I'll Be Charming If It #&*$** Kills Me
05/17/01
Peter B. Steiger

Many years ago, the wise philosopher George Carlin enriched the vocabulary
of young people everywhere with a list of the "Seven Words You Can't Say"
on television.  Actually there weren't any formal laws prohibiting those
specific words up to that point, but after Mr. Carlin's contribution to
American culture the FCC took steps to make sure that nobody else followed
in his footsteps.  The result was that certain words which may not have been
used that frequently before took on a new power - the power to get yourself
arrested, among other things.

People who work with me closely and think they know me well operate under
the erroneous belief that I'm so amazingly lighthearted that nothing short
of total global destruction would faze me, and even then I'd probably find
time for a few jokes before giving in to terror.  This is a perception I
have cultivated over the years, and it couldn't be further from the truth.

Back before we left the wilds of Dallas for the scenic beauty and buffalo
stampedes of Cheyenne, I didn't always handle stress in what you could call
a rational way.  Better terms to describe it might be "inadequate",
"childish", "a danger to himself and others"... you get the idea.  With
a family telling me I spent too much time at work and customers telling
me I wasn't spending enough time at work and projects that were overdue
before I even started them... it was only a matter of time before I
snapped.

I've done some stupid, embarrassing things in my career; some of them
have been childish, unprofessional, and extremely destructive.  However,
nothing compares to one spectacular event that stands apart as the most
incredibly stupid thing I have ever done.  It has taken me six years to
write about this because there's a part of me that wants to believe the
whole thing was just a bad dream and never really happened.

There are still a few people lurking in the dark corridors of the company
where I work who remember the day the clown's mask fell off and they found
themselves staring into the psychotic eyes of the living embodiment of evil.
Most of the people who were around that day had the sense to leave quickly;
some are scarred for life... but look around and you might find someone
willing to tell the tale for the price of a few margaritas.

It all started when our little 20-person operation was purchased by an
enormous software company in Carrollton, a bustling metropolis whose city
motto is "We're actually Dallas but we like to use a different name."

Up to that point, I was kind of the nerd-of-all-trades around our office: I
had my real job, which was writing programs, and my secondary job, which was
pitching in for the technical support department when they needed someone to
translate between Programmer and English, as well as a half dozen unofficial
jobs like running our computer bulletin board (in the ancient days before
everyone in the world was on the Internet) and maintaining our small office
network.

It was this last item which relates to this story.  When we became part of
the humongous corporation, they made it clear that they had their own
department entirely devoted to maintaining computer networks and my help was
no longer needed, thank you kindly.  So one of my jobs on moving day was to
transfer all our files from our network to humongous corp's network.
Thursday was spent boxing up all our worldly goods for the moving company,
which I did, and by the time I left Thursday night the only things remaining
unboxed were the network system which contained the files, and my own
computer which I could use to transfer those files to the new building.

At this moment I should introduce my bright young protege, a summer intern
who was learning the ropes in various departments and for the past few
months had been at my side almost constantly, helping out with the nightly
backups and fixing our colleagues' computers when I didn't have time myself.
He was extremely enthusiastic, eager to help regardless of whether it was in
his job description, and nearly as headstrong as I was.

I was up pretty late Thursday night finishing up my packing and getting my
computer set up to back up files in preparation for the transfer the next
day, so I staggered in a little late Friday morning after everyone else was
on the run.  The first thing I encountered was Bright Young Protege,
bouncing up to me eager to tell me his great news: "I saw that you didn't
have time to pack up your computer yesterday, so I took care of it for you!"
he proudly informed me.  He had gone so far as to personally supervise
moving my computer to the new building on the other side of town.

That's when I went berserk.  I looked wildly around for a computer I could
commandeer to get busy with the file transfer that I knew would take a
considerable amount of time, but most of the offices were already empty.

"You WHAT???" I screamed at full volume, causing everyone around to stop
what they were doing and stare in surprise.  Those were the last two words
I used for the next six hours which could be repeated outside a pornographic
novel, and I think some of my language was too rough for the novels.  My
protege was looking much less enthusiastic with each verbal blow that landed
on him, but I didn't notice.  All I was thinking about was that there would
be no way to hook up our network computers at the new building to make that
file transfer, and therefore all our company's life work was locked away
where nobody would be able to access it for days, possibly weeks.  My life
flashed before my eyes, and in my panic I took it out on that poor kid with
words I didn't even know I knew.  I went through Carlin's list in moments,
and followed it up with shouted expletives that would make a longshoreman
blush.  He left after a few minutes of that abuse, but that didn't stop me;
for the rest of the day I continued my masterpiece of malediction regardless
of whether I had an audience.  I'd subside into incoherent muttering under
my breath and then burst forth with new energy as inspiration struck me.  I
performed a symphony of smut the likes of which has never been heard before
or since.

Somewhere along the way I found one last computer still on the desk in
someone's office.  It was one of our oldest models, but it was still there.
I shoved aside the employee who was packing things up and took over her
office without so much as a mother-may-I.  One look at my face and the
constant stream of filth pouring out of it was enough to convince her that
I meant business, and she left me to my snarling self.  I hooked her
computer back up, logged on to the network and started the long file
transfer, and then went over to the new building to find my other belongings
and get them set up.  Of course that didn't stop me from muttering and
cursing, but in Dallas it's normal to mutter and curse as you drive around.

I heard "he was only trying to help" so often that day I was ready to
smack the next person who said it.  As it turns out, the next person who
said it was the owner of the company, the man who hired me and gave me
everything I asked for.

Did I mention that the victim of all this wrath was the owner's son-in-
law?  The boss called me in for a friendly chat during which he pointed
out that it's considered in bad taste and generally unprofessional to
scream obscenities at full volume to your co-workers.  Fortunately for
both of us I had run out of steam and was no longer filling the air with
my ranting, but I was still simmering with self-righteous anger and blaming
all my problems on the intern, so I mumbled a halfhearted apology and went
back to feeling superior to everyone.

I also went to visit son-in-law to at least go through the motions of
making peace with him, but I was surprised to see that he didn't come to
work that Monday.  In fact, it was another three days before I saw him
at his new desk, and right next to him was the biggest bottle of Prozac
I have ever seen.  Finally it started to sink in, right about the time I
heard God whispering in my ear, "You dolt - see what you've done?  This
is YOUR fault!"

Of course I didn't say that.  Making a total fool of yourself in public
and verbally beating the living daylights out of an innocent bystander
is one thing, but there's still an ego at stake here - an ego the size
of King Kong.  So instead of telling him how wrong it was for me to
blow up like that, I made some inane joke (hey, it's what I do best!)
and beat a hasty retreat before things like "slander" and "punitive
damages" came up in conversation.

Eventually, things smoothed over and my eager, albeit battle-scarred,
protege continued working with me and other departments until he got
himself a job with a company that paid him to surf the web and
specifically included in his contract that he would never be subjected
to the obscene rantings of a stressed-out colleague.

Nowadays people who meet me always get a kick out of my ready wit and
charming sense of humor, but those who still dare to remember know that
even the most easygoing guy in the world can turn into a raging demon
scarier than a 10-hour Barney The Dinosaur marathon.  I only have one
thing to say to those people:

You'd better SMILE when you say that, partner.