N's Story

Now, I don't attend many cocktail parties, especially not in the town that I currently live in, but I do have a story that I recount whilst enjoying an alcoholic beverage around a table of good, or maybe even slightly mediocre company.

In my final year of university, my friend, N, finds himself a girlfriend. This, is good news for N, as he was on a downward spiral into an addiction to video games, board games, and sadly, dungeons and dragons [at this point in the story, I pause for gasps or yelps of terror]. N needed to get laid - and he did. Things were looking up. Now I can't say I enjoyed his girlfriend's company or her attitude, demeanour, or personality, however, I figured that the pros outweighed the cons, even if she seemed a little slutty and/or high maintenance. Remember, you shouldn't judge a book by it's cover.

Somewhere between 2 or 3 weeks into his newfound relationship, we found ourselves at the day before his birthday, which happens to be smack in the middle of exams. I am sitting with some friends in the cafeteria, and she approaches us and asks: "Are you guys doing anything tomorrow for N's birthday?" To which I reply: "Nothing is planned, we really should get together and do something..." I reply. She promptly leaves without argument.

The next day, N's birthday, in the afternoon, I decide that since no one has done anything to plan for his birthday, that we should just do something short notice and low key, remember we are in the middle of exams, so I decide to take over the planning portion of this event. I poll some of my friends and ask them if they would be able to attend a last minute dinner at a local pub, I mention that those who wish are welcome to stay out late and drink till we drop.

Due to the conversation I had with N's girlfriend the day before, I decide to let N in on the plan - at this point, there's really no need for surprise. I ask him if this is OK; and he does not object to my plan thus far. I start calling every mutual friend I know and get the ball rolling to make this event happen.

After all the planning is over, all the guests are confirmed. I decide to relax and take care of a couple things, I head off to the shower, and then proceed with filing my taxes wearing nothing but a towel (due to the miracle of the internet, one can enjoy filing one's taxes in such a fashion).

Halfway through cheating the government out of their hard earned cash, I hear a heavy knock on my dorm door. I answer. She is there. She begins to rant. She has also brought some moral support in the form of her friend, who stands slightly behind her to the left, nodding like an idiot, arms crossed.

Her tirade begins: "What do you think you're doing?" I give her a puzzled look. Pause. Blink. Pause. I look down at my towel quickly, thinking: do I have an erection or something? "What do you think you're doing?!?!?" she shrieks.

"I can't believe you didn't ask me what was going on with N. I asked you guys last night. You knew I had something planned and you ruined it. You ruined everything!" Moral Support Chick, still nodding like an idiot. Her list of grievances goes on and on, and she has continually raised her voice and is genuinely angry and upset, and she the pace of her speech is akin to an episode of Grey's Anatomy, and in my opinion, she is being totally unreasonable.

At this point, I am highly uncomfortable, I am wearing a dark green towel... and I was just doing my taxes. I can tell you now, that a man is never more vulnerable than when he is wearing nothing more than a towel and shower sandals while working on his taxes, and being accosted by a buddy's irate girlfriend. But at the same time I am in no position to slam the door in her face or wave my genitals at her and tell her to get lost. N is my friend, and I'm not going to ruin a good thing that's going for him.

She continues her angry rant and I interrupt her, stating my case: "Well, I asked N. It's his birthday isn't it? He OK'ed it! What do you want from me? You didn't tell me anything last night, you asked a fucking question! Then I told you nothing was in the works, but that we should get something together... that's exactly what I did!"

She backpedals angrily: "Well, I would think that you knew better, you should have known that I was planning something when I asked you that." More idiotic nods and a murmur of approval from MS chick, as MS friend's arms uncross and she places her hands on her hips in order to affirm her friend's obvious moral superiority.

"I can't possibly be expected to know what you're thinki- "

"Well, whenever you plan something for a friend's birthday, ask the girlfriend first." With this, I am fuming - this is ridiculous, I would hardly consider them a couple... they've been dating no... fucking for maybe... just maybe 3 weeks now. But I hold my tongue - I can't do this to N. Not now. He needs this more than I ever will.

Then the levee breaks. She says, and I quote: "Look, I don't know if this is some sort of conspiracy with your friends to break us up or sabotage our relationship, but I'm not going to fight you guys for him." With that, all the alarm bells are going off now - git the tranquilizers! We've got ourselves a crazy! 3 weeks. 3 weeks of dating... and you're going to 'fight us for him'? Really? "Sabotage"? Really? "Conspiracy"? Really?

Before I can recover from my shock, awe, confusion, and the hatred brewing in the back of my mind towards the absolutely ridiculous filth she has spewed forth. She has turned and gone. I stand there holding my towel in one hand and grasping the door with the other, too stunned to act. I hear the tell-tale sound of an instant message on my computer. When I check the message, it's from my friend Ben on the floor above. He has obviously heard everything and he writes: "hey man, do you want some backup?"

Engineering sucks

Here I was, 'twas getting late – not only in the evening – but also for my 4^th year university software engineering project to be finished. Like all software engineering projects, I am behind schedule – except there is no extension on this one. Whatever is done by the deadline is what I hand in. I am working with a piece of software known as Microsoft Visual Studio, which works, even though it and I have some ‘misunderstandings’. I find myself trying to compile my program, which happens to be a browser helper object (a.k.a. a plug-in for Internet Explorer), and receiving an error message. Fair enough.

Error messages happen all the time. Syntax errors. Math errors. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. You fix the problem and you move on. That’s soft eng for you: code, then fix. Repeat as necessary. This particular error message was somewhat troubling: it was a compiler/linker error. So what happens when you get an error like this? You Google it. This is how things get done in software engineering: Google the error code or error message and find yourself a quick fix, and it doesn’t take a differential diagnosis or theoretical physicist to add up this little equation: 1) I don’t have time, 2) I don’t care what the problem is, or rather, what the correct solution is, and 3) someone has probably already had this problem before, and so therefore: the answer is out there somewhere on the Internet. QED, the Google will have my answer.

A quick search of the trouble codes yields an explanation of said error, on the Microsoft documentation web site for Visual Studio of course. Apparently, I need administrator access in order to perform said operation. That’s funny, because I am pretty certain that I installed this operating system, and I am also pretty certain that I am logged in as the administrator. The explanation is creatively unhelpful – as if someone wrote the explanation in order to reverse thousands of years of evolution and the entire progress of technical human knowledge. So at this point I do not feel like actually solving the problem because I don’t really care, and I certainly don’t want to figure out what I am actually doing wrong – I just want a hack that will make this go away, because the technical documents are making me ill - or maybe I am overdosing on caffeine.

Like I said: Code. Then Fix.

No worries though. There is one thing that will always get you out of this mess. Google. But I suppose I already mentioned that. So here we go again: same search, except I append “administrator privileges” to the error code. This is almost guaranteed to work, and I’m willing to bet a couple percent on it. Jackpot. In the search results is a link to the MSDN Forums. As I read the first post, I realize that this guy has the same problem as me: “[error message number 12345NN4321 blah blah… I already have administrator privileges]” this is good, I think, so I keep reading. Scroll down a little further to the next post… success? No. This is the best part. The guy who posts this little gem says (and this is almost word for word): “Sounds like you need administrator privileges!”

Ho-ly shit. I lost it. Not only had this guy had not said anything useful, nor did he tell us anything that we did not already know, but he had so much respect for his fellow software developer that he didn’t even read his post! You have to be a pretty shitty human being to be asked a question, and then answer by stating a fact that was in the question itself.

Q: "What is 2+2?"
A: "Sounds to me like you're adding!"

Uhh... what... the fuck? What are you? Are you the paper clip from office parroting back what I already know?

I couldn't help but think to myself: “Over here! I found another one Jim! He raises his kids to talk in the movie theater, fart in the elevator and shit in the public pool!” And I bet this guy sleeps like a baby at night, when instead he should be fearing for his life, because he doesn't know that he might not make it past getting dressed without killing himself.

Yes, I had found one. Another failed human being. This one’s an engineer.