security breach
June 27, 2006
the boss has been late to work somewhat often as of late. wait, that's not his job. it's my job to be late. it's the network administrator's job to be late. the boss, though, shouldn't be late, but this is all beside the point.
i pulled into the small strip of parking spaces outside the small strip of offices one morning to see that the boss hadn't arrived well before me like he always does, and to see the network admin sitting in his truck jamming out to various alternative-hard-rock music while waiting for someone (read: me) to let him into the office. why is it that when the boss is late i'm always later than my coworker? i feel guilty for making someone sit in the parking lot dreaming of different ways to inflict pain on the person that received a key to the office before him, even though he was hired first (unfortunately, this has become a morning ritual for us).
i apologized as usual, unlocked the portal to tedium, and began to punch in the four-digit security code. to my dismay—our dismay—i omitted one of the two middle digits and didn't know how to clear the system. there was no lovely LCD screen stating HEY, DUMBASS, WAIT FOR A FEW SECONDS AND TRY AGAIN or a simple CLEAR or CANCEL button. all i had was a 10-digit pad and three buttons nicely aligned in a row with the letters F, A, and P on them. what the fuck does F, A, or P stand for? none of them begin the words STOP BEEPING AND FLASHING RED LIGHTS AT ME! i soon remembered that my boss mentioned the police would stop in on potential burglars if the alarm went off.
i frantically tried again and again to input the correct code. again and again. panicked, i looked at the network admin as if to say, "oh my god, please help me or take a bat to the alarm system." i kept trying when BAM the nasty, ear-piercing alarm sounded. yes, like very loud noises would calm me enough to make the security system magically accept the code i kept punching in. finally, the code entered correctly and the sirens of death ceased. i then hung my head in shame and slowly glided into the office as if no one had noticed i was there.
before sitting at my desk i envisioned the security company calling to check in, or the cops actually coming to see what was going on. i recalled watching a story on the news many months back that the city of dallas or irving (where i work) wanted to impose a new law that would keep policemen from responding to tripped alarms because they're usually false alarms to begin with. perhaps the bill had passed and i had nothing to worry about, right?
the phone rang shortly after i sat down and the network admin came into my office to gleefully tell me the security company was on the phone. "what's the password?" the lady on the other line asked of me. i told her the security code. "no, what's the password?" um, i don't know? you should call the boss; i just work here.
apparently she called the police instead because soon afterward someone walked into the office, and when i went to check, there he stood in his dark blue uniform. those uniforms always looked black to me, and why was he wearing shorts? do policemen wear shorts now? i thought only bicycle cops wore shorts. he got my co-worker's and my information before making me show him my key to the office and asked to demonstrate how it worked. it's a simple procedure, sir. stick it in the hole, turn, repeat if necessary, have a nice day.
he stayed in the parking lot for a few minutes (i'm only assuming to do paperwork of some sort). shortly thereafter my boss walked in and, as usual, started unpacking his many tupperware containers full of curry-flavored foodstuffs into the miniture refrigerator without saying much, when he popped his head into the office and asked, "...are we having fun this morning?" that's passworded information, sir, so i'm not allowed to say.
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