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Storage Wars

, , , , , | Working | CREDIT: Universal_Binary | July 13, 2026

Back when a disturbingly large number of people liked Internet Explorer and even used it by choice, I was working for a company that manufactured large metal things.

We had been hard at work at a major IT infrastructure upgrade. It had all the usual trappings of such things: gripes from the users that dislike change and would “just like MS-DOS back thankyouverymuch”, gripes about the color of the new icons, gripes about everything.

The IT team had been working hard at this thankless job for a long while, but it was getting to us all.

Part of the project was replacing hundreds of PCs with newer models. This was resulting in enough hard drives to destroy that our previous destruction method was overwhelmed. So, we had to find some other options. We didn’t have the time or space to do something like DBAN (disk wiping) on hundreds of PCs, so we needed something better and fast.

I had recently been promoted to my first managerial position, and I applied my “employee empowerment” lesson and let my tech team brainstorm about how to destroy all the data on those hard drives. I had expected ideas about e-waste recyclers, etc. But no. EVERY idea involved using large, dangerous machinery out in the manufacturing area. Some of them carried a risk of death, and my team was most excited about those.

Employee #1: “Would an hour in [EXTREMELY HOT INDUSTRIAL OVEN] destroy the data?”

Employee #2: “What if we dropped them into [VAT OF DANGEROUS CHEMICAL]?”

Employee #3: “Or better, what if we THREW them into [VAT] and watched [CHEMICAL] splash all over the place?”

Laughter from the team. Grimace from me.

Employee #4: “Maybe we could use some spare wire and build ourselves an eeeeeenormous electromagnet and wipe them that way!”

Employee #5: “How about the acetylene torch?”

Employee #6: “Maybe throw them at [LARGE SPINNING EQUIPMENT] and watch them get chopped to bits?”

Employee #7: “Nah, the bits would fly all over the place.”

Employee #6: “EVEN BETTER! We could SWEEP UP our hard drives when we’re done!”

Employee #8: “How about bats like in Office Space?”

Employee #9: “No, AXES would be better!”

Employee #10: “What about the welders? Surely, they could pulverise them somehow?”

Employee #11: “No, the ROBOTIC welders! We’ll program them to destroy the drives!”

Employee #12: “Or maybe the laser cutters?”

Employee #13: “Could we put them in a big pile, douse them with gas, and just light them all on fire?”

You can see this was going downhill (or uphill, depending on your perspective) fast. Perhaps they were also enjoying making me squirm, particularly when they started with the pseudo-realistic ideas involving chainsaws.

One of the youngest members of the team ran off to go talk to his buddy on the manufacturing floor. This buddy was a jovial, burly, cynical, tattooed, leather-wearing Harley rider who would LOVE to use expensive corporate equipment to smash other expensive corporate equipment to bits. Probably even more than the techs who had been listening to upgrade whines for six months. I liked the guy and the young team member, but I feared that the combination of adventure-seeking tech and danger-seeking equipment operator would get out of hand – and if we weren’t careful, someone might lose theirs. 

Eventually, when the techs ran out of steam with the ideas, I laid down three ground rules:

  1. Nobody gets hurt.
  2. Data must actually be destroyed.
  3. Must be fast.

Before too long, the young team member returned with an ENORMOUS smile on his face, carrying two hard drives with large holes in the middle.

Young Team Member: “We tried it on the [ridiculously large] drill press, and it cut through them like putty!”

Employee #1: “What’s this white liquid on them?”

Young Team Member: “Oh, that’s the cooling liquid the drill automatically sprays on the things being drilled to keep from overheating.”

The young team member and the rest of my team excitedly scampered off to the drill press to drill more holes in more drives. I went over and watched a few with, yes, a smile on my face also. 

But it all came crashing down when they tried the press brake, which is a machine used to basically fold massive sheets of steel. I’m not talking thin sheets like tin or something. This was thick, hard steel, and it folded it like paper. My techs (or perhaps their equally entertained friends in the shop) had the idea of putting hard drives in the press brake, and bending them beyond recognition.

Unfortunately, it transpired that hard drives in a press brake don’t bend, or, at least they don’t ONLY bend. They also… explode. Bits of hard drive flew out of the machine and went an exciting dangerous distance.

I wasn’t there to witness it, but my team was ecstatic about this effect. Unfortunately Fortunately, it was witnessed by a certain tight-sphinctered manager with a clipboard and a reflective vest; thus ended the festivities.

Some on my team begged to keep doing it, saying:

Employee #1: “It’ll be fine if we just lay the drives down flat.”

Employee #2: “We’ll do it after-hours and even put up a safety sign!”

Me: “Somehow I don’t think a ‘Caution: Exploding Hard Drives’ sign will really solve this one.”

Since everyone involved had actually followed the company safety policy by wearing eye protection and so forth, my team got away with a verbal reprimand; same with the equipment operators. But I had to officially forbid the team from using corporate equipment to pulverize magnetic-based non-volatile storage devices.

However, managers were only there during business hours, but the manufacturing area ran 24/7 with multiple shifts. Some of my team, including that youngest team member, worked an earlyish shift to help out with early-morning IT issues. I couldn’t help but notice that the stack of drives with holes in them was larger each morning when I walked in, and a poorly-concealed grin on the youngest team member’s face as he said “good morning” each day.

I grinned back and kept on walking to my desk. 

Better not to ask.

Losing The Name Game, Part 3

, , , | Right | July 13, 2026

My parents ran a very small office in the Midwest. I chose to use my nickname when I started working for them (a not-uncommon one), as we had another person in the office with the same name. There were two people with one name and two people with another name. The nickname really did help avoid confusion!

A customer who was definitely not a regular called in one day and was quite upset to learn of a price increase (a decade-delayed one, may I add) for what he wanted.

Caller: “What is your name?!”

I told him.

Caller: “That’s a stupid name! How’d you get such a stupid name like that?”

I did not bother covering the mouthpiece of the receiver as I turned and called out across the office:

Me: “Mom! Some guy on the phone wants to know where I got my stupid name from!”

He was MUCH better behaved after she took over the call.

Related:
Losing The Name Game, Part 2
Losing The Name Game

State-ing The Obvious

, , , , | Right | July 13, 2026

I work in a call center for a government agency. Today, I got this call…

Me: “Thank you for calling [Agency]. My name is [My Name], ID number [Number]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Yes, hello. You can help me with [Problem]?”

The caller has a heavy Spanish accent and speaks broken English.

Me: “So you’re calling about [Problem]?”

Caller: “Yes, I call a this.”

Me: “Sir, are you more comfortable communicating in another language?”

Caller: “I speak a Spanish.”

Me: “We do have a Spanish line. If you would like, I can transfer you to that line to get assistance in your language.”

Caller: “No. I wait a two hour that line. No person answer it. You help me, please.”

Me: *Screaming internally because I know exactly how this is going to go.* “If that’s what you would prefer, sir. In order to assist you, I will need to ask a few security questions so that I can access your account. Is that okay?”

Caller: “I no understand.”

Me: *Slower, more deliberate.* “I have to ask you some questions. Is that okay?”

Caller: “Yes, this okay.”

I ask him for his name and Social Security number, which I need to access his account. He’s able to give me those.

Me: “And may I have your current address, please?”

Caller: “I no understand.”

Me: “Your address. I need to know your address.”

Caller: “I no understand.”

Me: “Where you live, sir?”

Caller: “[State].”

Me: “Okay, and can you give me the street address?”

Caller: “I no understand.”

Me: “Where in [State] do you live?”

Caller: “[State].”

Me: “Yes, but where in [State]?”

Caller: “I tell you. In [State].”

Me: “I need your exact address, sir.”

Caller: *Now agitated.* “Is [State]!”

Me: “Sir, are you certain you would not prefer to speak with the Spanish line? It seems we have a language barrier here.”

Caller: “I NO WAIT A TWO HOUR! YOU HELP ME!”

Me: “That’s what I’m ATTEMPTING to do, sir.”

Caller: *Curses me out in Spanish for forty-five seconds and hangs up.*

Hopefully, The New Owner Can Machine Learn From This

, , , , , , | Working | July 13, 2026

My friend/coworker and I both have about thirty years in our industry, most of them at our current company. The old owner (who hired us both directly back in the day) retired, and his son took over. 

Not even a month after the old owner’s retirement party, I see my coworker storming toward his desk, angrily.

Coworker: “They just fired me.”

Me: “What?! Tell me you’re joking!”

Coworker: “Oh, it’s a joke all right. They won’t say it because it’ll open them up to a lawsuit, but they’re getting rid of all of us OG guys because we’re paid too much. They’re calling it restructuring, but we all know what that means.”

Me: “But I’ve been here longer than you? Why are they letting you go and not me?”

Coworker: “They got rid of Adams, Black, and now me, Cartwright. The idiots are going through all of us old timers in alphabetical order and aren’t even hiding it.”

My coworker and friends packed up his desk and were escorted from the building. Lucky for him, thirty years of experience and a crazy number of accreditations meant he was rehired at a competitor by the end of the next month. Also by the end of next month, I could tell the sharks were circling, and my time would soon be up, regardless of how much I improved my productivity. 

I asked my friend if there was an opening in our competitor’s company, and he said, “Consider it done”, so I started to prepare my two weeks’ notice. 

I’m finally called into a meeting to face the firing squad, but what they say really surprises me:

New Owner: “Hi, [My Name]. As you may have noticed, there have been some organizational changes around here.”

Me: “I’m the only guy left who is on [High Salaried Level].”

New Owner: “Ha ha, yes, well, you must feel overworked after all this… structural change. But don’t worry, we’re here to help. The company has just purchased [Expensive New AI Tool], and we’d like to train you to use it, so that you can train it to run most of your tasks and manage your projects. Isn’t that great?!”

Me: “So… you fired everyone who knew what they were doing. You’re realizing now that there’s a knowledge vacuum, but instead of hiring those people back, or even hiring new ones, you want me to give my hard-earned experience for free to a set of computer code so that you can let the last guy go? Yeah, hard pass.”

New Owner: “Now, [My Name], I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. You’re—”

Me: “—Actually, you are.” *Slides over the envelope.* “That’s my two weeks.”

New Owner: “Wait, are you… quitting?”

Me: “Yup!”

New Owner: “But… we need you to train the AI! We need you to—”

Me: “—should have thought about that before effectively telling all my guys that we make too much money. Turns out sending that message to your staff doesn’t exactly inspire them to stick around and aspire for higher positions and pay rises. In fact, the message is, if you want to make more money, start looking around for another job, so that’s exactly what I did. Four of the guys you fired are already over at [Competitor], and I’m going to join them.”

New Owner: “This is… this is really unfair! It will take way more than two weeks for you to train the AI to do anything useful!”

Me: “Oh, I am so very sorry. I gave you the impression I would still be coming into the office for the next two weeks. Well, y’see, I have so much PTO saved up, with some carried over from previous years that I’m still owed, that I’ll be at home playing video games for the next two weeks while you pay me. Doing anything otherwise would be messy. Just ask HR.” 

I stand up to leave, with the new owner both glaring at me and looking like he’s sulking big time.

Me: “I’m sure you’ll be fine, though, right? Just hire one of the other guys to train your AI. I mean, you must have someone at my level still here, right? It would be soooo idiotic to fire everyone at my level except for me and then just expect I am going to train the AI to do my job for me? I mean, of course, you didn’t do that. Right?”

I walk out the door.

Me: “Good luck! Thank your dad for the great thirty years I’ve had here!”

My two weeks playing vintage games were great. My new job was even better. The knowledge that our old business lost most of its clients and had to hire expensive consultants to do what we did (for way cheaper, mind you), that was the best.

The Fine Art of Missing the Point

, , , , | Right | July 13, 2026

I work in a high-end art supplies store. We carry many items that are high quality, hence not cheap or inexpensive at all.

I’m ending my shift and saying goodbye to my colleague (I’m also in a bit of a rush) when I see a lady looking at me like she needs help immediately, so I decide to go see if I can rapidly help before going (always a mistake!).

She points at her daughter, a girl who could be at most twenty years old, and loudly says:

Customer: “SHE has to find a gift for her father-in-law! He paints!”

I start showing them a beautiful handmade sketchbook, it’s a great item, beautiful gift, that is usually much appreciated when I receive that kind of request, it’s the “go to” option which I use to convince people immediately, but she’s not listening to me. 

She points somewhere else.

Customer: “How about those pencils?”

Me: “Sure, these are watercolor pencils, and the price is [price].”

Customer: “Wow! That’s a lot! And are you sure they are watercolor?”

I almost start to laugh and say:

Me: “Well, yes, we do use these every day. I can show you how they work.”

The daughter, very embarrassed, says:

Customer’s Daughter: “Mom! She works here, she knows!”

Customer: “Well, you never know… and what is that thing?”

Me: “That is a watercolor set with a watercolor tin by [top brand]. Price is [three times the pencils].”

She is appalled.

Customer: “WHY IS IT SO EXPENSIVE?!”

I explain that quality goes with price and the watercolor tin alone is half the cost of the set. She can’t believe it.

She then points to a luxury wooden box, with even more pencils in it than the previous set.

Me: “Well, ma’am, that is [higher price].”

Customer: “Oh my God! They sure didn’t look that expensive!”

The daughter looks even more embarrassed, of course, and I start my spiel again about professional quality, materials, and so on, but she’s not convinced.

At a certain point, she starts telling my colleague and me, who want to save me and send me home, that she used to come in all the time, but the shop was different.

Customer: “When did you open here?”

Me: “Seventeen years ago.”

Customer: “Impossible, I used to come here ten years ago; it was a different shop, with a different name.”

We are honestly speechless; the daughter is even more uncomfortable and tries to take us back to the real purpose of the visit.

Customer’s Daughter: “So, tell me more about the sketchbook.”

We go back to how beautiful it is, how it reflects our history, and it’s usually very much appreciated by artists. The mom is still blabbing about the fact that the shop had a different name and we are surely wrong, because she used to come in ALL THE TIME.

At this point, I find a way to excuse myself and leave them to my colleague.

The lady is nice, just very oblivious, and tells me she noticed I was in a rush and let me go.

In the end, I was told they decided on the sketchbook.

While they were paying, my colleague repeated that it’s all handmade.

Customer: “Yeah, yeah, it’s beautiful and everything, but nowadays we know that everything is MASS PRODUCED!”

My colleague facepalmed, and the daughter dragged her mom out, while she was still asking herself what the name of the shop was ten years ago, because she used to work ON THE SAME STREET and used to come in ALL THE TIME!”