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hirezI've been 'working' from home quite often in the last few months because things keep happening. Either the Black Dog has been shitting behind the sofa and I have to get the wheelbarrow out in order to remove the toxic emissions (Metaphor). Or, as happened last week, the boiler flashes an error code and makes a cash-register noise.
While Andy the (god-bothering) Boiler was having it all spanners and safety certificate, I was in receipt of a phone-call from work. Colleague S, who is generally calm and sarcastic, was concerned enough about the behaviour of Sexist Bob (not his real name) that she thought to warn me that he appeared to be playing 'If yr dad say no, ask yr mum.' and I would likely be getting mail Real Soon Now.
'Bloink' went gmail (Chrome actually has bells), and indeed a tiresome looking message from Sexist Bob flopped onto my screen.
It allowed as how he would like access to 'the syslog server' and that colleague M said it was OK. Colleague M is a contractor and doesn't really have the runes for that sort of thing. I pinged M on the Magic Slack and went for a spot of lunch.
M had not replied by the time I returned from lunch and paid Andy the Boiler, so I asked Sexist Bob which log server he wanted to poke around and for what, as something of a delaying tactic. And also because a 'paper' trail on the carefully archived and searchable-by-management GMail system felt like it might come in handy later.
He wanted to look at the VPN logs. Which, whatevs. $employer does not have a data-labelling policy and should be a nice place to work where people are trusted to do their jobs. Not print out pr0n on the thumping great inkjets or get trashed at the xmas party and start lumping the people you suspect of looking at yr bird. No. None of that.
Since $manager was not in evidence, I gave Sexist Bob access to the relevant box. However, since I am not usually an idiot, he only got punter-level rights. No deleting anything for you young feller-me-lad.
He was still logged in at piss-off-to-the-pub time, so at the behest of S, I accidentally his sessions and also accidentally his password.
I really, really didn't want to look at his command-line history because if he'd been a bell-end then fuck trusting the people you work with and especially fuck him for making me look like an easy mark.
To no-one's particular surprise, he'd been a bit of a bell-end, but because Unix was not quite his thing (OSX expert. Nothing to do with Unix. Obviously.) he'd left evidence all over the place.
I took copies, stashed it all under a fake name (Saunders) and called him a cad under my breath.
I am given to understand that the meeting with $management and HR the day after did not go his way.
Fucksake. Just... Fuck right off. You cock.
(Apparently he was going to be given access to that box anyway, but he just had to play at male-dominance and being cleverer than those scruffy internet types because some of them are girls and that one wears nailie so is probably a girl anyway.)
While Andy the (god-bothering) Boiler was having it all spanners and safety certificate, I was in receipt of a phone-call from work. Colleague S, who is generally calm and sarcastic, was concerned enough about the behaviour of Sexist Bob (not his real name) that she thought to warn me that he appeared to be playing 'If yr dad say no, ask yr mum.' and I would likely be getting mail Real Soon Now.
'Bloink' went gmail (Chrome actually has bells), and indeed a tiresome looking message from Sexist Bob flopped onto my screen.
It allowed as how he would like access to 'the syslog server' and that colleague M said it was OK. Colleague M is a contractor and doesn't really have the runes for that sort of thing. I pinged M on the Magic Slack and went for a spot of lunch.
M had not replied by the time I returned from lunch and paid Andy the Boiler, so I asked Sexist Bob which log server he wanted to poke around and for what, as something of a delaying tactic. And also because a 'paper' trail on the carefully archived and searchable-by-management GMail system felt like it might come in handy later.
He wanted to look at the VPN logs. Which, whatevs. $employer does not have a data-labelling policy and should be a nice place to work where people are trusted to do their jobs. Not print out pr0n on the thumping great inkjets or get trashed at the xmas party and start lumping the people you suspect of looking at yr bird. No. None of that.
Since $manager was not in evidence, I gave Sexist Bob access to the relevant box. However, since I am not usually an idiot, he only got punter-level rights. No deleting anything for you young feller-me-lad.
He was still logged in at piss-off-to-the-pub time, so at the behest of S, I accidentally his sessions and also accidentally his password.
I really, really didn't want to look at his command-line history because if he'd been a bell-end then fuck trusting the people you work with and especially fuck him for making me look like an easy mark.
To no-one's particular surprise, he'd been a bit of a bell-end, but because Unix was not quite his thing (OSX expert. Nothing to do with Unix. Obviously.) he'd left evidence all over the place.
I took copies, stashed it all under a fake name (Saunders) and called him a cad under my breath.
I am given to understand that the meeting with $management and HR the day after did not go his way.
Fucksake. Just... Fuck right off. You cock.
(Apparently he was going to be given access to that box anyway, but he just had to play at male-dominance and being cleverer than those scruffy internet types because some of them are girls and that one wears nailie so is probably a girl anyway.)
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Date: 2016-06-01 02:05 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2016-06-01 05:46 pm (UTC)(I should have a personal kanban)
And I have a list of Things about which to write.
Hm. No excuse not to, really.
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Date: 2016-06-02 01:52 am (UTC)https://generallucifer.wordpress.com/
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Date: 2016-06-02 03:29 am (UTC)