spyware

Helpdesk Level 1 technician Janet: off for doctor visit and followup on the the totaled car her teenage daughter produced Monday night.

Helpdesk Level 2 technician robland: Late for work, pale as a sheet, threateningly barfy looking, now in Slidell debugging office relocation.

Helpdesk Level 3 and 4, and System Administrator...ME...: Sole sucker on the help desk phone.

Oh JOY, what a wonderful day! Nothing quite like the bracing splash of futility from working a support line all by your lonesome. Sure, there are the mundane tasks: resetting passwords, adjusting directory permissions, installing applications, and handing out advice on basic mouse operations. Occasionally, however, the drudgery is blown open by a real task: busting somebody for fucking off.

I am the last person in the world to throw stones when it comes to slacking. If you know me well, then you recognize the ooh-ooh-shiny-shiny priority I have in life. I can bid eBay at work just like the best of them. I am also, however, the guardian of this little mess o' wire and bits. In as much, I'm the network despot. Hate me, despise me, threaten me, blow me, I'm the guy who blocks your access to defamer.com. It's my hand that slapped you for spending too much time at overstock.com. Can't read the scores from last night's curling results? Yes, that's me, too. I do it for a reason, and not because of the content. This company is a military contractor whose data is irreplaceable. I must protect it. *trumpet blast* Here I come, to save the day!

I digress.

The antivirus system I use has an administrative notification. When you get a virus, I know it. The latest iteration includes spyware and malware protection, too. So I'm minding the shop when my inbox gets nailed with, count 'em, fifty-six virus notifications. Panic mode is on deck, but I see they're all from the same source, a brand new guy in customer service. Now I don't know much about armored vehicles, but I do know that the guys who supply service for them are as sharp as a spare tire. This new fellow has been around for three weeks. My introduction to him was basically his boss saying, "This is Nate. He needs a laptop and he's leaving for Dubai in two hours."

So it's this guy that sets off the alarms at lunch today, in a big way, too. Three different spyware apps, two toolbars, and three malware packages. Smooth work for only having the thing three weeks. After getting the phone covered for a few minutes, I tromped down to his desk.

"So, Nate, anything going on? Having any problems?"

"Oh. Well. You know I am as a matter of fact. How'd you know?"

"Because your antivirus client just sent me 50 emails."

"Ah. Oh. I don't know what I did to do that." Sure you don't.

I relax the bulldog stance and ask him to refrain from visiting whatever site he was at. What a nice guy I am. Twenty or so minutes pass, and another virus alert comes in, same guy, same site. I make a mental note to visit him again, but before I can get up, he walks right into my cubicle. Oh, this'll be easy!

"Hey, Chris, listen, I'm having some problems with my laptop." No shit? Really?

"Yeah, like what?" I query.

"Well, I'm having issues with these programs I installed." Wrong answer and violation of I.T. Rule # 4: Thou shalt not load software.

"Really?" I feign. "What did you install?" I said, baiting the mouse with aged cheese.

"Well, I installed Limewire," *gasp* "and RealPlayer." *semi-gasp* Limewire is a file trader, the bane of a system admin's existence, for they bring many nasty slimy bugs into the fold. RealPlayer I don't like for it's invasive program hooks and it's ever-present tendency to always phone home.

"Hey, Nate, you're not supposed to have file trader programs on your machine. It's against corporate policy. Did you know that?" I already knew the answer.

"Uh. No. Does that have anything to do with my other problem? I can't get to any webmail sites." Doh. Another no-no, for the less savvy among us will always open that virus they get on their Hotmail. I explain this to the guy and let him go, after requesting he drop off the machine so I can decontanimate the laptop. He agrees and takes off.

But, of course, I'm nosy. I attach to his machine from the network and snoop around. Whoa! What's this I spy? The records from what he played on RealPlayer! Well take a look at that! One hour after he got to work today, he decided it was time to break out the "orgy scene" from Eyes Wide Shut. Very classy. What else? Oh, yes, here's the couch scene from Monsters Ball, you know the where Halle Berry is all...never mind. Anyway, he was watching that at 10:30, probably over coffee and ho-ho's.

In summary, the dude is busted. I know I'm going to get the machine at one, so I decide to just wait. Bastard didn't drop it off! Little fucker is in for some fun when he shows up in the morning.

The head of HR, one of my buds at the plant, explained to me that he's probably going to get a stern warning and double secret probation. I offered my ass-kicking services, but she declined. Her loss.

Am I a bastard for being such a bastard? Say what you want, my network runs like a top, barring any unscheduled nude scenes ported in via laptop.

Case closed. NEXT!