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Today's episode: "Quantity of Service", adapted for radio by Lorne Kates, from a submission by Lyfe
Today's episode: "Make It Work", adapted for radio by Lorne Kates, from a submission by Mitch G.
Yet another high-priority support request buzzed into John's phone, just like the hundred before it, and the hundred sure to come. There wasn't any point reading the email. It'd just tell him what he already knew.
"eCommerce clients can't connect to the FTP server since this morning," John announced, entering the lair of Clayton, the company's Network Guru (self titled). "Is something wrong with the FTP server?"
Then silence. Clayton didn't look up from his monitor. His slicked hair shone with the glow of a thousand server-rack blinks.
Juan's job wouldn't have been so bad if not for the rampart stupidity. Stupidity was responsible for deciding a 25k+ employee corporation only needed a skeleton-crewed IT department. And that same level of stupidity was spreading across the entire C-level of the org chart.
The IT office, such as it was-- a single converted room in the basement-- was its usual sparsely populated self, made up of just Juan, and his few remaining coworkers. Everyone else had either been caught by the last swing of the budget axe, or had seen it coming and had bailed. The team that remained was a tight mix of competent enough to be seen as valuable; hard-working enough to be taken advantage enough; and skilled enough to leave, but too lazy to do so.
From the archived blog of Paul, recovered from a USB stick found beneath the raised tiles of a decommissioned server room, long forgotten.
The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. But what of these modern times of connectivity, with the ease of the piecing together of disassociated knowledge? Can any information be safely sequestered away-- fragmented and separated, never to come together and burrow in the minds of men?
In an office cubicle, there worked a programmer. Not a nasty, dirty cubicle in the basement, nor a dry, bare cubicle in a vast faceless farm: it was a web startup cubicle, and that meant comfort. It was decorated brightly, with plenty of monitors and cables, a pantry full of all manner of crisps known to programmer-kind, and posters of films that were adaptations of a single book, broken needlessly into multiple parts.
The programmer was a well-to-do programmer, and his name was Anders. He was part of a coding team, and their team had worked on The System since time out of mind. It was a very respectable codebase, because it never did anything unexpected: you could tell what any function's output would be without the bother of calling it. Unit tests were a thing to be done by other folks!
BlobConfig.config not found, said the error console of The Blob-- the "insane in every way" system Sep's company produced.
Because a millisecond earlier, The Blob erroneously determined Sep's computer already had a copy of the config file, and didn't automagically create it.