This morning, the radio warned of an accident on the parkway just beyond our exit that was backing up traffic in both directions. Alerted, we watched for the expected traffic jam and were quite relieved to speed along normally to our exit. However, an additional report indicated that "Hope Street in Stamford is shut down due to a car hitting a pole."
Our office is just one block off Hope Street. Although we saw traffic diverting down a side street, we continued on and drove along Hope Street wondering how the radio could conclude the street was closed by someone hitting a pole. Then, when we got to the turnoff to work, the traffic light hung blackly over the intersection. Ah, someone hit a POWER pole. Another block further, red, blue, and white strobe lights flashed randomly from police cruisers as cars were diverted and directed away from their intended destinations.
Gratefully, we glided into a parking spot and braved the cold through doors that were mysteriously propped open into a formerly secure lobby -- dark and cool. No elevators, so we trudged up to the third floor and after a couple of attempts found a security door that would let us enter our offices.
UPS' cried for attention from the server room. UPS' chirped and bleeped from under desktops in cubicles. My UPS and my computers were dark and silent. People had gathered in the kitchen to stare at the non-functioning coffee maker. I poured a cup of tepid tap water and drowned a teabag in it. A co-worker reported that the electrical flushing mechanism in the bathroom wouldn't... Let's not go there.
"I can't do anything without a computer," my friend said. "Let's get some coffee down the street." The traffic light had been working just a half-mile before our turnoff, at the strip mall where "Dunkin Donuts" was. I grabbed my jacket and headed toward the door just as flourescent lights blinked, flickered, and then lit the rooms. UPS' fell silent and, with a mighty groan, the heating system came to life.
One of the IT guys went past us to caress keyboards in the server room. Its going to be a long day for him.
People trickled back to their offices and life appeared to go back to normal. There was a email from a remote worker asking us to find her server and turn it on. It wasn't until after noon that someone remembered that her server's labeled name was about 2 years out of date, found it and got it started for her.
"I smell smoke," someone said. The faint odor permiated the floor, coming from the heating vents. "It's just the heater starting up," another said. The smell dissipated and once again things went back to normal.
By 9:30 we started to notice the heat. My little fan simply blew hot air around. People were threatening to take off their shirts. The usually frigid lab and server rooms were becoming over-populated. After fiddling with my desk clock, it began counting up the degrees, starting at 89. I wasn't able to get it into the hot part of the cubicle where my feet dangled amid three computers. To get some respite, we grabbed coats and walked through freezing drizzle to the cafeteria for lunch.
When we returned, the cubicle temperature was 91. I sent an email to the building engineers. At 93, I phoned. The IT guys, in sweat-soaked t-shirts were still bringing up servers and trying to accommodate the growing crowds in the labs. There has been the sound of boots tramping on the roof for over an hour and the temperature is 94.5. I have taken off my shoes and wool sox, put on sandals, and rolled up my corduroy pants to my knees. The wet paper towel I use to wipe down my arms, face, and neck keeps drying out.
Our office is just one block off Hope Street. Although we saw traffic diverting down a side street, we continued on and drove along Hope Street wondering how the radio could conclude the street was closed by someone hitting a pole. Then, when we got to the turnoff to work, the traffic light hung blackly over the intersection. Ah, someone hit a POWER pole. Another block further, red, blue, and white strobe lights flashed randomly from police cruisers as cars were diverted and directed away from their intended destinations.
Gratefully, we glided into a parking spot and braved the cold through doors that were mysteriously propped open into a formerly secure lobby -- dark and cool. No elevators, so we trudged up to the third floor and after a couple of attempts found a security door that would let us enter our offices.
UPS' cried for attention from the server room. UPS' chirped and bleeped from under desktops in cubicles. My UPS and my computers were dark and silent. People had gathered in the kitchen to stare at the non-functioning coffee maker. I poured a cup of tepid tap water and drowned a teabag in it. A co-worker reported that the electrical flushing mechanism in the bathroom wouldn't... Let's not go there.
"I can't do anything without a computer," my friend said. "Let's get some coffee down the street." The traffic light had been working just a half-mile before our turnoff, at the strip mall where "Dunkin Donuts" was. I grabbed my jacket and headed toward the door just as flourescent lights blinked, flickered, and then lit the rooms. UPS' fell silent and, with a mighty groan, the heating system came to life.
One of the IT guys went past us to caress keyboards in the server room. Its going to be a long day for him.
People trickled back to their offices and life appeared to go back to normal. There was a email from a remote worker asking us to find her server and turn it on. It wasn't until after noon that someone remembered that her server's labeled name was about 2 years out of date, found it and got it started for her.
"I smell smoke," someone said. The faint odor permiated the floor, coming from the heating vents. "It's just the heater starting up," another said. The smell dissipated and once again things went back to normal.
By 9:30 we started to notice the heat. My little fan simply blew hot air around. People were threatening to take off their shirts. The usually frigid lab and server rooms were becoming over-populated. After fiddling with my desk clock, it began counting up the degrees, starting at 89. I wasn't able to get it into the hot part of the cubicle where my feet dangled amid three computers. To get some respite, we grabbed coats and walked through freezing drizzle to the cafeteria for lunch.
When we returned, the cubicle temperature was 91. I sent an email to the building engineers. At 93, I phoned. The IT guys, in sweat-soaked t-shirts were still bringing up servers and trying to accommodate the growing crowds in the labs. There has been the sound of boots tramping on the roof for over an hour and the temperature is 94.5. I have taken off my shoes and wool sox, put on sandals, and rolled up my corduroy pants to my knees. The wet paper towel I use to wipe down my arms, face, and neck keeps drying out.
