Wouldn't even answer a phone when I got home because that's what I did all day long is listen to ppl ***** about their fking vehicles.
@ Hopper how do you think I felt after 40 years....I had to listen to New and used sales complaints/ service customers and worst of all factory fks.
I'm listening to youse guys, and I can see how awful that hadda be.
But at least
you knew what you were doin'.
My job was one quantum leap higher in "awful". I was the last guy in a chain that went from a customer with a weird computer glitch/problem/crash to the Field Engineer and then through two more levels of engineers before my phone rang. Oh, and rang that sumbitch did, no error.
A sampling:
1. Berlin: The Germans figured the could dump their Big Iron, and just gang a bazillion PS2's and save a ton. Well, their systems would not stay up for more than a couple hours. What was I gonna do about it?
2. Stockholm: The Swedies bitched that whenever they typed a capital T, it was underlined. And ONLY a capital T. (OBTW: PS2 keyboards all over the world were in the country's language. Lookit some Nordic stuff mit der O's with slashes, umlauts, etc.) What was I gonna do about it?
3. Washington DC: A whole seven story building would have every PS2 computer fail simultaneously every now and then. What was I gonna do about it.
I have many more, but these will suffice to give you chills if you were in
my spotlight.
I. Was. The. Last. Desk.
If it got to me, no one else on the planet Earth could solve it or be responsible for it.
1. Berlin: I told the penny-pinching Krauts that Big Iron is called BIG FUKKING IRON because it has sumpin' called "error correcting code" <-- This means everything is double-checked by the Big Iron before it is processed further. It detects all anomalies and fixes them and then continues processing. PS2's are PERSONAL computers. They may blink, so the user just retypes or reboots. No big thing. But they are not designed for, nor are they intended to be used for running military radar data. The analogy I used to get it through their bean-counter arseholes was they were using motor scooters in series to pull a freight train. Oh. And I told the head bean-counter:
"You don't get what you don't pay for."
2. Stockholm: I'll come back to this one. It is my second-best.
3. Washington, DC: My crowning glory. I went to the company. Naturally, I could not do the standard Field Engineer request to "show me the fail" since nobody fargin knew when the place would shut down. And the time and day varied. Jeez. So I wandered floor to floor, observing a blue jillion of our wildly popular PS2's, all humming along. I checked the electrical source into the building, and the distribution method. No probs.
Third day in, I was walking down a hallway, and heard cussin' all over. Yup. All my babies had barfed and pooped. I walked over to a top floor window, thinking. Probably thinking about jumping out, since I was
Not Permitted To Fail. <-- We are talking about a nascent, eventually billion-dollar enterprise.
Since I was so high up, I idly was looking at the roof of an old building across the street. I saw huge antennae and weird electrical stuff. I asked the guy escorting me what that building housed.
"It's the US Naval Obseratory."
I almost peed my pants with a wild idea. I went downstairs, across the street, and began asking questions. They were very open and helpful.
When I explained what was going on across the street, a bespectacled professor-type said, "Sounds to me like your equipment is susceptible to our beamed satellite bursts." Seems when a satellite is at a certain azimuth, the beam goes off. That accounts for the "random" times for PS2 fartings.
I kissed the guy's shoes, the path he had walk to get to me... and ran out.
I told our bazillion-dollar customer what his problem was. I also told him that the fix was to get his building tempested. <-- Faraday cage. Not as expensive as you think. Best thing is that the company guy thought I walked on water, since apparently I had just saved HIS ass. He wrote a glowing letter of the Second Coming of Unca Walt to my boss.
Now to:
2. Stockholm: I was two days from my early retirement at 51 when this one came in. I dunno if you guys know how an electric keyboard works... but I know I don't.
The stinkin' Swede keyboards always put this
T whenever they typed "Thor".
I hadn't the fargin foggiest possible notion as to how to even start. No more than you reading this do. Remember: This was in the Olden Days.
Soooo... I left a message on my phone:
"If you have unsolvable issues with the PS2, you have reached the infamous Last Phone. However, it appears I am not here and never will be again. May God have mercy on your soul."
TINS
