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hirezWe begin our story with some scene-setting information: My then
employers had entered into a sub-contracting arrangement with a Prominent
English Computer Manufacturer. Some three weeks previously, they (PECM) had
been in receipt of a telephonic speaking-type communication from one of
their more important customers to the effect that a deal of the kit they had
supplied was misbehaving in an annoying and unproductive manner, and would
they please beetle round and fix it at their earliest convenience?
PECM, for whatever reason (but probably to make sure I could look forward to
a Crap Life), then sat on the call for the aforementioned three weeks,
before ringing my employer with the information that a (1) printer had
broken, it was a Really Quite Urgent call and had come in that very
morning.
I toddle (metaphorically) out to the customer's site, printer under my
equally metaphorical arm and whistling a happy (metaphorically again) tune.
Actually, I belted down the M4 in my company car with Big Black at volume =
loud on the stereo, but that doesn't give quite the happy-go-lucky
impression I'm after.
On arriving, I am greeted by a worried-looking Unix admin, who takes me to
one side to inform me that the call's been outstanding for three weeks and
the office manager is about to go nuclear. Lucky me gets to be the warm body
he goes nuclear on. Oh joy.
I am ushered into the presence of what appears to be a Paul Daniels
impersonator. Since he's livid, working himself up to ballistic and
surrounded by section managers looking smug because someone else (me) is
going to get an earful this time, I guess that he'll be the office manager.
He goes off on one: "What kind of shower of shit... etc", "I've got an
office to run...etc" I don't remember the rest because, well, I don't care
to be spoken to like that and he's pissed me off *badly*. It turns out there
are *thirty* shagged printers and the problem is that they're not feeding
multipart stationery right.
Buggered if I'm going to be the one living in a world of shit.
"... And are you going to now fix these printers?" he finishes.
"No." go I, trying not to sound nervous as fuck.
You could have heard someone's eyeballs drop out as they raised their
eyebrows too quickly.
"WHAT?"
I swear he looked as if he were about to explode.
"We've only a log of the one machine on the contract."
He wasn't going to let me get away with that.
"Right. Find it, fix it. You can come back this afternoon and stay here for
as long as it takes to fix the rest."
Not fucking likely, pally.
I'm shown a misbehaving printer. True enough, the document feeder can't
handle the multipart stationery. Luckily there's a manual for the kit to
hand. I quickly find what I'm hoping for - it only works up to three-part
documents. I count the misfeeding documents. Five-part! YES!
I go back to Mr. Daniels Impersonator. He looks at me like I just hopped on
his desk and crapped in his coffee.
"There's nothing to fix. This will never work." I deadpan.
"That's impossible. It's got to work. It's working in the other offices.
Are you saying you know more than (PECM's) experts? Because I'm going to
talk to your manager about your attitude..."
Fuck you, mate. No, really. I insist.
A department manager scurries off to ring another branch...
"I've got a bonded warehouse full of legal documentation. Are you telling me
it's all got to be thrown away?"
I hand him the manual for the document-feeder and point out the section that
reads 'This will only work on multipart stationery of up to three layers.'
The department manager returns, close to tears. "They're having the same
problems."
I can see the dim flickerings of defeat in his eyes, so I make my excuses
and leave. The unix-admin stares at me in the lift like I'm some kind of
terrifying warrior and makes abject apologies for pretty much everything.
A month later I have to go back for something unrelated. I am immensely and
viciously pleased to see that all their multipart forms are completely new
and tractor-fed...
employers had entered into a sub-contracting arrangement with a Prominent
English Computer Manufacturer. Some three weeks previously, they (PECM) had
been in receipt of a telephonic speaking-type communication from one of
their more important customers to the effect that a deal of the kit they had
supplied was misbehaving in an annoying and unproductive manner, and would
they please beetle round and fix it at their earliest convenience?
PECM, for whatever reason (but probably to make sure I could look forward to
a Crap Life), then sat on the call for the aforementioned three weeks,
before ringing my employer with the information that a (1) printer had
broken, it was a Really Quite Urgent call and had come in that very
morning.
I toddle (metaphorically) out to the customer's site, printer under my
equally metaphorical arm and whistling a happy (metaphorically again) tune.
Actually, I belted down the M4 in my company car with Big Black at volume =
loud on the stereo, but that doesn't give quite the happy-go-lucky
impression I'm after.
On arriving, I am greeted by a worried-looking Unix admin, who takes me to
one side to inform me that the call's been outstanding for three weeks and
the office manager is about to go nuclear. Lucky me gets to be the warm body
he goes nuclear on. Oh joy.
I am ushered into the presence of what appears to be a Paul Daniels
impersonator. Since he's livid, working himself up to ballistic and
surrounded by section managers looking smug because someone else (me) is
going to get an earful this time, I guess that he'll be the office manager.
He goes off on one: "What kind of shower of shit... etc", "I've got an
office to run...etc" I don't remember the rest because, well, I don't care
to be spoken to like that and he's pissed me off *badly*. It turns out there
are *thirty* shagged printers and the problem is that they're not feeding
multipart stationery right.
Buggered if I'm going to be the one living in a world of shit.
"... And are you going to now fix these printers?" he finishes.
"No." go I, trying not to sound nervous as fuck.
You could have heard someone's eyeballs drop out as they raised their
eyebrows too quickly.
"WHAT?"
I swear he looked as if he were about to explode.
"We've only a log of the one machine on the contract."
He wasn't going to let me get away with that.
"Right. Find it, fix it. You can come back this afternoon and stay here for
as long as it takes to fix the rest."
Not fucking likely, pally.
I'm shown a misbehaving printer. True enough, the document feeder can't
handle the multipart stationery. Luckily there's a manual for the kit to
hand. I quickly find what I'm hoping for - it only works up to three-part
documents. I count the misfeeding documents. Five-part! YES!
I go back to Mr. Daniels Impersonator. He looks at me like I just hopped on
his desk and crapped in his coffee.
"There's nothing to fix. This will never work." I deadpan.
"That's impossible. It's got to work. It's working in the other offices.
Are you saying you know more than (PECM's) experts? Because I'm going to
talk to your manager about your attitude..."
Fuck you, mate. No, really. I insist.
A department manager scurries off to ring another branch...
"I've got a bonded warehouse full of legal documentation. Are you telling me
it's all got to be thrown away?"
I hand him the manual for the document-feeder and point out the section that
reads 'This will only work on multipart stationery of up to three layers.'
The department manager returns, close to tears. "They're having the same
problems."
I can see the dim flickerings of defeat in his eyes, so I make my excuses
and leave. The unix-admin stares at me in the lift like I'm some kind of
terrifying warrior and makes abject apologies for pretty much everything.
A month later I have to go back for something unrelated. I am immensely and
viciously pleased to see that all their multipart forms are completely new
and tractor-fed...
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no subject
Date: 2002-03-01 06:03 am (UTC)Oh, and Big Black just completely rock.
no subject
Date: 2002-03-01 06:23 am (UTC)Was I really only 21 when that happened? Judging by this:
http://www.olywa.net/pasha90/soundoi.htm
... It would appear so.
no subject
Date: 2002-03-01 06:51 am (UTC):(
no subject
Date: 2002-03-01 07:03 am (UTC)The bloke who ran the (then) one good record-shop in Cheltenham knew I was a rabid fan and kept their stuff back for me. Which is how I got hold of the Sound of Impact 'official bootleg' anyway. Years later I found out he was doing the same for Lee Chaos...
Now I'm going to have to plug the gramophone in when I get home.
no subject
Date: 2002-03-01 07:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-03-01 01:03 pm (UTC)