Desktop Support Hell

I approach his cubicle. He is leaning back in his high back chair, giggling like a school girl, which is not fitting because he is 6' 4" with the stature of a caveman. Well actually, he makes a caveman look like a ballerina. His face is red with laughter. I know he sees me out of the corner of his eye but he continues with his phone conversation. I stand there. Five minutes pass. I clear my throat. I pace up the aisle a few times.

Just moments ago, I spoke to him on the phone and he expressed concern over how long it would take for me to update some of the software on his PC. I told him I would work quickly to minimize his downtime. Apparently my time is not as valuable as his.

His phone conversation rattles on, “You told her that?…chuckle…my dawg likes beer too.”

I step back to my desk and just as I become absorbed in another, more meaningful task, my phone rings. “Where'd you go? I got off the phone and you were gone,” he blathers. I plod back over to his cube and he turns around in his chair to face me. He reeks of cigarettes.

I have a stack of six CD-ROMs to install on his computer and he knows the drill because we have been through this several times for various reasons. Once, because he installed “Bass Fishing 2000” and wiped out a portion of the registry. Another time because he inadvertently installed some spyware which interferes with Oracle client software. These little reparative troubleshooting operations can be pretty time consuming. Still, he asks, “Do I need to get out of my chair?” I nearly cough at the stupidity of the question but I politely indicate that yes, this will take a while… I silently grit my teeth, a vein is beginning to bulge in my temple.

“What’s your password,” I ask.
“password,” he replies.
“What a cretin,” I think to myself.
“Ok, password,” I mutter, under my breath
“I’m gonna go smoke.”
“Ok, thanks.” Good riddance.

The screen-saver clears. It was a picture of a deer in a cross-sight. Lovely.

A custom whooshing sound emits as the desktop returns. Each of the 100 icons refreshes at a rate of about one every two seconds. I crack my knuckles and prop my head up.

I look down at his keyboard. It’s smegged with boogers, spilt coffee and other unidentifiable smudges and crumbs. I just read a few weeks ago that even a clean desktop is dirtier than the average toilet. His must be filthier than the skankiest cesspool.

The mouse rattles as it is moved. I flip it over and pull out the ball. The rollers are caked with fuzz and smeg. I scrape it out with his scissors.

The rest of the procedure is fairly uneventful. It just takes slightly longer because of the custom sound and audio theme, consuming an already tight memory budget. The hard drive rattles, constantly swapping, sounding like a tin can kicked down an alley.

Man, I’d like to just re-image. But he’d just screw it up again. I’m seriously considering locking his system down and reducing his privileges. His mindless tinkerings costs me soooo much extra time and it’s time I do not have.

Oh well. Job security.