Group
Efforts
The
Diary of a Workgroup Manager
Episode 47 (1998)
Our hero's server crashes, Llewellyn's assets soar, a fever grips the
building and June threatens to grip Amrat.
Thursday 2nd
Takeover fever has swept the building, as the company's unwelcome suitor woos our shareholders and the Board try to fight it off. I'm trying not to think about it, a task made easier by a 9.30am server crash which Amrat and the B2's Bill have so far failed to rectify. Without email or group systems, Rose and June have Radlett postings backed up and Sheila can't order any more A4 pads. The pads can wait, but the girls and backed-up postings are a potentially explosive combination, so I urge the servermeisters to hurry up. Sounding remarkably like a rogue plumber, Bill replies that 'you can't rush these things, guv', adding that we might not need a server anyway if the takeover goes through. Thanking him for that comforting thought, I retire to my office and, for the first time in living memory, peruse the appointments pages of a trade weekly.
Wednesday 8th
An All Stars Takeover Crisis Meeting, location Peg's. Andy says our fate is in the hands of the big institutional shareholders, and as most of them are only interested in a quick buck they'll probably take the cash. George says that means that the fund managers we're all relying on to maximise our pension plan values are now likely to sell us into redundancy in order to do just that, so its all our own fault really. Sensing an awful truth in there somewhere we head back, and run into a disgustingly cheerful Llewellyn, who boasts that his share options will net him £40K. Shaken by our taunts of 'traitor' and 'scumbag', he retreats. Unconsoled by the prospect of my own payout, I retreat too, dogged by the feeling that everything is starting to fall apart.
Monday 13th
Unbelievably, our server has failed again. This time I go straight to the top, telling Llewellyn to stop counting his share options and get our kit fixed before my girls go ballistic. Amrat arrives, hurt, and says that going over his head was uncalled for and could damage his career. I apologise, but June, who's overheard him, threatens to damage something else if he doesn't get his finger out, causing him to disappear behind the server at amazing speed. Cathy, normally reliably on-message, then comments that soon none of us will have careers anyway, causing what work had been going on to stop while alternative employment opportunities are discussed. My department now at a complete standstill, I head for the sanctuary of the canteen.
Tuesday 21st
The management meeting is a near-riot. Costello starts to tell us how he and the Old Man have been trying to convince the big shareholders to stay on board, but he's quickly drowned out by demands to know how he and the Old Man got us into this mess in the first place. Llewellyn attempts to rescue him by announcing that an NT server implementation project will start next month, but we all tell him to shut up, then return to grilling Costello. Afterwards we realise that was a pretty clever way to announce an NT Server implementation, and award him his first (and possibly last) ever free tea, a mark of respect which leaves him totally bemused. All it needs now is Nero and a fiddle to complete the picture.
Friday 24th
When things are bad, you can always rely on computers to make them worse. Yesterday Sheila's network card blew, and today Danny's hard disk suddenly announced that it was full. Cathy quickly traced the latter problem to a hidden folder full of questionable JPG images, but the feeling that these incidents represent the bursting rivets of our doomed ship is unavoidable. It's my duty to maintain morale, which I do by very publicly telling Amrat that if the NT servers don't match NetWare's performance then they'll have to go, because we've got some big summer contracts coming up. I'm in full flow at this when Danny tells me to belt up because his Active Desktop Channel is sending him news of the takeover. The conglomerate will be announcing the shareholder's response to its formal bid early next week. In a few days we'll know our fate.
Text © Paul
Stephens 1998
Illustration © Sholto Walker 1996