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BOFH gets into the Xmas spirit
Good will to all men. No, really...
Episode 42 So I'm prancing around the office with my Santa hat on when the PFY walks in.
"Uh... err... Compliments of the Season?" he says warily, knowing my views of the orgy of capitalism that the former orgy of laziness known as Christmas has become.
"And the very best of the festive season to you my young assistant!" I cry heartily. "A Christmas mince pie?"
"I..." the PFY says, reaching out his hand tentatively then withdrawing it.
"Have no fear!" I blurt, sensing his discomfort. "These are the pure unadulterated shop-bought items, with no unexpected extras like iron filing centres or laxative icing."
"Don't mind if I do!" the PFY says, throwing caution to the wind.
At another time such abandonment might likely have been followed by an extensive period of bowel and stomach purging over a period of days, but in the season of goodwill how could I possibly subject anyone to nastiness?
"Very good," the PFY says, reaching for another then pausing.
"Again, have no fear, it's not a wheel of misfortune, they're all sound."
"So..." the PFY asks slightly concerned. "You didn't happen to have a visit from a ghost of christmas past recently?"
"Hmm? Oh! No, no, just in a very good mood!"
"A very good mood?" the PFY asks. "What's happened, the Head Beancounter did a Jimmy Jones?"
"No, but it's funny you should mention the beancounters," I chuckle.
"Funny haha or funny anvil-on-your-head?"
"No, Funny peculiar. Look at this."
"It's gift voucher for a restaraunt!"
"Yeah, the beancounters sent them to us in a Christmas card."
"Yeah, there's one on your desk too."
"I... I'm..." the PFY says, opening his card.
"I was going to say.. touched."
"Yeah, you would be to believe it to be gesture of goodwill. No, this is far more entertaining."
"It's a trojan horse - Check this out."
I pass the PFY a photocopy of a memo recently leaked to me by security.
"They want security to give them access to our offices if we can't be contacted. So?"
"So what will we do with our restaraunt vouchers?"
"And three hours into our lunch hour, they'll try and ring us - and there'll be no answer..."
"And they'll get access into here!!! But why?"
"What have we got that they covet?"
"A espresso machine?"
"Security's pirated movie server?"
"THE SPARES BOXES!!!!"
"Indeed. So while we're away they'll rummage through the contents of our spare parts bins and steal the new stuff to upgrade their machines. They tipped their hand last week when they asked for a stack of the 200 gig drives and a couple of the screen cards from our stock to replace the crap they're currently using."
"How do they know about the spares?"
"Where do the invoices get processed?"
"Oh. So you told them to get stuffed?"
"Course! Then they threatened to slash our spending budget next year - which the Boss overheard, so there was an impromptu shouting match and some disappointed beancounters..."
"Right. So we're just going to waste these drinks vouchers then?"
"Hell no! We're going to lunch!!!"
"What time is it now?"
"But isn't that playing into their hands?"
"Yes, but you know what the Godfather would say: Keep your friends close, but your enemies..."
"...closer?" the PFY interjects.
"No, I was going to say 'locked in the tape safe'."
"And that's relevant because?"
"Oh I'm just rambling now, must be alcohol deprivation..."
. . . Five hours later . . .
"AND NOW, PISSED, FROM NORWICH!" the PFY slurs, swiping his access card at the entrance to the building.
"Ah sorry guys, no-one's allowed in the building," Security says, stepping up. "...and can you put the warning cones back where you found them?"
"What warning cones?" I ask slipping the top third of a cone under my shirt. "And why can't we get in the building?"
"Couple of computers exploded," Security says. "Everyone has to stay away till the Bomb Squad's been through."
"And don't you think we should cast an expert eye over the area - in case there's more machines ready to go up? Your movie server for instance?"
"I... Uh.. Well maybe a quick look!"
The PFY and I make our way up the evacuated building to Mission Control and slip the remaining exploding hard drives out of the way of prying eyes inside the tape safe and replace them with the pristine versions.
"So that's it then?" the PFY sighs, relieving himself into the planter in the Beancounters' lobby.
"Pretty much. But to show there's no hard feelings we'll send them a Christmas cake tomorrow."
"Yeah - We'll be back in their good books in no time."
"You think so?" the PFY slurs.
"Sure! Quicker than you can say laxative icing!" ®
BOFH is copyright © 1995-2004, Simon Travaglia. Don't mess with his rights.