I am a network engineer working on an Air Force base. I am not an NCO (Non-commissioned Officer) or an officer; I am a contractor from an outside company. My assignment is to write new access control lists and do a bunch of other tasks to about 200 network switches to make sure they are in compliance with certain rules. It’s tens of thousands of changes overall, and I have been putting in a lot of (paid) overtime to try and get it done sooner.

It’s early in the day when one of the senior Airmen comes over to talk to me.

Senior Airman: “We have an outage over at [Site], and I’ve been asked to take you there in case any of the changes you made caused it to go down.”

I get the IP address from him and type it into my terminal. It does not come up in my session history, so that means it is the first time I have ever used this IP address. I attempt to access it and the connection fails, showing that the IP address is not found on the network.

Me: “I don’t have a session for that node saved in [Application]. It does not look like I made any changes to it.”

Senior Airman: “They still want you to go with me to check it out.”

So, I pack up my laptop and brave the heat of the Nevada desert in June, and he drives me out to a remote part of the base. This location is used to store missiles, so it is not someplace that even my senior Airman companion can enter unescorted. We have to wait for someone to drive us up and walk us into the affected area.

When I get there, I find that there are a number of small buildings, each with their own computer stations, printers, phones, etc. Only one of those buildings is affected by the outage, and no critical or security systems are down. All it means is that the handful of people there have to walk next door to get on the network or make a phone call. It’s annoying, sure, but not a critical issue.

When the Airman and I get to where the switch is, we immediately see the problem. There are no lights at all from the switch, and it is plugged directly into the wall! You never plug enterprise-class networking equipment directly into power outlets without something to insulate it from power surges.

Senior Airman: “Uh… where’s the uninterruptable power supply?”

I trace the power cables to confirm.

Me: “Why is your switch directly connected to your power outlets?”

The recruit who was left with us has no idea what we are talking about. I try to turn on the light in the area to see better, but it won’t turn on.

Recruit: “We had a power surge last night and that light doesn’t work anymore. Totally fried our printer, too.”

Me: “I think it fried more than that.”

Senior Airman: “That might have been something you guys should have mentioned in your call.”

I unplug the switch’s two power supplies and test the outlets with my laptop.

Me: “Looks like power on this circuit is still good, but your switch is dead.”

Recruit: “Can you fix it?”

Senior Airman: “No, we’re going to have to return it. We’ll see if we can get another one out here… and an UPS to make sure it is protected from power surges.”

So, that is half a day of my time wasted. When I am done for the day and it is late in the evening, I fill out my daily report — a report read by government representatives, a higher-ranking NCO on base, and three of my bosses — and I am so annoyed that I must admit I lose a touch of my usual formality and it contained the following bullet point in the middle.

Report: “I was taken out on site to examine a down switch that was suspected of being disabled due to the changes I have been making to the network. Upon examination, it was discovered that improper installation has allowed a power surge to cause the switch to be downgraded from ‘critical network access device’ to ‘$11,000 paperweight’.”

I get back to my hotel pretty late and go to bed. The next morning, I call into a scheduled phone meeting. The only other participant who has arrived so far is one of my bosses. We exchange pleasantries, and then…

Boss: *Poorly trying to contain his laughter* “So… $11,000 paperweight, huh?”

As I’m walking into a store, I notice a vintage Oldsmobile out in the parking lot with its lights on. I go inside and walk up to the service desk.

Me: “Could you page the owner of the vintage Oldsmobile outside? They left their lights on.”

The girl looks at me like she has no idea what I am saying.

Employee: “Is it your car?”

Me: “No.”

Employee: “Is it in your way?”

Me: “No.”

Employee: “Then I don’t know what you mean.”

My sister and I went to a local pub around the corner from our house to have a couple of drinks. I saw what I wanted in the fridge behind the bar.

Me: “Can I have the [Irish Cider], cherry flavour, please?”

Sister: “And can I have a dry white wine, please?”

For those who don’t know much about wine, white wine generally gets kept chilled in the fridge, not just left on the shelf.

Barman: “Eh… what was that, sorry?”

Me: “An Irish cherry cider. Also a dry white wine for my sister, please?”

Barman: “We have cider, but not the kind you want!”

Me: “Yes, you do.” *Points to the fridge* “Over there.”

Barman: “Oh, we don’t have cherry flavour. Also, what colour is cherry, anyway?”

Me: “Cherry can depend on the season, but on this occasion, it’s the dark red on the third shelf up, four in!” *Points*

The barman checked the location for what seemed an eternity.

Barman: “Oh, I did not know we had that…”

He placed it on the bar and went to get the white wine.

Me: *To my sister* “That was interesting. Even [Six-Year-Old Niece] and [Six-Year-Old Nephew] would know the colour of cherry!”

The barman came back from taking a bottle of white wine, not from the fridge beside him, but from a shelf further up the bar, and started pouring.

Sister: “Ehm, pardon me? What are you doing? White wine gets served chilled, unlike red wine. I see you have a bottle of [White Wine]. I will have that, please.”

The barman gave her a confused look.

Sister: “I see you’re still pouring. I won’t be having that. Please get the wine I asked for.”

Grumpily, the barman went and got the wine from the fridge and poured the wine as per request. Then, he left the bottle of white wine, from the fridge, on the bar with the lid off, not closing it or even putting it in the fridge.

Sister: “Can I see your manager, please?”

Luckily for us, the manager just happened to come out of the office at that time and walked past the bar.

Manager: “Hello, I’m the manager. How can I help?”

My sister explained the situation, and the manager, dumbfounded by this, turned to the barman.

Manager: “They are not paying for these drinks. Also, what did we teach in training? Do you not remember the brands we sell or how to store wine? I specifically remember [Other Employee] telling you this. One more mistake and you’re out.”

The manager directed us to a table to enjoy our drinks.

As my sister picked up the wine glass to drink, she noticed a lipstick stain on the rim.The barman sheepishly changed the glass over. We did notice that the white wine got moved to the fridge eventually.

We’ve been there a couple of times since then over the years and have never seen or heard of that barman again.

In high school, my friend and I worked at a fast food burger place. The sandwiches were made to order, where the customer could select any combination of eight different condiments. The register employee would call out the type of sandwich followed by the list of condiments. The order receipt would also detail the condiments. Since this was the 1980s, the receipt had a limit of characters it could print. A single cheese with catsup, pickle, and mustard would be listed as: “SC, C, P, M,” with each condiment listed on a separate line.

On nights we were closing, we would be assigned to the dining room and/or salad bar duty. But on school nights, we’d be on the front line: he’d be on the grill and I’d be the sandwich maker. Our duties often included having to walk off the line to get supplies. So, if an order came in, standard practice was to go to the counter and read the receipt. We found that time-consuming, so we would help each other by telling the other the order when we returned to the line. Being geeks, as well, we would just rattle off the abbreviations. A typical interaction:

Friend: “DC, MA, P, M.”

Me: “Okay.”

He’d then give me two patties with cheese in between, and I’d have the mayonnaise and pickles on the top bun. He’d place the patties on the bottom bun, then I’d swipe some mustard on top of the meat, put on the top, and then wrap it.

Our manager always gave us an odd look whenever we’d have one of these exchanges. But we were efficient.

The dumbest thing I’ve ever heard at work actually came from my mouth. It was when I first started with the cleaning company I’m with now. A lot of times, if we approach a construction site soon enough, we can win the bid for the post-construction clean-up, which is a nice score.

I had a friend of mine who was in the sanitation business bringing me around the Manhattan area, and I’m a big guy, but the situations were just nuts. It was so loud, you had to yell, but you didn’t want them to think you were yelling at them, so you had to tread lightly. Construction workers are rough and short-tempered; if they think you’re yelling at them instead of just yelling over the noise, they go nuts.

I walked up with my friend to the General Contractor and he introduced me. The first words out of my mouth:

Me: “Hey, cool, so are you guys building up or…?”

They both looked at me like, “Or what?!”

In my defense, I had just read an article about earthscrapers — the opposite of skyscrapers — but nonetheless, when we got back in the car, my friend turned to me and said:

Friend: “Don’t you ever ask somebody if they’re building up again. You sound like an idiot.”

I learned my lesson that day.