A knock on the door. "Ugh," mutters the Pederson-BOFH in
greeting. Another knock. Another "Ugh," keyboard clacking.
Slowly, hesitantly, the door opens, propelled by the laws of
physics and the force of a megabozoluser's will.
This megabozoluser has been to this office before. His voice
cracks as he clears his throat and offers "um, Mr. Pederson, sir?"
"Ugh." Clickety-clack, don't echo back.
"Um, sir?" Nervous cough.
Somehow conveying that if he were to turn around he'd be glaring
straight between the eyes of the megabozoluser, the Pederson-BOFH stops
typing just long enough to say "what." The typing resumes.
"Um, I was, er, hoping that I could, well, um, I was working on
this thing, see, and it said I need, um, root access to install it and I,
um, er, can you give me root?"
"Sure."
"Well, okay, I understand, it's just that with you being so busy
and all I didn't want to bother you with having to install this for me so
I thought I'd save you some time and -- what?"
"Ugh." Clickety-clack.
"Oh, wow, thanks! What do I do?"
"See that barrel next to the door?"
"Yes?"
"Put your ass in it."
"What?"
"I said, put your ass in it."
The megabozoluser tiptoes farther inside and peers into the
barrel, which is marked "GRADE D MEAT NOT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION."
"My ass?"
"Your ass." Clickety-clack.
"In here?"
The Pederson-BOFH sighs. "Yes, in there."
"Then what?"
"Then you leave, and I open a root window on your X term. It will
automatically disappear after fifteen minutes."
After peering quizically at the barrel for another moment, the
megabozoluser awkardly perches himself on the edge with his ass hanging
down. "Is this good enough?"
"It's a start. Now, leave it there and get out. Your window
will automatically five minutes after you walk out my door."
"Leave what?"
"Your ass."
"Huh? You want me to leave my ass in that barrel, while I run
upstairs?"
"If you want root, I own your ass. It's that simple."
