My response time is about twenty mintues. That’s pretty good all things considered.

And that’s when I get the “you’re my catcher in the rye” line.

I smile. I put that aside.

My brain does that “ahem” thing it somethimes does. Picture a black clad FBI-guy knocking on you mental door and clearing his throat. Polite… and armed.

I go back and examine the thought that got snagged.

Catcher in the rye… Holden Caulfield… Really? Chapman, Hinkley and Bardo carried that book around. And have you read it, by the way? That’s some reference I got there. Well, I guess it sort of makes sense. In a “let’s not go too deep in to that particular patch of the woods” kind of way.

ROL

Localize it!

Problems problems…

I guess it doesn’t matter how much you fix things – in a general sense – if you don’t really know what is broken. I mean, I have been going slightly mad by degrees since this computer badness started happening because the minute you get one thing working somthing else craps out.

The whole “why is it only my profile that does not work” thing has been met with sniggers and sarcasm all around as well as derogatory comments about my skill and aptitude. And I have been trying to explain that the damned thing is possessed. I have stood over it reciting vade retro satana in a booming voice, unnerving my co-workers and they say it’s not the computer, it’s me.

Turns out I was right all along! Ha! Vengence is mine!

It is the computer. It’s not me – I am not being persecuted by the minor God of Computer Fuck-up. It might sound like a bad thing, but it really isn’t. It’s actually a good thing. Because now that we know what’s wrong we can bloody well fix it!!!

And I shall decend upon the tech like the mighty wrath of the minor God of Get It Done until he does.

Good thing too, I’ getting sick of hearing myself bitch about it.

ROL

Long week

I’ve just finished a seven day shift working ten hour days. Long week. And I’m an insomniac, so just because I work doesn’t mean I sleep. We’ve got staff and bosses away on vacation, problems arise – as they do – and those are all on me. Fine. I like problems. Problems have solutions. You fix it and move on. But then there is always the other kind of problem. The “that can’t happen” kind. And I have been having quite a few of those this week…

There I am, by my computer, quietly working away, keyboard going tagata tagata and suddenly I’m in Amish country. Internet connection gone. All dark.

There’s swearing. Bad words in many languages. There’s me looking at my computer with a decidedly frosty gaze. Had we been in an interrogation room I would have been leaning over the desk by then, directing the harsh light of my desk lamp in its eyes and demanding answers. So of course I try to get a hold of the guy in charge, but all he can say is “it does that sometimes” and I really don’t find that very helpful.

Come Saturday still no internet. Server not found. After having stared at that message for two days you really begin to have personal feelings about it of the “oh, really, asshole – well it’s right over THERE” variety. Saturday afternoon rolls around and the guy who can maybe fix things finally shows up. He goes up into the attic where all the hardware is stacked and comes back down with a sheepish grin. All the equipment – router, switch, modem, thinga-ma-bob and stuff – are stacked neatly directly under a leaking pipe. The attic is fucking huge and the pipe has sprung a leak in the only place it really shouldn’t have, causing the modem to short out. Hence – no internet. Hence – me not being able to do any of the real important stuff for two days. I make lots of helpful suggestions right about that time. Maybe we should buy one of those little pink kid’s umbrellas and rig it above the hardware? Or perhaps throw a tarp over the whole thing? Or maybe move the whole thing about a metre to the left? Or right? Or anywhere but where it was? Stuff of that nature.

Saturday night I’m down at the pub, drinking with the boys, giving them a short recount of my week and the three computer nerds at the table find this all very amusing, of course. I make a big joke of the whole thing, saying “well, now one of two things could make my week complete, either the power goes out, or the fire alarm goes off”.  

You see where all this is heading, don’t you?  

Sunday morning. 08.14. Power goes out.

Sunday morning 08.15 I am too busy laughing to go find the fuse box to see if I can fix it. Sunday morning 08.19 I have pulled myself together just enough to find the right switch to turn the power back on.

There’s more swearing later when both printers stop working because of the power outage but I could fix that so that wasn’t that bad.

Should you find me in the hallway with my arms outstretched in the form of a cross reading verses in Latin while sprinkling holy water – don’t be surprised. Technology is a beautiful thing when it works. When it doesn’t I no longer only rant, I become just a little bit angry. I feel the need to kick things, which is probably the most dissatisfying aspect of the cyberspace experience. There’s noting to kick. Except the technician. But I keep telling myself it’s not his fault.

ROL