My PFY and I...

Clunk should know better...

2007-10-14T21:34:00.000-07:00

I joined Hal Spacejock's Support Crew

I didn't pay anything,
I didn't sign anything,
and I didn't read the fine print.
Just like Hal!

No space pilot can exist in a vacuum (hah!), and behind every successful pilot there's a talented and dedicated support crew.

Hal Spacejock is one of the least successful space pilots in the history of the galaxy, and a worldwide support crew is needed just to get him off the ground.

What's in it for you?
| Join the team | - - - - - - - - - | Hal who? |

Hal Spacejock ... Après moi le wreckage

The Case of the Car(ambolage): Episode 3...

2005-04-29T09:02:00.000-07:00

Two days ago, I took the bus to work, as I had to bring my poor car to the repair shop. And as always seems to happen lately when I'm without private transportation, I got burdened with the job of personally delivering an important package to Blake and Edwards in person. B&E were well known and respected lawyers. And they also happened to be our oldest and most esteemed clients. It was a rush job. As always. And as always I unthinkingly called up the PFY on my cell phone. Bad habits die hard.

"What death trap of a car are you currently driving, my dear PFY?"

"Heh! A real BMW!"

"Yours?"

"Nope. Cousin of mine got it from his sister's boyfriend's younger brother. We're just going to give it a new paint job."

"So you didn't install any automated five point seatbelts, there aren't any widows that fall out when you roll them up too far, no exploding engine, no tires that will fall off as soon as you hit 60 Km/H? In short, the car can be considered safe?"

"Yeah, it's safe. We're just re-painting it, is all. Need a lift?"

Hm.... The BWM the PFY presented to me in the parking lot looked safe enough. But I had to be sure. I walked around the car, looked under it, kicked the tires, pulled heftily on the seat belts, and closed and opened them several times. Just to be sure. I got in on the passenger side, moving the chair all the way back, as I had noticed there was a passenger air-bag. I had no wish to get stuck in the chair if that thing went off.

Everything seemed to be safe as we drove off.

But noooooo!

We stopped at a red light.

"Hey boss, I don't think you closed your door properly. The display is saying it's still open. Open and slam it shut again, will you?"

So I did as the PFY suggested. I opened my door, and yanked it shut. Admittedly, I'm not exactly a weakling, so I may have used a bit of unnecessary brute force. But then again, I'm not exactly Superman.

"Ah... PFY? Where does the owner live? Near saltwater by any chance?"

"Yeah, at the ocean. How did you kn... Oh..."

I was holding the door in my hand. At arm's length. The door was no longer attached to the car. The hinges, what was left of them, were completely rusted through.

"Well, just fit the door back into the frame and hold it closed. My cousin has a welding torch. We'll just weld it back on, later. My cousin's sister's boyfriend's brother won't notice."

So off we went, with me holding the passenger door in place. And slowly getting the cramp of an eon in my hand. Ah, did I mention that it was Tuesday? And the sixth of the month, no less? My unlucky day? The day that makes Friday the thirteenth on a full moon seem like the luckiest day in your life? Ah, well…

"Slow down, PFY! That truck in front of us just lost cargo!"

The anti-blocking brakes on the BMW where working perfectly. Unluckily, several things happened before the rust bucket came to a complete stop. I tensed my legs to stop myself from being flung forward. The floor gave way under my left foot, trapping it in a grip of rusty metal. The door, being as you may recall officially detached from the rest of the vehicle, spun out of my hand and wedged itself horizontally in the doorframe. An inch lower, and I wouldn't need to shave anymore. And finally the red car behind us, having driven too close as most red cars do, softly bumped into our rear bumper at about five KM/h. The passenger airbags decided to activate and instantly expanded, pressing the door down on top of me and wedging it even more into the frame.

The PFY of course, was unscathed. And his air bag stayed closed.

It took the police and ambulance forty minutes to get to us, and thirty of those minutes the PFY spent giggling, the cad.

Luckily the local police are equipped with car sized can openers. After ninety minutes that seemed to me to last a week, I was finally extracted from the BMW. A few minor cuts around my ankle, a door handle shaped bruise on my temple from the car door hitting me several times while three police officers were wrenching it out of the doorframe, and second degree burn marks on my wrists from the air bag was all I had suffered.

This was two days ago. The bruises on my head now have a nice yellow purplish hue.

My car is still in repair.

I have an appointment eleven kilometers from the office.

I am walking there...

Courting Disaster, Episode 2: Double Trouble

2005-01-03T21:48:00.000-08:00

So I lounged around in my office after a lengthy lunch, having nothing else to do until the PFY returned with the NeoSilicoResonico cutter. I thought about who could be the very nimble safe opener. And come to think of it, why does Boss need to keep a cool hundred thousand dollars snack money in his safe? Hmm, maybe he regularly had freshly fried, cheese flavoured potato chips flown in from across the globe...

For the third time I read through the police report of the crime, a copy of which I had "organized" before the police had left us this morning

Fact: Our offices had not been forcefully entered.

Fact: All security cameras had been turned off before they could film any suspects.

Fact: The safes had been opened without physical force, possibly by entering the code.

Fact: The safes had been left open for all to see, but nothing had been removed.

Fact: No unusual fingerprints had been found.

Fact: Only one safe had not been opened. Mine. It just happened to be stuck under a wall tapestry of NeoSilicoResonico, which tended to resist most normal cutting implements.

Fact: The PFY shouldered his way into my office...

"Hiya Fainswift! Got the machine, and my cousin gave me cool idea. Maybe we can see who the thief was!"

"Unless you had a camera running somewhere that our friendly neighbourhood safe cracker hadn't deactivated, I very much doubt we will see anything of the miscreant."

"Nah, 'fraid my web cam was off, too. But lemme show you, in my office!"

Ah well, the police report had lost its appeal anyway, and sometimes even the PFY had half way usable ideas. So we trundled to his blue tapestried room.

"Now what is it your cousin got you so exited about, PFY?"

"See, this is a black light..."

"Yes, an ultra violet light. Cute. Are you planning on opening a discotheque here now? Make all the white cloths and shiny teeth of your guests glow eerily?"

"Nah, that's old hat. Multi coloured lasers are the thing these days. Anyway, my cousin's team found out that black light makes NeoSilicoResonico show the last image or pressure it was subjected to. I didn't use the video feature lately, so if the burglar tried to find your safe in here, maybe he touched or even leaned against the wall. Might even get fingerprints!"

"Ah, very clever, my dear PFY. Shine your black light here, where my wall safe should be... ah yes, there is definitely something here... move the light up and down the whole height..."

And before our eyes the NeoSilicoResonico showed us a clear outline of a torso, one leg, arms and the profile of a head that had been pressed closely to the wall.

"Hey, that's a woman!"

"Yes, from the curves one could suspect that. A tall, slender woman, with nice hands. And here a series of delicate knuckles. It seems she was tapping the wall to find the safe."

"And she found it, but couldn't cut through the NeoSilicoResonico! Look, sabotage attempt on my lovely wallpaper!" said the PFY, pointing out many thin scratch marks.

I inspected the wall a bit closer. That hand print looked... familiar. And... Ah! A very recently applied scent of a perfume I knew only too well. It was available from only one small shop here in Basel. A perfume so special, it was sold only to a select few chosen clients, of which I happened to be one.

"This image doesn't show the safe cracker, my dear PFY. I know the woman who made this hand print."

"Huh? But she obviously was looking for the safe. Who is she?"

"A police inspector, and a good one. She gave you a ticket once, before her promotion. She must have come in while you were out getting that NeoSilicoResonico cutting machine, and while I was out to lunch."

"Well, if you say so... But then who made the scratch marks?"

"The would be robber of course. Me thinks, my dear PFY, that we should set a trap."

"Yeah, anything to deter wallpaper scratchers! But what I still don't get is how the safes got opened so easily? I mean, OK, you can maybe find out one or even two safe codes, but seven? I don't think so!"

"Ah, I think I can answer that, guys," said SysAdmin, striding into the office.

"Ah, my dear SysAdmin! Have you been doing some detecting?"

"Yeah, and phoning up the manufacturer of the safes. Seems this model has a secondary override code you can set. So if the guy that usually uses the safe is the only one that knows the code should, say, get run over by a truck, the safe can still be opened. But it can't be closed again, except by the manufacturer, who then resets both codes."

"That would explain why the safes where left wide open. But this is the first I hear about the override code. Who would set the code? And is there a default?" asked I.

"You never heard about the override feature because the page describing it is missing in every single manual we have for the safes. And I guess whoever installed the wall safes probably set the code. The manufacturer says the default is there is no override code."

"Hey, wasn't it Janitor that oversaw the installation of the safes?" asked PFY.

"Hmmm, you may be right. My dear SysAdmin, thank you for the invaluable information, but now my noble assistant and I must needs prepare The Trap! You've given me an idea for it, you have."

And so, after I gently guided SysAdmin out the door, the PFY and I went to work.

* * *

PFY and I returned shortly after sundown. We had constructed a fake wall in PFY's office, using the rest of the NeoSilicoResonico, which had originally been slated for SysAdmin's room. This gave us just enough room to be able to sit behind it. Through a series of cleverly placed cameras looking through small holes in the fake wall, we could watch what happened in the room on our laptops . And record it too, of course. The PFY had cut out the NeoSilicoResonico around my safe, and I had removed the important documents. They were now in my bank's safe. A better place, I thought, than leaving them lying around for the robber to snare.

* * *

"So it is Janitor!" whispered PFY around midnight, waking me up from a light snooze.

"So it would seem. Let us see what he does," whispered I back.

We watched as Janitor went straight to the wall safe. He opened the flap of tapestry, and entered a code unknown to me. Obviously the over-ride code. Janitor ruffled through the contents of my safe and removed a folder clearly marked "Merger". This folder now contained a whole set of faked documents, describing the proposed merger of a local dairy farm and a local automobile dealer. Janitor didn't seem to notice the deception, and was about to leave the room, when the door opened and two armed police officers entered.

It was the work of a few moments, and Janitor was trussed up in handcuffs, and seated on a chair.

"How...?" asked PFY.

"We weren't the only ones watching what the cameras saw. So, let us confront the villain, shall we?" said I as I pushed open a section of the fake wall and stepped into the larger part of the PFY's office.

"And I am now almost certain this is not Janitor at all. This person is a double."

"What do you mean, sir?" asked the policeman standing nearest to me.

"See the wall where Janitor put his hand? There is no colour mark, only a depression. That means whoever this is, is wearing an insulation on his hands, possibly make-up rubber. NeoSilicoResonico is heat sensitive, see," said I as I pressed the wall with my hand, leaving the familiar rainbow pattern in a hand shaped depression.

The second police office touched Janitor's face, then pinched his cheek and pulled. A piece of make-up rubber came loose.

"Hey, you're right! We're going to have to get all this gunk off before we find out who this guy really is."

And just then the real Janitor entered, followed by my acquaintance, the police inspector, who I noticed was indeed wearing the perfume I gave her as a birthday gift.

"What's the idea of getting me out of bed in the middle of the ni... Oh..."

"Yes, Janitor, a double. I'm happy to say SysAdmin's accusations were quite incorrect. On the other hand, we still don't know who this is. Ah, my dear Inspector, I see you've brought the make-up remover..."

After a few minutes of intensive make-up cleaning, the culprit's true face was shown to us.

A gasp escaped PFY's lips.

"Oh my. I certainly didn't expect you, Boss," said I.

"Well, who else did you expect? Miss WebMaven?"

"No... the competition, actually. Anyway, my dear officers, as it isn't a crime breaking into your own safe, I'm afraid you will have to let Boss go."

"Well, highly irregular, Fainswift... But seeing as it's you, I guess we can make an exception. Take the cuffs off of him," said Inspector, waving her hand at one the police officers.

"I promise I will tell you all about it tomorrow, or rather later today, seeing as it is just after midnight. Say, over lunch?"

"Great, the usual place? Fine. Well, looks like our job is done here. Good morning," said Inspector as she left, taking the two puzzled police officers with her.

The End.

Really.

That's all folks.

Go home now.

Nothing to see here.

But noooo!

I turned to Boss.

"So, why did you break into my safe? And what do you want with the merger documents? If you had wanted to check them, you only would have had to ask."

Boss looked to Janitor, then to PFY, and finally back to me. He sighed.

"I guess I owe you fellows an explanation. I didn't want it to get talked around, but I have reliable information that this merger will end up with us all being put out onto the street."

"What? But the contract clearly defines that we have the controlling majority!"

"Yes, that's what it would seem like. I don't have proof, of course, otherwise I wouldn't have resorted to pretending to be Janitor and breaking into my own safes, but my source is one hundred percent reliable. Just not worth as proof. My source says the other company is actually just a front for a much larger corporation, against which we would have no chance, once we've merged."

"Well, why didn't you come to us before, Boss? You know we'd never have let you down," said PFY.

"Yeah, we're right behind you, Boss," said Janitor, "and I say we teach those big guys a lesson!"

"Hmm, my dear Janitor, I believe you have just given me an idea..." said I, pressing my hand into the NeoSilicoResonico several times in a pattern and watching the rainbow colours slowly dissolve.

Next, Courting Disaster: Merger Mayhem!

First Desktop Wallpapers!

2004-12-28T17:56:00.000-08:00

First off, check back tomorrow for episode two of "Courting Disaster"!

And in other news, we now have our first DESKTOP WALLPAPERS! Yoohoo!

You can get them here at http://members.shaw.ca/fainswift/english/PFY/pfy_download.html#Wallpapers !

Also, I now have an official email (fainswift@gmail.com) for "My PFY and I..." related questions, comments, and whatever.

And rememeber, tomorrow we'll publish Part Two of the unknown safe cracker.

Thanks for reading,
N. G. Fainswift

Unveiling of the new "My PFY and I..." site!

2004-12-18T09:07:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers!

Today is a great day! Thanks to the diligent work of my PFY and myself, we now have a separate website dedicated to our little stories.

The newest episodes of "My PFY and I..." will still be exclusively published here on http://fainswift.blogspot.com , but now you can download the complete episodes as PDF from...

http://members.shaw.ca/fainswift

More formats, such as Microsoft's Reader (useful for hand held computers such as IPAQ) and other little tidbits such as a PFY screensver and PFY desktop wallpapers (fitting, some how, no?) will become available as time goes on.

Webspace was kindly donated by a long time fan of the series.

Thank you for reading, and have a pleasent day!

N. G. Fainswift

Courting Disaster, Episode 1: Tapestry Trouble

2004-12-17T19:10:00.000-08:00

Friday morning I visited my friendly doctor about my extreme sunburn. She said it should go away in a few days or so, and prescribed putting fresh lemon juice on the burns if I wanted a nice tan. She also recommended I don't fall asleep in my office without first closing the blinds. The thousands of CD on the walls of my southward facing office, the office that had previously been the PFY's office, made the perfect tanning booth. But especially on cloudless days, it was a real sun oven.

When I finally got to the office, SysAdmin was sitting on the corner of my desk, trying to crack into my Compaq IPAQ hand held computer. This version of the IPAQ had a finger print scanner as a security feature.

"Hiya Fainswift. Clever guys at Compaq actually built something I've got trouble to get into... I've tried wax copies of all of your fingerprints, which I got from all over the place thanks to your bad habit of touching everything shiny in site. But not one seems to work."

"Ah, my dear SysAdmin, you are making the false assumption that I am a conventional user. As we both now, a normal user would use only their thumb print to protect their IPAQ. If very paranoid, maybe both thumbs. I, as you know, am not conventional in the least."

"So, you use your toe prints?"

"No. Indeed I played around with that idea for thirty seconds or so, but that, too, seemed conventional. I can assure you that my physical body is not the key into that IPAQ."

"Oh. Should have known," said SysAdmin, replacing my hand held computer onto my desk, "Anyway, have you seen what the PFY's been up to lately?"

"No... No I haven't. Any casualties?"

"Not yet... He's redecorated your office. Well, his office now. Said it was just too boring, what with the stark white walls and all."

"Ah. He hasn't used any capacitors, or Kleinweich CD, or car parts or anything like that, has he?"

"Ha! Actually, it's quite cool. Come on, lets have a look if you got a second..."

And so we do.

The PFY had done an overnight redecoration by wallpapering the whole office, and I mean the whole office, with a friendly blue tapestry. I gave the wall a push.

My hand sank a few millimetres into the wallpaper.

The hand print I left behind on the wall was coloured in yellows, oranges and red, and only slowly returned to blue as the depression my hand had caused became flat wall again.

"Heat and pressure sensitive," said the PFY, stepping into the room, "My cousin and his team invented it. It's called NeoSilicoResonico. And there is another cool feature. Look."

The PFY walked to his desk and picked up a TV remote controller. With a press of a button, all four walls and the ceiling became a giant TV.

"No sound though. Haven't hooked up the speakers yet. The layer closest to the wall is peppered with small heat elements, and they use NeoSilicoResonico's temperature sensitivity to translate any video signal into pictures."

"Wow!" said SysAdmin, "Where can I get this stuff?"

"You can't. Yet. This is just a prototype. Notice how the picture is starting to get fuzzy? After ten minutes all you have is a white wall, because the wallpaper can't cool down fast enough."

"Very nice, my dear PFY. Well, it seems you have a rather nice blue tapestry, and I don't have to worry about you watching TV all day. Seems as if everything is in order here. And close your mouth, SysAdmin, you're drooling."

For a change the PFY hadn't messed anything up. Right?

But nooooo!

I was forgetting something.

"Ah... one thing, my dear PFY... one slight, small, inconsequential thing..."

"Yeah? You want I deck out your office with this stuff, too? Got enough left for one wall."

"Me! Me! I wanna! Pwetty pwease!" cried SysAdmin, waving his arms around.

"No, that isn't it. But I get the impression SysAdmin wouldn't mind helping you test NeoSilicoResonico's properties."

"Oh, you can bet your life on that! Lemme get one of my walls cleaned up and prepped! Bring the stuff as soon as you can!" said SysAdmin just before disappearing into the corridor faster than a consultant hearing about a client that still has half of their yearly budget to spend. On the last weak of the year. And where looking into spending the whole rest so as to get the same budget in the following year.

"What I am concerned about, my dear PFY, is my safe."

"Your safe?"

"Yes. This was my office until a few weeks ago, and now it is yours, but I still have my safe in here. Just about here, I think it was, where my calendar of paintings by great Swiss artists who's names begin with K, such as Kaufmann, Kaisermann, Klee, and Knie, used to hang," said I, pressing a nondescript space on the blue wallpaper with my finger, "next year will feature great Swiss artists who's names don't start with K, such as Tinguely, Giger and Erni."

A red and orange circle appeared where my finger had been.

"Safe? Well.. ah... I don't think I saw a safe when I put up the NeoSilicoResonico. I mean, one can't just ignore a safe, you know. Not exactly something one oversees. Big, metal, with lots of dials on..."

"This safe, my dear PFY, was a wall safe. Remember two months ago when Boss invited several of our most beloved customers and even a few competitors to the unveiling of the new safe in his office? Even Dr Blake of Blake and Edwards was there. Dr. Edwards was out of town, I think, and could not attend. Well, I had the prototype in my office for several months before Boss decided to have the wall safes installed in the more important offices, such as in his own and in Financial Controller's."

"Oh, yeah. I remember. Was quite a stir when Miss WebMaven got her safe. Everyone start talking about how and why she shou... ah... anyway... I still didn't see where your safe was."

"As I said, mine was a prototype. You know how SysAdmin likes to try to break anything that pretends to be secure. So the safe is covered by a piece of wall panel, which, when you push the panel in just the right way, pops out and slides to one side, revealing the safe."

"Cool! So... I guess you want access to your safe, right?"

"Yes. That would be splendid. If you would just cut out a square of your special wall covering right about here, that would be dandy."

"Ah... I can't. You see, this stuff isn't just pretty cool visually, it's also about as impossible to cut with normal tools as bullet proof glass is. You need a special tool, and I gave that back to my cousin this morning. Won't be able to borrow it again until Monday..."

"Well, that is quite all right. There are only a few important documents for the upcoming merger deal in there, and I don't need them until next Wednesday. Well, let's get some work done. You know how busy things get Friday afternoons..."

***

Monday. The third Monday of the month, to be exact. Oh how I do enjoy the third Mondays of each month! That is when my favourite Italian restaurant serves an overflowing cup of fresh cappuccino on the house with every pizza.

In anticipation of a good lunch, I entered my office on this Monday morning in a good mood, humming a piece from "Die Zauberflöte". I had been to watch the opera on Sunday with an old friend of mine who I hadn't seen for ages.

I soon noticed I would probably need two cups of cappuccino after lunch. People were milling around in my office. Always a bad sign. At a quick glance I recognized Boss, Financial Controller, Janitor with his new phone, this time in the shape of an old Swiss military walkie-talkie, at least three police persons, SysAdmin, and even curly haired Miss WebMaven.

"Ah, good morning everyone. What has my PFY done now?"

"Huh? Why nothing!" said the Boss, "We've been robbed! Vandalized! Desecrated!"

"Oh? Someone has stolen the PFY, then? Or am I hoping too much?"

"No, I'm afraid he is still here. All our wall safes have been broken open," said Financial Controller, who claims most of his white hair had been caused by the PFY's antics.

"Yes, but nothing was taken from any of the safes! Not even my top secret new designs for our company web site! And you know how I'm always saying how our competitors would just love to get their grimy little hands on my newest ground breaking designs!" said Miss WebMaven, her long, perfectly polished nails flashing in the morning sun.

"Yeah, but the weirdest thing about it all, is that the safes where opened without any use of excessive explosives," said Janitor, sounding slightly depressed it seemed to me.

I turned to stare at SysAdmin, who was sitting on the corner of my desk attempting to break into my hand held computer again.

"Hey, it wasn't me! Those safes aren't computers!" said SysAdmin quickly.

"Hmm... Nothing was taken? Then, what is all the bother about? And why this pow wow in my teepee?"

"Ah... Has your safe been broken into, too? You know, you do have those important merger documents in it..." asked Boss.

"Well I don't know, now do I. My safe isn't in this room. It's in my old office... Let's go and see."

The PFY was busy chatting away with one of his girlfriends on "Kleinweich Chatter(tm)" as we entered his office as a small posse. A quick glance at the spot where I knew my wall safe was confirmed that everything was still in perfect condition.

"Ah, hiya Fainswift... ah... my cousin said I could have the special NeoSilicoResonico cutting tool this afternoon. Is that soon enough."

"Quite, that will be perfect. My dear Boss, my safe has been undisturbed. Possibly because the PFY has hidden it so expertly, that even I have trouble locating it."

"Well, that's a relief. Somehow I knew I could count on you, Fainswift," said Boss, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, "If those papers get into the wrong hands, we could just as well call off the merger. The police officers here thinks that was what the thieves were after, because they didn't even touch my few hundred thousand dollars that I keep in my safe... My snack money... And for other small items, you know..."

For once the PFY seems to have done us all a favour.

But who was the thief that so expertly broke open all the safes, but took nothing?

Stay tuned for the next episode of:

"My PFY and I... Courting Disaster, Episode 2: Double Trouble"

Soon back in force with more PFY adventures!

2004-12-09T23:19:00.000-08:00

NaNoWriMo is now over for 2004, and all I did was a lousy 18270 words of the 50000 required to "win". Oh well... Next year, maybe! Juggling everything that I had to do this fall wasn't easy, and I rather feel I did a good job of it... A good botch up job, as my PFY claims, but that's another story.

Talking about the PFY, the next story will appear on Friday, December 17, 2004, so make sure you have a few free minutes for the ninth (yes, the 9th) episode!

I can already divulge the title: "Courting Disaster".

After the 17th, the episodes of the PFY will be appearing regularly (we promise!) every ten days.

In other news, a website dedicated to the PFY is being created, where you wil be able to download the episodes as plain text, Adobe PDF or even MS-Reader (LIT) for your Windows CE handheld. The website will be unveiled on Saturday, December 18, 2004. Watch this space for the link!

Well, have a nice week and hope to see you in seven days!

N. G. Fainswift

(Actually, don't bother clicking on "Read the whole thing!" What you see here is everything.)

The CD Conspiracy...

2004-11-16T11:13:00.000-08:00

Well, it has been pretty quiet on the PFY front these last few weeks, probably because the PFY was on vacation. Of course, that never stopped him before from perpetuating one crime or another against our little office, but this time we seem to have been spared any damages.

Yesterday the PFY returned, brown all over like a well roasted almond. When I entered in the morning he was already sitting on a corner of my desk, chewing on my favorite pen, and staring up at the ceiling. A typical posture of the PFY when his mind was devising dastardly plans to destroy the innocent world, I must add.

"Oh, hiya Fainswift. I got an idea."

"I was afraid of that. But first, remove your brummagem posterior from my furniture and stop mauling my beloved writing implement."

"Ok. Look, can I have all the old CDs and DVDs that we've been collecting for the last ten years? You know, the demos and old versions of stuff that we don't have licenses for anymore? Like the whole Kleinweich Distribution of 1993 to today?"

"You want to open a restaurant and use the CDs as trivets?"

"Heh, no, but that would be kind of cool, too. No, I just want to decorate my room a bit..."

"Well, that seems harmless enough. There are a couple of boxes of old media over there. Help yourself," said I waving my hands at the boxes in the corner that I'd been getting ready for the next mass recycling event we have every half year.

"Cool! I'll come get them later, if you don't mind."

"Fine. Now shoo, I have work to do. Blake and Edwards want me to write them up a proposal for a dozen webcams."

So the PFY was decorating his room with old CDs. Probably he planned on building a mobile with them, so they would move gently in the breeze of his snoring. Nothing to worry about there, I thought. No possibility of him getting into trouble doing that. Right?

But noooooo!

This morning I trundled into the office, happy as an oyster in its shell still undisturbed on a coral reef. Pouring myself a good cup of Pu Ehr tea, I settled down to read my morning email and news.

SysAdmin's crew cut head peaked around the corner of my office door.

"Hi Fainswift. Do you know where the latest Kleinweich Distribution is? The Boss said he brought it into your office yesterday afternoon while you were out. He wants me to install the newest patches onto his laptop, like, last week."

"Oh? ," said I, looking around my office, "Well, as you see, no large package or box is to be found anywhere in my tiny alcove of an office. Maybe your assistant came to get it?"

"Nope. Was sick yesterday, and still is. I'll go see if one of the programming guys took it. You know how they just love to get their grubby little cola stained fingers on my Kleinweich Distribution. Talk to you later!" said SysAdmin before he disappeared.

Two minutes later CoderOne poked his three day beard into my office.

"Wassup Fainswift! Boss tells me you got the latest greatest Kleinweich Distribution! There a new version of the best of the best KW-Optical Arena on there that we really want to try out!"

"Ah, my dear CoderOne. I must disappoint you, I do not possess, nor have possessed a package from Kleinweich in the last forty-eight hours."

"Shame! Bet those power hungry admins illegally grabbed it with their coffee stained paws. See you later!" and away CoderOne flew before I could explain that SysAdmin was not the miscreant.

One. Two. Three minutes. Curly haired WebMaven entered my room in her typical catwalk manner.

"Good morning, Mr. Fainswift. I've heard that you've received the latest Kleinweich Distribution. There is apparently a marketing package included on CD for inclusion on our home page."

"Well, well, Miss WebMaven! And how are we today? I'm very sorry, but no such CD has come into my presence. But I can assure you, we already have two eager bloodhounds sniffing out the whereabouts of said missing property. And as soon as they've recovered the stolen goods, I will deliver the CD personally to you."

"Why thank you Mr. Fainswift! That would be splendid! See you soon!" said Webmave, waving goodbye and exiting in the same manner she had entered my office.

So who could the Kleinweich Distribution snatcher be? The Boss himself? Oh well, I had other things to worry about.

"Hi Fainswift! Wanna come see my new sparkly room?"

"Why not. It will get my mind off of all these crazed Kleinweich junkies that have unceasingly been storming my office all morning."

We walked to the PFY's office, all the while the PFY prattling on about his invention to save light and maybe even get a full body sun tan while working. As if he ever did an honest days work. A dishonest days work, perhaps.

Just before he opened the door to his little chubby hole, the PFY slipped a pair of dark industry strength sunglasses on, and offered me a pair, too.

"What's that for?"

"Take it. You'll need it."

"Oh, just open the door and stop foo... Wah! I'm blind!" cried I, throwing my arms up in front of my eyes. Out of the open door shone a light brighter than looking directly at a 300 watt halogen bulb.

"Told you," said the PFY as I fumbled for the sunglasses he was still holding out to me.

After a few moments my eyes readjusted. The PFY's room was plastered with CDs from top to bottom. All four walls, the ceiling and even the floor was completely covered with CDs, the shiny surface up. And because the PFY's office was facing south-east, the morning sun streamed in unabashedly and was reflected thousands of times. It was wonderful!

"You've really done something great, this time, PFY! And I thought you'd never amount to anything. All I need now is a cool pina-colada, an easy chair, and ... Oh no.... How many CDs did you say you used for this crystal chamber of yours?"

"About a hundred per square meter. At approximately eighty square meters, walls, floor and ceiling, that makes out to eight thousand CDs and DVDs, and I used two hundred more to cover my desk with..."

A suspicion started to smuggle itself into my mind alike to a guilty grandmother smuggling sixteen kilograms of finest Swiss milk chocolate into a country where such an import is very heavily taxed.

"Nice. So... Give us a moment... We get four Kleinweich Distributions an year, on the average with two hundred CDs per distribution, and we've been receiving the Kleinweich Distribution without fail since 1993. We always keep the last three distributions in the safe. That gives us, give or take a few CDs, exactly the eight thousand you have here. Where in the name of Groucho Marx did you get the other two hundred CDs for your desk?"

"Ah, your room, like you told me I could..."

"And was nothing strange or unusual about the box or the CDs, such as maybe the year 2004 printed in large, obtrusive letters on them, which even a blind, illiterate mole would have noticed?"

"No, didn't bother to look at them, but there was something strange about the box. I was sure I'd taken them all out of your room, and when I went back later to look for more CDs, I found the last box. On your desk. I kinda thought you'd put it there for me..."

Of course a quarterly Kleinweich Distribution of two hundred CDs is not delivered for free. So the PFY is now paying off a second delivery, that will be delivered shortly directly to me, and only to me, and which will disappear post haste into the CD safe.

I also made the PFY switch offices with me and my tan is coming along nicely, thank you for asking.

Hi there dear Reader!

2004-11-01T07:53:00.000-08:00

Yes, NaNoWriMo has started and I'm busy as a beaver doing my part to lower the standard of writing the world over (just kidding!). So, the PFY thinks there won't be any entires about him during November.

But nooooooo!

There will be! I've already readied two fine examples of the PFY's exploits and will be posting one later this week, and the other next week or so. And who knows, perchance I'll take a detour from writing 50000 words of my book "The Troll That Would Fly" and write up a further adventure of the PFY for the end of November.

Thanks for reading, and have a nice day!

N. G. Fainswift

Wrong Number?

2004-10-26T08:49:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been several days now since the PFY replaced the choking hazard in Blake's office, which the PFY claimed was a perfectly installed network cable. Blake of course is the senior member of our most prestigious client, Blake and Edwards. Talking of Edwards, I received an email from young Dr. jur. Lic. phil. D. Edwards a few days ago.

Seems the two lawyers were so impressed with my planning and the PFY's implementation of their internal Internet connection, that they now wanted us to provide cell phones to all staff. And each staff was to receive instructions on how to use the main features, such as the mailbox and the telephone book. Now the chosen cell phone model also doubles as a fixed net phone. As long as a staff member is in the office or at home, the cell phone used the house phone line. That should save the company quite some money on cell phone bills.

Again, I was too busy to personally oversee the instruction to Blake and Edwards' staff, so the PFY got the job. After I had organized the cell phones and the made sure the new telephone system was suitably installed by the local telecom, of course.

"Ok, my dear PFY, you have all the cell phones, the manuals, and the names of the staff members?"

"Yeah boss. I even had Blake's assistant send schedule invites to everybody for twenty-five minutes. Gives me a five minute break between each."

"Clever," said I, slightly impressed that the PFY would have such a good idea.

So off went the PFY for a two day teaching assignment. In the evening of the second day I gave Blake a quick call, and he confirmed that everyone had received their cell phone and also knew how to use the key features. Sounded good.

But nooooooo!

My cell phone rang, and I took it. Before I could say anything a hushed voice started talking.

"Hi. You got the dough, I got the stuff. Same place, same time. And don't listen to those other guys, my stuff is pure. No contaminations, no baking soda cut into it, nothing. Oh, and the password is REDEYE." said the voice and then hung up.

Hwell! Looks like someone was trying to sell me illegal drugs. And that to me, who doesn't even take an aspirin for a headache.

Twenty minutes later my cell phone rang again.

"Oh, so you are taking the phone finally! You are so going to get it when I see you! You know what time it is? Two-thirty! I waited at the Choclit Shop for a whole hour, and you never showed up! We are so finished! So there!" said a screechy female's voice before hanging up with an almost audible bang.

Hmm. Now who could that have been? I checked my calender... No, except for the normal team meeting this morning, I didn't have any other appointment all day. Oh well, probably a wrong number, meant for some forgetful sap.

Ten minutes later, the cell phone again...

"Oh hello sweety! It your Aunti Sarah! Hapy birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happpyyy Birthday tooooo youuuu! I hope you got my present... Oh, look at the time! I pro missed your cousin Geraldine that I'd pick her up in five minutes! Well, talk to you later sweety!" and Aunti hung up. Another wrong number!

Five minutes later. Yes. My cell rang again.

"Hi! Do you have life insurance?" said a quick speaker.

"No."

"Well, then I'm sure I can interest you in the policy I'm representing! A full year of life insurance costs less than your total electricity bill! We have several easy payment options for any wallet! We also have extras that enhance your life insurance exper..." at which point I snapped out of my trance and hung up.

This went on all afternoon, call after call. I finally ripped the battery out of my cell phone. Something was fishy. Why was I getting all those calls? A drug dealer selling me dope I didn't want or need. A stood-up girlfriend that I never met. An aunty congratulating me for a birthday that I've had half an year ago. An insurance salesperson trying to sell me a policy I can't use. And diverse other calls that had no connection to me that I knew of.

Hmmm....

A suspicion played around in my mind for a few moments before surfacing like a killer whale going after a taste of a National Geographic photographer in a dinghy. I stalked down the corridor to the coffee room, where we had recently installed our seventh microwave. With this one you had to type a code into the keypad before it opened. The PFY was standing in front of it and jumped guiltily back from our newest acquisition. He was the only one I hadn't given the code to.

"PFY, firstly, you won't crack the microwave's code, and don't bother to watch someone enter it, I change the code randomly during the week. Secondly, have you been giving out my cell phone number again?"

"No sir! Last time you made me pay the fees of your number change!"

"And everyone, even your dear mother, thought that a mild repercussion for you giving out my number as the help desk's. So why in the name of Graham Bell am I receiving so many unrelated calls today?"

"You are? Oh... Ah.. hehe!"

"You are turning nicely pink, but that still doesn't answer my question."

"Well, you see, I was teaching how to use the mailbox, and Edwards wondered if there was a way to have the cell phone redirect calls if no-one answered. So as an example, I used your cell phone number, explaining how to do it to everyone. Kind of would have thought that they would change it..."

"Apparently not, my dear PFY. And to show you I have no hard feeling, I am going to transfer my cell phone number to you, and I'll get myself a new one."

Three days later I found the PFY in the workshop smashing the daylight out of his cell phone with a four pound hammer. Seems he got so many phone calls even at night that he just couldn't sleep.

Ah, justice had been done!

Low Bridge!

2004-10-16T15:28:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think the PFY's brain is on permanent vacation. The following case should prove the point:

***

"So you have enough cables?" asked I of my PFY.

"Yep, almost enough to go ten times around the block."

"And you have the firewalls, the switches, and the proxy server I configured last night?"

"Check. Right. Of course."

"And you have SysAdmin's cell phone number in case you have trouble?"

"Wrote it on my wrist in indelible ink. And on my elbow, just in case I wash my hands!"

"Ah... Yes I see... And of course you have the ADSL modem?"

"Right here. Carrying that personally!" said the PFY, pointing to the slim box clamped under his arm.

"And your car?" asked I, apprehensive on this point for good reasons.

"Well, um, SysAdmin gave me the keys to the company van, 'cause of all the cables and stuff. He said at least that way there was a chance that everything got to the client in one piece... What did he mean by that?"

"Nothing, I'm sure. So. You're ready. Good. Well, drive carefully, and I'll try to call you up during a break in the meeting."

Blake and Edwards, one of our bigger clients, had discovered the internet. All Dr. Edwards' fault, of course, Dr. Edwards being the younger of the famous lawyer team of Blake and Edwards, and more "hip" to modern culture. And what Dr. Edwards suggested, Dr. Blake always followed through with.

I wish I could say the same of the PFY and my suggestions...

Anyway, I had an important full day meeting, and even though I had licked my fingers at finally being able to install some new hardware at Blake and Edwards' fine offices down town, I was forced to delegate the assignment. SysAdmin and his assistant, SubSysAdmin, were in the middle of the Quarter Year Security Audit. So, much to my mortification, I had to pass the B&E mission off to the PFY. I just hoped Blake and Edwards wouldn't sue us for anything the PFY messed up. And if they did, I hoped they wouldn't represent themselves in court...

In the later part of the afternoon I finally got around to give the PFY a quick call.

"PFY! How much damage have you done?"

"Hehe boss, you sure say funny things. Everything is going great."

"No trouble with the newly installed cable mounts?"

"Nope. Holes for the plugs are all in the right places. The rack for the firewalls and proxy server got delivered yesterday, and I just finished fitting everything into it. Beautiful setup, if I say so myself. Just got to cable the data pool's room, then do old Blake's office, and I'm finished. Did you know he didn't even have a computer yet?"

"Yes, but he isn't a technophobe, whatever his opponents in court say. He's just never needed his own PC, what with all those data entry secretaries they have. Good to hear you're doing well. Don't forget to bring back the van; SysAdmin needs it tomorrow."

"Ok boss, null problemo!"

Well, that sounded good. For once I thought the PFY had really done his job well.

But nooooooo!

It was late the next day when my phone rang.

"Ah, Dr. Blake! How is everything? New installation working fine? Got Internet access now?"

"Yes, everything seems to be in order Mr. Fainswift."

"Good, good. Glad to hear it. And you've received the bill, I suppose?"

"Quite, accounting will be taking care of it next week."

"Perfect", says I, rubbing my hand at the thought of a nice little bonus I was soon to receive.

"There is, however, just one slight issue... I was wondering if it were possible to place the Internet antennae somewhere else. Having a yellow cable running through the middle of my office at neck height is a bit disconcerting. Especially to my, shall we say, more senior clients, who aren't used to obstacle courses anymore?"

Internet antennae?!? Yellow cable at neck height?!?!? What was that supposed to be?!?!?!?!?

"Ah, I'm afraid I haven't debriefed my PFY yet. I'll do that right now and get back to you as soon as possible. I'm sure we can quickly resolve that... issue."

With that I hung up, jumped up from my chair, slid over the desk, and high tailed it to where I was positive the PFY was spending his afternoon. Arriving in the warehouse, I found the PFY snoring happily away in the paper archive section under "P". An indelicate prod to his midsection booted him up.

"Ah, hiya boss, just looking for... ehm... last months payroll balance sheet for... ahm.. the Controller..."

"Rrrright... You can look for that later. Right now I want to know what an Internet antennae is doing in Blake's office, about neck height, probably decapitating anyone rash enough to rush into his office without looking."

"Ah, yes, um... Ran out of longer network cables yesterday. I could just barely make the last cable I had reach Blake's PC from the wall network socket by hanging it from the ceiling. Wasn't long enough to go around the room, and I didn't want to go under the carpet, 'cause Blake's got those chairs with wheels on them, and you know how fast network cable gets damaged if you roll over them with your chair. Clever thinking, no?"

"Hmmm... And what was that about an antennae for the Internet? Did you take along the wrong installation manual? The one for Prof. Feinsteen who wants to build his own SETI receiver, perhaps?"

"Of course not. Old Blake asked me what the cable was for. And that was the closest analogy I could find, that he'd get."

"Ah. And, my dear PFY, it never crossed your mind to perhaps go early this morning with maybe a bit of a longer cable, and replace the guillotinesque construction in Blake's office?"

"No. Should I have?"

***

There! You see? A definite case of "Cereberum Vacancia", or in layman's terms, "Brain On Vacation".

I rest my case.

And yes, the PFY was sent off with a longer cable. And as an apology, a case of fine bubbly was later sent to Dr. Blake in our company's name. At the PFY's cost, of course.

The Case of the Car(ambolage): Episode 2...

2004-10-05T23:11:00.000-07:00

My previous adventure with the PFY's car should have taught me never again to use the PFY as a taxi. But last Friday, my poor jalopy again refused to show any sign of life. A cell phone call to the PFY:

"PFY, do you still drive that open air FIAT?"

"Of course not! I got a Honda Civic now! Well, actually it's not mine..."

"Ah, so it isn't a wreck, or special pop-apart model, or has a sunroof that doesn't close? Because it looks like rain again today."

"No, it's last year's model. Almost brand new! Friend of my cousin wants me and my cousin to upgrade it a bit."

And indeed, a nicer Honda Civic I haven't seen in a long time. Wide tires, a paintjob that would make Mona Lisa peal with jealousy, and the inside had been designed on the lines of the Titanic's main sump room. All polished wood and subtle colours. I got in on the passenger side and made myself at home in the perfectly moulded seat. Ah, I was going to enjoy this ride, I was!

But noooooo!

The PFY got in on the driver's side.

"We already started upgrading. We put in five point seatbelts. Automated five point seatbelts! Here, lemme show you!" said the PFY as he started up the engine.

And indeed, servos started humming in the chair. Two parts of the seatbelt appeared from above my shoulder and two parts from the sides. From the bottom of the seat the fifth piece came out and up, and connected with the other four belt pieced, snapping into place on my chest. Then the belt slowly tightened until I was perfectly snug in my seat, and couldn't have shifted an inch if I had wanted to.

The Honda's engine, a 6V with over 360 horsepower, purred to life. And off we went, as smoothly as if we were driving on air.

We arrived without incident. The PFY shut the engine off and jumped out.

"Ah, PFY... My belt... How do you open it? I don't see any buttons..."

"Sorry! That belt should have opened automatically when I turned off the engine... Hm... One sec..."

The PFY started the engine again. My belt didn't open. Instead, I felt the belt slowly getting tighter.

"Um, PFY, I think you might want to stop the engine, this blasted belt is trying to suffocate me."

The PFY turned off the engine, but the belt didn't stop squeezing me.

"Urgk.. Cut the power... Argh!"

"Right boss, I'll just pull the fuse... There. That better?"

"Well, your death trap has stopped trying to make juice out of me, but otherwise, I'm stuck. And I forgot my pocket knife today."

I knew the PFY didn't carry a knife with him, him being the sort of fellow that cuts himself on the business end of a toddler-safe plastic spoon. So I just had to wait for some aid from someone with a seat belt cutting implement.

"Well, at least I can still breath. A bit. Now be a good PFY and get either Blake or Edwards down here to sign the contract. And stop snickering."

Blake, the senior of the two, appeared after ten minutes, signed the contract, I signed it, and the PFY witnessed it. And all that time Blake didn't even crack a little smile at my predicament. Which just adds to the proof that lawyers aren't quite human.

So I was stuck in that chair, prisoner of an overzealous seatbelt, with most the air squeezed out of me, for over three hours. We couldn't drive back to the office because the fuse the PFY pulled was the main one, without which he couldn't start the engine. Go figure.

The secretary of Blake and Edwards came down with her scissors, but they couldn't even dent the seatbelt. Then a passer-by, whom the PFY slightly knew, tried his Leatherman(TM) knife. No chance, even with the saw; that belt was just too strong.

Finally, just as I was attempting to pick the belt's lock for the trillionth's time with the PFY's debit card, a police officer, giving out parking tickets, came by. She inspected the parking meter.

"You realize there is a parking meter here?"

"Ah, yes, my dear officer. We've run out of coins, and I'm afraid we can't drive off. I'm stuck in this seatbelt, and quite uncomfortably, I must add. If the PFY puts the fuse back in, I'll be choked to death. Automatic seat belt, you see, on the blink..."

"Oh, one of those. Look, I always carry a Spyderco Harpy(TM) with me. Great knife to cut seatbelts with. Here let me..." said the police officer. She leaned in and with four quick slices, freed me from my prison.

"There, that didn't hurt, did it now? Still have to give you a ticket, I'm afraid."

"Quite fair, isn't it, my dear PFY? The law is the law, and no-one should be above it," said I, stretching and trying to get some blood back into my legs.

"Eh, but it's not my fault you got stuck! I'm going to get the company to pay this!"

I took the bus back to the office, doing deep breathing exercises all the way. After all, you're not allowed to drive around without wearing a seatbelt!

The company didn't pay the PFY's ticket; our accountant pointed out that the PFY had installed the deadly seatbelt himself. Thus the whole business was the PFY's fault; he had to pay his ticket himself. And I got the police officer's mobile phone number; I've invited her for dinner at my favourite Italian. Ah, justice has been served, and the downtrodden (or in my case, the seat-belted) has been rewarded!

Intermission: A snippet of a secret transmission...

2004-09-27T20:42:00.000-07:00

--- start transmission--

Fainswift: got snail mail lately? (or have they banned that in california?)

Doc Slumpu: uhm, not gotten any mail...

Doc Slumpu: ...but snails have a though life here :P

Fainswift: tough...

Doc Slumpu: ups :P

Doc Slumpu: I hate that word, though thougth tough arrggg all sounds the smae :P

Fainswift: smae: a small aboriginal flower; often thought to be though.

Doc Slumpu: u crazy...

Fainswift: GO HOME! IT'S LATE!

Doc Slumpu: hehe I AM GOING TO SEE GHOST IN A SHELL 2 TOMORROW !!!!!

Fainswift: Lucky weevil!

--- end transmission---

The Case of the Car(ambolage): Episode 1...

2004-09-27T11:18:00.000-07:00

Now it came to pass a couple of months ago that I had to bring some documents for signing to an influential client of ours, Blake and Edwards by name, lawyers by trade. And of all the evil-eyed luck, my car just didn't want to start. Already I was cutting it mighty fine on the time. So, blowing caution to the wind, I rang up the PFY on my cell.

"Do you have a car, PFY?"

"Do I have a car? Do I have a car! Why? Need a lift?"

"Yes. I have to be at Blake and Edwards in twenty minutes."

The PFY's car turned out to be a small, ancient Fiat, smelling of and somewhat resembling a small wet dog. I gingerly opened the car door and squeezed myself into the passenger seat. The chair padding was so well worn, I could almost count the springs in it.

"So how much did you get paid to take this off of the previous owner?" asked I, trying to arrange my limbs so they wouldn't fall asleep in the cramped space.

"Huh? I paid 500 bucks. Once my cousin and I get rid of the rusty spots and repaint it, I'll be able to sell it for a couple of grand. Hobby of mine..."

Oh well, the car seemed safe enough, and except for the lack of space, comfortable enough. So I looked forward to a simple and uneventful ride.

But nooooo!

"Well, it's starting to rain. Mind if I close the window before we drive off?"

"Nope, go ahead," said the PFY getting in on the driver's side.

The window was operated by an old fashioned cranking mechanism. Now I am not exactly a big fellow, but the handle was somewhere beneath my right knee, and no matter what I tried, I just couldn't turn it. So I opened the door, grasped the handle, and started cranking vigorously. And I cranked what seemed to be for ages. And I cranked so hard I was losing my breath and I'm sure a vein was starting to pop on my forehead. And... There was a sound of glass shattering into a million pieces as the window hit the pavement. I had actually turned the window out of the door.

"Ah... PFY, I think there is something wrong with your window crank..."

"Upps, should have told you to keep the door closed. Known issue with this model. No problem, my uncle has a friend whose brother's wife's nephew owns a Fiat garage. I'll get a replacement from him."

"Good. Can we start driving? We have to be at Blake and Edwards in fifteen minutes."

"Right-oh!"

And off we drove, me feeling like a sardine in a milk shake machine. And of course the rain became a torrent. I had the impression I was on the bow of a schooner in hurricane weather, and I wasn't about to shout anything of being the sovereign of the globe either. The PFY's little Fiat gave its all, and managed a good 47 Km/H. Downhill. But in the end, we made it at Blake and Edwards with four minutes to spare, me soaked to the epidermis and shivering.

The documents, though slightly soggy, got signed, the deal successfully closed. And I ended up in bed for five days, with a cold in my head.

The Capacitors of Doom...

2004-09-18T13:23:00.000-07:00

So our System Administrator comes in to my office the other day and plunks a large box of electrical junk onto my desk. He's like that, our SysAdmin is, always collecting miscellaneous pieces of long and forgotten computers and appliances.

"Look here, Fainswift! A box of real 1970's capacitors and resistors! Look at the size of some of these!"

"Ah my dear SysAdmin, what did you shell out for this tiny treasure trove of novelties?" asks I, with an eye to future enrichment, should I bother to clean out my cellar one day. The flat I rent was previously occupied by a fellow who had owned a radio store in the 1970's. After retiring he had kept his stock of radio parts in the cellar, as a souvenir I suppose. All of which he left behind when he moved south to warmer climes and cool margaritas...

"On eBay, this guy was selling the stuff for thirty bucks per kilo, so I just had to bid!"

"And that is...?"

"Five kilos."

"Are you planning on building a Zuse-4, by any chance?"

"What? No, no! These are just for my collection. I'll leave them here for now, got to go reinstall that server. Now where did I put that hammer...?"

And one would think that was the end of that.

Enter our PFY, as if he could smell something to break a mile away.

"What's that?" asked the PFY, pointing to the box of treasure.

"A box of capacitors."

"Ah. Yes. Right-o. So... What're they good for?"

"This my boy," said I, holding up one of the specimen, "is an ingeniously clever but simple device to store an electrical charge. It is constructed using a positively charged surface, a small metal plate, and a negatively charged surface, another small metal plate, with an insulated gap betwixt them, called the dielectric."

"Huh?"

"It's a small battery."

"Hey, that's cool. Rechargable?"

"Indefinitely. I mean: yes. And: NO TOUCHY! Belongs to SysAdmin, and he'll delete every file you ever stored if you so much as breath on them."

"Hey, don't look at me, I'm not breathing on any of that junk."

So, thinking that our PFY was chastised enough, I proceeded off to lunch, sure that nothing would happen to SysAdmin's beloved little conversation pieces.

But noooo!

A mere hour and a half later I returned, full of fine Italian pizza, a light Domodossola wine, and enough gossip about the good ol' homeland to last me the rest of the week (the owner of the little pizzeria I often visit thinks I'm Italian, just because I can spout words such as "spa-g-he-tti", "bonnaserata", "esspresso" and "preggo" with a convincing accent...). The presence of the fire engine and three police cars in front of our building should have given me a hint all was not right, but I was sauntering along the sidewalk contently humming "Bellisima, Bellisima! Cara mia ti voglio bene!" After all, there was a bank on the first floor, and we just had the floors above it. Our local fellows from the "To Serve And Protect" gang where often sighted there, due to some alarm or other.

My office was untouched, except... SysAdmin's box of goodies was missing... And there was a nice stench of burnt electrical equipment in the air from the year 1970's.

Following the stench to the PFY's room was simple. It was a war zone. His desk, luckily, was constructed of solid metal, and was also the only thing intact, if somewhat the worse for wear. The PFY's laptop in its docking station and his monitor on the desk were just two hunks of melted plastic. Among the other debris in the room I noticed a twisted metal frame, about a meter square, with the charred remains of an electrical testing board hanging from it. The elements on the board seemed vaguely familiar. Two firemen were standing in the room with spent extinguishers, looking around for more trouble. In the hallway, three of our city finest force where interrogating the PFY, and not getting very far from the looks of it. And SysAdmin was hunched in the hallway sofa, sniffing as if he had lost his only child.

Obviously I need to do something here to ease the situation, and quickly!

"Hey, my dear fellow fire-fighters! How does one get all that foam into those wee tanks, anyway?"

"Simple, Mister, you don't. These tanks hold two liquids, see, and a CO2 capsule, see. When we push the ejector, the two liquids mix and give off all this foam, see?" said the fireman closest to me, pushing the ejector on his extinguisher and letting off a bit of foam in the PFY's general direction.

"Yes, I see. Practical."

"Well, we've got all the fire out. Have a nice day Mister! We'll send you the bill later. Haha!"

"Y-es... Ha. Ha... Grmle..." And I knew where I was going to get reimbursed for that, too.

Next I turned my attention to the bereaved (as I suspected).

"So what are you moaning about, SysAdmin?"

"My... my... my 1970's capacitors... all... pffft! Pfluieee! Boom! Big badda boom!"

"Ah, well, cheer up, my dear SysAdmin! I know where I can find many, many nice 1970's capacitors, resistors, and even... yes, I believe even 1960's transistor tubes! You'll have them tomorrow and the PFY will boot the bill!"

The SysAdmin looked better already as he trundled off to optimize some deserving manager's harddrive with a rubber mallet. My mentioning the 1960's transistor tubes even made him drewl...

Lastly, I turned my attention to the PFY and his current victims, the cops.

"My dear officers! What a lovely day it is, is it not? Anything I could do to help clear up this little matter?" said I, handing each of them my card. For some reason the initials "CFO" on my card always makes people more... approachable, I think is the word I'm looking for... to my suggestions. Why they should hold so much stock in my being the "Champion Flowcharter of the Office" is still beyond me, but there you have it...

After a short and informative lecture on "Electrical Equipment, Usage and Safety Procedures in Closed Spaces", our city's finest decided their job here was done, and they returned whence they had come.

So. Now to the perpetrator of this insurance company's nightmare.

"What do you have to say, PFY?"

"Well, not my fault SysAdmin bought junk!"

"No, true, but didn't I expressly forbid you to even breath on his junk?"

"Yeah, you did. So I wore a hankie tied around my face, like John Wayne and those other cowboys..."

Sigh...

"Ok, next time I'll put a PFY trap on things I don't want you to touch. Out with it. Why were you attempting to detonate the earth?"

"My MP3 player ran out of juice. And you said those capacitors-things were batteries. So I tired one, but it was dead. So I tried recharging them. I got this neat electrical plan from the internet, on how you can put lightbulbs in parallel, so I did that with SysAdmin's stuff. Plugged it in and all was good, so I went to get a coke."

"Aha, and then?"

"Then I heard this big noise, and when I came back here everything was burning and the walls were full of small holes, and I thought they were, you know, bullet holes, 'cause that's how they look like on TV! So I called the police, saying we were under attack by terrorists, us having such vital research data and all!"

"We provide financial services, boy, not research. And self respecting terrorists could not care a wee mite what we have in our databases... It's just too horribly boring even for the most numorolophil of accountants."

"Oh... So, does the company's insurance cover my MP3 player?"

It didn't and part of the PFY's next twelve paycheques was docked to help pay for damages. And give our SysAdmin a nice weekend present of ancient electrical parts.

The Microwave Story

2004-09-16T07:01:00.000-07:00

Last week we got a new microwave. As I've already indicated, our PFY isn't the brightest bulb in the collection. It didn't take him long to wonder what would happen, if you microwaved Jell-O. Let his mistake be a lesson. Do not, under any circumstance, attempt to microwave that jiggely desert, or you'll end up cleaning exploded green goo from every crevice of your kitchen appliance. And I made my PFY use nothing more than a toothbrush, water and backing soda. No quick dirt-eating chemical solutions for that fellow!

You'd think that after scrubbing for four hours with a toothbrush, someone would learn not to touch things they know nothing about.

But noooo!

The next day, our PFY had brought a hot dog in a bun to work. A cold hot dog in a bun. Now, all the plates were dirty in the washing machine, 'cause no one had bothered to turn the machine on the night before. So what does our PFY do? He takes an old CD as a plate, the silly cluck. In one of his more lucid moments, he scrapes off the metal foil from the top side of CD, having heard enough times not to put metal into the microwave.

At any rate, our PFY went hungry that lunch, but did end up having the worlds first Hot Dog on a CD sculpture. And we all avoided the kitchen area like rats avoiding a burning building.... The smell was... interesting to say the least.

We all hoped that would be the last chapter in PFY vs The MicroWave. We were too optimistic.

Two days later our trusty Janitor goes into the kitchen area carrying his beloved wire-less phone, in the shape of a bright yellow banana no less. He pours himself a bowl of canned soup, and pops it into the microwave (leaving the door open), when his phone rings. Some secretary complaining about a blocked sink in the ladies. After hanging up, he leaves the phone on the kitchen counter (!) and scoots away. Innocent enough.

Until...

Enter the PFY.

Now in the Janitor's defence I have to admit he isn't that fond of the PFY, so he sometimes lets the PFY stand outside in all weathers before unlocking the front door in the morning. At 8:30 on the dot. The PFY of course thinks that to be a bit low. So what does he do to the Janitor's favourite banana shaped phone? He takes the bowl of soup out of the microwave, gingerly places the banana phone into the microwave and closes the door. The soup bowl he leaves in plain sight. Just under the microwave, for all to see. Exit our PFY to a place of safety, the server room, where the Janitor has no access.

Enter the Janitor for act three. Without checking, the poor fellow punches in 1 minute, high heat, 'cause he likes a steaming soup. One second... Two seconds... at approximately 25 seconds the air smells like the familiar melting plastic. At 45 seconds the microwave's fuse blows, and a steady stream of smoke is curling from the side of the kitchen appliance. The Janitor, quick thinker that he is, pulls the microwave's plug from the wall socket... Result: one dead microwave and one melted banana phone. To this day the Janitor is convinced he absentmindedly put the phone into the machine instead of the soup. The PFY refuses to fess up, even though I have several witnesses (three keyboard stompers from the data-pool) that he was in the kitchen area during the time the Janitor was not.

The melted banana phone now adorns the kitchen wall next to the newly acquired microwave as a warning to all future users.

No Pain, No Gain...

2004-09-15T23:05:00.000-07:00

As always, when you try something out and haven't the foggiest, Murphy will catch up to you. My PFY decided today to try out the laminator we use to make our internal ID cards.

The principle would be simple enough for Frankensteen to understand. Take one sized piece of paper, sized three to four millimeters smaller than a credit card, insert between the two flaps of a plastic card folder (which is exactly the size of a credit card), turn on laminator, wait until the GO light is on, insert plastic card folder seam first into laminator (on the side that says "INSERT HERE" in bright green letters), wait until card is ejected on the opposite side. No touchy, let cool.

Easy, one would suspect.

But noooo!

My PFY started off by using a piece of stiff cardboard (which was, at least, three to four millimeters smaller than a credit card). Then he turned on the laminator, and without waiting for the ready light, attempted to manhandle the card into the OUT side. For some reason the internal rotor motor decided he was right, and reversed direction, pulling the card completely in. And then the laminator must have realized it was being bamboozled, so it stopped.

I never realized our fire alarm was sensitive to non-smoking burning plastic. But it is.

One false fire alarm (luckily the janitor was able to send the "FALSE ALARM" signal before our local firemen came rushing to our aid), and one fried laminator later, my PFY dared try the process again. With a new laminator, poor beast.

This time he got most of the steps correct. Except the last one. He picked up the scalding card just as it dropped from the output port. My ears are still ringing from his shouts. Anyway, now he has a nice credit card shaped burn mark on his palm, like that evil fellow in Indiana Jones 1 who picked up the searing medallion (idiot!).

As I said. No Pain, No Gain.

Don't know what the PFY gained, but I for one had a bit of fun trying out some of the first aid techniques we had learned in the last compulsory Workplace Safety Class!

PS: PFY stands for "pimpled faced youth", in case you've never heard that term before....