Did Jesus use Linux?

Our company has partnered up with “The Da Vinci Code” in a promotional campaign. Why a major software company wants to be associated with a movie that is not only universally panned by critics, is the focus of much controversy, and is the target of a boycott campaign, but which also, besides everything else, has absolutely nothing to do with computers, is a mystery to everyone except our genius marketing department.

On the bright side, employees get free tickets to the movie.

As we wait to grab our tickets (do I want to see this movie, even if it’s free?), a stranger approaches us.

“You should view this movie with a critical mind,” the man says, without any introduction. “It is based on a completely fictional book.”

My coworker Jim fixes him with a withering stare. “You mean the Bible?” he asks.

The stranger goes away.

My workplace is still interesting.

When you gonna give me some time, Sharona?

Dateline is barraging the airwaves with its “To Catch a Predator” series. If you’ve watched NBC at any time in the last two months, you’ve come across the show revealing, in a repetitive episode after repetitive episode, the shocking news that there are — gasp — perverted people online. Do we really need Dateline to tell us this? Won’t a quick search of a random sample of okCupid profiles inform us of the same thing? What happened to the good old days when Dateline was known for serious investigative journalism and strapping explosives to GM trucks?

Watching dimwit after dimwit get caught by the show angers me for two reasons. First, I am annoyed by stupidity. Guys, if you’re chatting with a 12-year-old who seems strangely receptive to your munificent offers of anal sex and is enthusiastic about seeing your pasty, flabby self jerk off on webcam, shouldn’t that trip some sort of a faint alarm bell in the back of your head?

The second reason that I’m pissed at the show is that the “save the children” hysteria that it stirs up really undermines any attempts at interaction with anyone under 18. Anytime someone sees you talking to a young girl, they immediately assume the worst. Look, if I had some ulterior motives, would I be chatting to an underage girl about completely innocent topics, discussing her likes and dislikes, while dropping sexual innuendos at regular intervals? Of course not. Would I offer her a relaxing backrub or a fun tickle-fight? Or suggest that she take her shirt off to feel more comfortable? Would I suggest that she take a shower with me? If I really had anything devious on my mind, would I have this completely innocent 12-pack of flavored condoms and a glow-in-the-dark dildo on hand? No. We don’t need these witch hunts over innocent friendships. So chill, people. I’m only taking my pants off because it’s time for Dateline.

She uses a machete to cut through red tape

“Thank you for your interest in renewing your contract. Let me see what high-speed internet offers are available for you,” the AT&T customer service rep says. I can hear the keyboard on the other end of the line go clackety-clack. “Okay,” she says pleasantly, “there is an offer for $26.99 per month with a one-year contract.”

“Uh, I’ve been paying $19.99 up until now,” I say, “so there’s no reason for me to sign a one-year contract if my rate will go UP. Besides, I know that you’re running a promotion for $12.99 per month, so that’s the rate I’d like.”

“Unfortunately, that rate is only for new customers,” the rep says. “But, since you insist, I can give you $19.99 for one year.”

“I’m not under contract anymore, so I’m PRACTICALLY a new customer,” I reason with her.

“Sir,” she says, her voice becoming more tense, “that rate is only for new customers who currently do not have DSL.”

“Fine,” I say, “cancel my DSL and sign me up again right away, so I can qualify for the new customer rate.”

“Sure, I can cancel your service for you,” she says, pleasant once again. “Then you’ll have to wait until your service is disconnected, and then you’ll have to go online and sign up for DSL there. It will take about 7 to 10 business days for DSL to become activated.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Since you already know that I’m going to renew, you don’t really have to disconnect me. There’s no reason for me to lose my Internet connection for 10 business days just to get the lower rate. It’s just more work for you guys to have to disconnect and then reconnect me, and it’s less pleasant for me. I’d like to just get the new rate.”

“Sir,” she says, cold and distant again, “I can’t do that. The only way you can get the new rate is by cancelling the service.”

I sigh. “Listen,” I reason with her, “think about it. I can get what I want by jumping through a bunch of hoops and having your technicians do a bunch of unnecessary work. It’ll cost both me and your company time and money. Or, you can help me out by cutting out all the intermediate steps and just changing me to the new rate.”

There is a pause on the other end of the line. Perhaps she is being swayed by my unassailable logic? “Sir,” she says, “I will transfer you to my supervisor.”

I explain my ironclad reasoning to the supervisor.

“Sir,” he says. By now I know that “sir” can only mean bad news. “We cannot do that.”

“Look,” I say. “if you make me cancel my service with you, I will go and find another company to get DSL from. You don’t want to lose a customer. I don’t want to have to spend my time setting up DSL with someone else. Let’s work together on this.”

“Sir,” he starts, and I sigh. I already know what’s coming.

The George Foreman Grill is Jealous

In my never-ending quest for epicurean delights, I have recently acquired a crockpot. The idea of throwing a bunch of ingredients into a pot in the morning and forgetting about them for 8 hours until, magically, I have a delicious hot meal waiting for me when I get home appealed to my desire of getting a reward for expending no actual effort. It’d be like having a wife, I figured, except without the sex. Well, actually, I guess it would be exactly like having a wife. Only the crockpot wouldn’t nag. (Yeah, I’m a total feminist.)

And, I must say, the crockpot seems to be a really remarkable kitchen appliance that is amazingly effective at taking whatever random ingredients and spices I put into it, and turning them into a brownish-gray, bland blob of uniform gelatinous consistency lacking any sort of taste, flavor, or texture. It’s like eating meat-flavored Jell-O, except not quite as appetizing.

I wonder if my crockpot can make Soylent Green.

“You’re about to meet the new boss.”

My coworker Paul looks me up and down, with a faint smirk. I’m wearing a dirty t-shirt and crumpled workout pants. I was planning to do some cardio, not to meet a high-ranking exec flying in from another site.

“You might want to change into pants and a button-down shirt.” Paul wrinkles his nose. I should probably launder my gym clothes sometime.

Thirty minutes later, still wearing my workout clothes, I sit down at the conference table. I don’t have a button-down shirt with me anyway.

“I’d like to go around the table and have everyone introduce themselves,” says the new boss.

Paul smiles and nods at him. “My name is Paul and I am responsible for the inter-application export module and query transformation engine.”

It’s now my turn. I introduce myself. “I work on–“… but, what’s the point? The project we’ve all been working on is now, for all practical purposes, dead. Who cares what I’ve been doing until now? “I fix Paul’s code.”

Everyone laughs.

Paul is going to kick my ass.