Return of the IT Department

Well, my damn computer broke again at work today.  Actually, I it wasn’t just my computer, everyone in my office was having the exact same problem which led me to believe that the issue was not with us, but rather with our prehistoric piece of shit server.

Obviously, I’m a little leery of calling our IT department, since it was that very department that was responsible for having Raoul call me and tell me that I must evacuate immediately.  I had three choices, A) I could call IT B) everyone in my office could hang out and stare at the walls all day or C)I could try and fix the damn server myself. 

I chose option C (which in hindsight was the wrong choice) because I’d rather stick white hot needles in my eye than call that fucking IT department.

I walk into the “server room” which is actually a small closet with very little light and a whole hell of a lot of dust and found the server.  I made sure everything was connected (which it was) and then (because I am a technological genius) I just kind of stood there and looked at the damn thing for about 5 minutes before kicking it and calling it very bad names.

Oddly enough, that didn’t fix the problem and I was left with no alternative but to call IT.  My only consolation was the fact that statistically, the chances of Raoul answering the phone were very slim and I was hanging on to that tiny little ray of hope with every fiber of my being.

Well, I was right, Raoul didn’t answer the phone but after 2 godforsaken hours I almost wish he had.  This left wondering if Raoul somehow read my blog and was displeased at my highly accurate, though somewhat unflattering representation of our conversation and as a way for him to take revenge or declare jihad or whatever the hell he did….he sent me Javon.

Of course the first thing Javon has me do is disconnect and then reconnect the server.  Why oh why is this always IT’s first response to any problem?  I could call them and tell them that our office has been taken over by beings from Jupiter with the body of a piglet and the head of George S. Patton and the first thing they’d ask me is if there was a way for me to unplug the Patton-Pig.

Anyway….below is a just a sampling of the conversation that took place because after this discussion, I have become completely disheartened with humanity and can’t bear to actually recount the whole tragic affair in it’s entirety.

Javon:  are you sure that you only have one server?

Me: yes, I am absolutely sure of that.

J: Really?  Are you sure that you don’t have one somewhere else?

M: Like where?  It’s not like I keep an extra server in my car.

J: No, I mean do you have another server in your office?

M:  Dude, trust me on this, we only have on server in this office

J:  Well, what kind of server is it?  Who’s it made by?

M:  It’s a Dell

J: (incredulous):  That’s impossible. 

M:  Javon, I wouldn’t lie to you about this.  I’m looking at the server and it’s a Dell.  There’s even a little sticker on it that says so.

J:  It can’t be.  We don’t have any servers that are Dell’s, they’re all HP’s.

At this point I actually called three different people into the server room where I had Javon on speaker phone to verify that the server I was looking at was, in fact, a Dell.

J:  Oh.  This isn’t good.  Can you unplug the server?

M:  Haven’t we already tried this?

J:  Yes, but I need for you to do it again.

M:  Why?  We already tried that and nothing happened.

J:  Because it says right here in the book that we need to try and unplug and then replug the unit.

M:  Javon, you’re reading this out of a manual aren’t you?  You don’t really know how to fix my server, do you?

J: (hesitatingly):  Not really.

M:  Tell you what Javon, why don’t you either send me the damn manual and I’ll fix the server myself or push this call on up the IT food chain to someone who knows how to fix this damn server.

J:  I will have one of our level 3 Technicians call you back

That was at 11:45 this morning.  Its 3:00 now and I still haven’t heard back from them. Oh…and did I mention that during one of the many times he had me unplugging things and then plugging them into different things that I fucking got electrocuted?!?!  Yeah…I kinda have to draw the line at getting electrocuted at work.  I deserve hazzard pay.

Yes….an Actual Update

Yeah, I know…I suck with the updates, but it’s not my fault.  Stop laughing and rolling your eyes it really isn’t my fault!  The Nazi party (aka the company that I work for) decided to make everyone more productive by putting this internet filter on all our computers and the damn thing will let me access porn, but it will not let me access WordPress or MySpace.  Not that I’m searching out porn or anything (again…stop laughing and rolling your eyes) but it’s amazing what happens when you misspell the URL that you’re entering into your browser.

Rather than making us more productive by severely limiting our web browsing time, it’s actually made us less productive because now all we do is stare at each other and bitch about the fact that we can’t fuck around on the internet.  I’m not 100% positive, but I have a feeling that this was not the result that the corporate big-wigs were hoping for.

At any rate….in the spirit of Thanksgiving and per Roy ’s request I was going to tell you all about the time that I took place in a very strange…um…I’m not sure what to call it….ritual?  ceremony?  Fuck it…basically I basted Nick’s dead grandmother like a Thanksgiving turkey and then pushed her into an oven.

The reason I say I was going to tell this story rather than just telling the damn story is that I actually have to pause and wonder if this is the best story to tell.  I mean COME ON…dead grandmothers?  Ovens?  Basting?  There has to be some kind of limit on what is appropriate to stick on the internet and what isn’t.  Besides…I really don’t want to have to deal with Nick if he’s going to get mad at me for telling the story.  Then again…the only reason I did this is because his family told me to.  Besides, it’s not like I was the only one participating here.

Actually, I have another funny death story that has nothing to do with me and yet horrified me beyond belief.  However, once again, it’s not a story I can tell without checking to see if someone would get upset by this. 

I can tell you this…it has to do with Roy ’s dead mother and whatever you would call the opposite of grave robbing.  Is that grave adding to or is there perhaps another term we could use here?  There is no Thesaurus in the world that can give me an answer to that question.

Tell ya what internetland…if you really want to hear either of these stories let me know and I’ll give you the email addresses so that you can  email Nick and/or Roy for permission and then I’ll tell you one or both of these stories in all their horrifyingly gruesome details.

Oh…and on a totally unrelated note…apparently my friend (and wife of the grave-adding-on-to Roy) Michelle has given her father this blog’s address to read when he’s bored at work (something I am totally jealous he’s able to do given my limited internet access thanks to the Nazi party).

Let me just say….um…sorry sir for my copious use of the word “fuck”.  I have Tourette’s syndrome and am in no way responsible for this.  It is totally beyond my control as is any and all references to my drinking vast amounts of wine or mentioning my boobs in every other post.  Your daughter is a very responsible and upstanding citizen and should no way be judged/held accountable for her crazy ass friends.

Your daughter is always our designated driver, she’s always in bed by 10PM on school nights and never once has she gotten drunk and tried to make out with me or taken a picture of my boobs.  Seriously.  Never.  Ever.  Not even a little bit.

Um…perhaps while you guys are emailing Nick and Roy for permission to tell their disturbing death stories you might want to email Michelle and apologize for me throwing her under the bus with the above paragraph.

Oh…and just to be clear here…NONE OF YOU are getting the pictures of my boobs.  Sorry…if you weren’t there, you don’t get to see them, so don’t bother asking.  Unless you’re Dave Navarro, in which case not only will I send you the pictures, I will totally let you see the real things whenever you want.  I’ll even let you play with them…because that’s just the kind of nice person that I am.