Day two, continued
Lurking boss aside, there were advantages to working on a luxury motor coach. The refrigerator in the galley, for instance, generously stocked with Diet Coke — the kind sweetened with Splenda, fortunately; NutraSweet gives me a rash. After typing and sipping for an hour, I rose, stretched and headed for the restroom.
I hadn’t been out of my seat for more than a minute before an obnoxious klaxon began to sound through the bus, loud enough to wake the dead and the business manager.
“Intruder alert! Intruder alert!” blared the mechanized voice from a downloaded Star Trek sound clip. I smiled. My security measures were working.
I did not hurry, even after Bill started to bellow my name over the whooping of the siren. “I’m having private time!” I called back. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
I made it two minutes. Bill was pacing the aisle when I finally stepped out, my hands thoroughly washed, dried and moisturized.
“Make it stop!” he demanded.
I eased through the small crowd gathered around my laptop, apparently mesmerized by the strobing red light on the monitor. With a flourish I pressed the “mute” button on the keyboard, then hit a two-key combination to unlock the screen saver. The group sighed with relief.
“What the hell is wrong with that thing?” Bill asked.
I replied, “Actually, something is very right with that thing. That little display is part of the security I’ve set up to protect the web site’s confidential data. I set the alarm to go off if someone tried to wake up the screen without using the right keystrokes.”
I glanced around, but no one looked overtly guilty of molesting my computer. I wondered about Raleigh La Pierre. He had been nominally in charge of maintaining the web site before I was hired. I could understand him wanting to see what the new girl was doing to his pages.
“Well, you don’t need to set that on the bus. It’s just us here,” said Bill.
“I take my webmaster duties very seriously, Bill,” I said, “and I’m not willing to compromise on security. I’d hate for a stray click to goof up coding, for instance. If anyone is interested in seeing the new page design, just ask, okay?”
Eyes narrowed, Bill nodded. I had annoyed him, but I’d also demonstrated some company loyalty. I hoped I’d passed a small test of trust.
Quentin asked, “May we see it, then?”
“Sure.”
I spent a few minutes on show and tell, and they seemed to like the new look. The individual pages for each of the performers, with updated photos and “Contact me” buttons, got several murmurs of approval, as did the sleek home page. The crowd drifted away nodding and smiling.
“Elegant,” said Quentin before turning back to his own work. I got the sense that coming from him, that was a big compliment.
An hour later, I needed another break. Mentally rubbing my hands with anticipation, I headed for the back of the bus. Sure enough, within 60 seconds, the chorus of Britney Spears’s brief hit “Oops, I Did It Again” serenaded the cabin at top volume. No one hollered at me this time, but I could almost hear teeth being gritted.
Returning to my seat, I again silenced the speakers and banished Britney from the screen.
“Somebody’s been eating my porridge,” I remarked into the sudden quiet. “Well, Goldilocks, you didn’t think I’d set my alarm the same way twice, did you? Not after everyone saw the code I used the first time. That wouldn’t be very security conscious.”
“You’ve made your point, Kielle. No one will mess with your machine again,” Bill promised for all of them.
“Great. ‘Cause I’ve got several dozen of these, each more irritating than the last — including fingernails on a chalkboard.” I didn’t need to exaggerate. With my eidetic memory, I could recall as many key codes as I needed without writing them down where they could be copied by someone else.
As I settled back into my chair, I caught Quentin’s sidelong smile.
“Something you’d like to tell me? Confession is good for the soul.”
He shook his head slightly. “Only that Goldilocks, having been embarrassed not once but twice, will be looking for a way to return the favor. Watch your back.”
“Always do.”
* * *
I hadn’t been out of my seat for more than a minute before an obnoxious klaxon began to sound through the bus, loud enough to wake the dead and the business manager.
“Intruder alert! Intruder alert!” blared the mechanized voice from a downloaded Star Trek sound clip. I smiled. My security measures were working.
I did not hurry, even after Bill started to bellow my name over the whooping of the siren. “I’m having private time!” I called back. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
I made it two minutes. Bill was pacing the aisle when I finally stepped out, my hands thoroughly washed, dried and moisturized.
“Make it stop!” he demanded.
I eased through the small crowd gathered around my laptop, apparently mesmerized by the strobing red light on the monitor. With a flourish I pressed the “mute” button on the keyboard, then hit a two-key combination to unlock the screen saver. The group sighed with relief.
“What the hell is wrong with that thing?” Bill asked.
I replied, “Actually, something is very right with that thing. That little display is part of the security I’ve set up to protect the web site’s confidential data. I set the alarm to go off if someone tried to wake up the screen without using the right keystrokes.”
I glanced around, but no one looked overtly guilty of molesting my computer. I wondered about Raleigh La Pierre. He had been nominally in charge of maintaining the web site before I was hired. I could understand him wanting to see what the new girl was doing to his pages.
“Well, you don’t need to set that on the bus. It’s just us here,” said Bill.
“I take my webmaster duties very seriously, Bill,” I said, “and I’m not willing to compromise on security. I’d hate for a stray click to goof up coding, for instance. If anyone is interested in seeing the new page design, just ask, okay?”
Eyes narrowed, Bill nodded. I had annoyed him, but I’d also demonstrated some company loyalty. I hoped I’d passed a small test of trust.
Quentin asked, “May we see it, then?”
“Sure.”
I spent a few minutes on show and tell, and they seemed to like the new look. The individual pages for each of the performers, with updated photos and “Contact me” buttons, got several murmurs of approval, as did the sleek home page. The crowd drifted away nodding and smiling.
“Elegant,” said Quentin before turning back to his own work. I got the sense that coming from him, that was a big compliment.
An hour later, I needed another break. Mentally rubbing my hands with anticipation, I headed for the back of the bus. Sure enough, within 60 seconds, the chorus of Britney Spears’s brief hit “Oops, I Did It Again” serenaded the cabin at top volume. No one hollered at me this time, but I could almost hear teeth being gritted.
Returning to my seat, I again silenced the speakers and banished Britney from the screen.
“Somebody’s been eating my porridge,” I remarked into the sudden quiet. “Well, Goldilocks, you didn’t think I’d set my alarm the same way twice, did you? Not after everyone saw the code I used the first time. That wouldn’t be very security conscious.”
“You’ve made your point, Kielle. No one will mess with your machine again,” Bill promised for all of them.
“Great. ‘Cause I’ve got several dozen of these, each more irritating than the last — including fingernails on a chalkboard.” I didn’t need to exaggerate. With my eidetic memory, I could recall as many key codes as I needed without writing them down where they could be copied by someone else.
As I settled back into my chair, I caught Quentin’s sidelong smile.
“Something you’d like to tell me? Confession is good for the soul.”
He shook his head slightly. “Only that Goldilocks, having been embarrassed not once but twice, will be looking for a way to return the favor. Watch your back.”
“Always do.”
* * *
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