posted
Okay, just had to share this. We've gotten another new system at work (thank GOD its not in my domain) called Universe. I won't even began to attempt to explain it here.
But anyway, our tech department sends out broadcast messages that appear as a pop-up on all pc's when an urgent message needs to get out. So far this morning we've had two, "Universe is down. We are aware of the problem." and one "Tech Support knows what the problem is with Universe.".
All I could think of is, "If you know what the problem is with the Universe, then please fix it! It'll make my life better." Another thought I had was, "If the Universe is down, does that mean we're all dead? Can I go home?".
Don't know if anyone else will find this funny or not but I just had to mention it.
From: Utah | Registered: Jul 2003
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posted
I always had a suspicion that something was wrong with the Universe, but at least now I know that someone's working on it. Phew!
From: Douglasville, GA | Registered: Jul 2003
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Your interoffice messages made me think of this poem. The punchline made more sense when it was written, with many more using DOS in the early '90s than they do now, but the frustration is timeless. With apologies to Edgar Allan Poe ...
Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary, System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor, Longing for the warmth of bed sheets, still I sat there doing spreadsheets. Having reached the bottom line I took a floppy from the drawer, I then invoked the SAVE command and waited for the disk to store, Only this and nothing more.
Deep into the monitor peering, long I sat there wond'ring, fearing, Doubting, while the disk kept churning, turning yet to churn some more. But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token. "Save!" I said, "You cursed mother! Save my data from before!" One thing did the phosphors answer, only this and nothing more, Just, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"
Was this some occult illusion, some maniacal intrusion? These were choices undesired, ones I'd never faced before. Carefully I weighed the choices as the disk made impish noises. The cursor flashed, insistent, waiting, baiting me to type some more. Clearly I must press a key, choosing one and nothing more, From "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"
With fingers pale and trembling, slowly toward the keyboard bending, Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored, Praying for some guarantee, timidly, I pressed a key. But on the screen there still persisted words appearing as before. Ghastly grim they blinked and taunted, haunted, as my patience wore, Saying "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"
I tried to catch the chips off guard, and pressed again, but twice as hard. I pleaded with the cursed machine: I begged and cried and then I swore. Now in mighty desperation, trying random combinations, Still there came the incantation, just as senseless as before. Cursor blinking, angrily winking, blinking nonsense as before. Reading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"
There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted. Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor. And then I saw a dreadful sight: a lightning bolt cut through the night. A gasp of horror overtook me, shook me to my very core. The lightning zapped my previous data, lost and gone forevermore. Not even, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"
To this day I do not know the place to which lost data go. What demonic nether world us wrought where lost data will be stored, Beyond the reach of mortal souls, beyond the ether, into black holes? But sure as there's C, Pascal, Lotus, Ashton-Tate and more, You will be one day be left to wander, lost on some Plutonian shore, Pleading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"
From: Starhaven Consulate, City of Angels | Registered: Jul 2003
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posted
That was great Grey. I'd never read it before and it so perfectly fits, if a bit outdated. Thanks for sharing.
From: Utah | Registered: Jul 2003
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Universe tech support must be quite a demanding job. And if you thought the tech guy in your office was a bit arrogant...
From: New York, NY | Registered: Jul 2003
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God, Scott (if he exists, as I seriously doubt, for if he does, he has to be up there eating mystic pizza and laughing his ass off at the spectacle below) ... is a computer programmer.
All the supposed instructions for his Creation are written and published, painstakingly, in a large manual of hundreds of pages, one which every user by now has, and which is dutifully kept at hand, and which is nonetheless never read by its intended audience until the most dire hour comes ... and even then, in most editions, there's rarely a useful index.
Spring that one on the next batch of Mormon missionaries at your door!
From: Starhaven Consulate, City of Angels | Registered: Jul 2003
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Hyperpath: Email this page to someone!
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