Vic Socotra

28 June 2008

Idiots

Yeah, I was awake before the alarm on Saturday morning. The high summer light was going to be coming along shortly, whether I liked it or not, and my first thoughts were that I was screwed. Not the good way, not the lazy Saturday stay-in-bed-way that starts with a sly smile to your best friend.

Nothing like that. I awoke realizing I had to find a computer hooked up to the Government classified network. Someone had sent me a message on the system, and it was important. It includes the detailed instructions for the project I am working on, and it has a deadline Monday afternoon after the Fourth of July weekend. Every hour counts.

Maybe. The answer to that is classified. Well, actually not. It is not classified, but the unclassified answer is on a classified machine, protected by a guard, a vault door, a smart card and a couple strong passwords.

Did I mention the Contracting Officer is an idiot?

The government is overwhelmed, and they have brought in some new people who do not understand how things work. Their frustration had led to hostility with the vendor community, since at least one of the Primes on the potential work went to the Acquisition Executive to complain a bout their incompetence.

That got them on the shit-list, according to the Contracting Officer I had to shmooze in an attempt to find out what was going on. The incumbent on the job had managed to piss off the CO as well, which is why I thought there might be a chance to unseat them and make this effort all worthwhile.

Did I mention the Contracting Officer is an idiot? I forget.

In my experience, when dealing with the intellectually challenged it is best to speak softly. If you start yelling it is difficult for those watching the encounter to determine exactly who the idiot really is. Plus, it would be whining, and we are taught not to do that. However inconvenient, we are not deployed, and no one is shooting at us, which is more than you can say about the ultimate customer.

That was the gnawing problem. The message had come in on the unclassified internet last night at dinner time. It was enigmatic. It said that there was a message waiting on the classified system, and although the message itself was not classified, the scanner to digitize the file had broken at the Government office, and they could not get it out on the regular internet that we all use, home and office.

Then they told us not to call and bother them in the interest of transparency in the competition, logged off, and went home for the weekend.

That meant the message was trapped behind vault doors and double encryption. If the deadline had been pushed back, I could take Saturday and most of Sunday to bask in the sun like a Monitor Lizard. If the deadline stood, I would be committed to working this weekend, and right through the next. The problem was that I had to go to work to find out, and that was close enough to being work that it was impossible to distinguish the difference.

Looking up as the sky began to show the first faint hint of gray, I reviewed the options, and cursed. This is not an inconsequential opportunity. It represents perhaps a dozen jobs, with three option years, and one of them is perfect for an associate who is losing coverage, and is sweating his job.

The machine we use to communicate with the Government on the “high side” is in a vault about forty minutes away. The vault door is locked, and the keeper has departed for the weekend. The alternate keeper is on vacation.

During the week, of course, there is no problem. The government facilities are open, and the company is also open for business. Plenty of options. Getting the message after the facilities were all sealed up tight as a drum made the agony that much more delicious, and the message from the contracting officer that much more infuriating.

This was going to be a problem.

I ran through the list of options. There were really only two: I could start a round of hysterical calls, dragging people across Northern Virginia from their breakfast tables and early soccer games. Depending on how deep in the list I had to go, I was going to look like an idiot to a lot of people.

The other possibility was to go camp out at a Government vault and hope for an act of kindness from a stranger. It is the spook equivalent of the homeless man standing next to the on-ramp at the freeway with a cardboard sign asking for spare change.

If it is bad news waiting, it means lining up a full work team for a Sunday of reviewing resumes and writing. The pricing people would not have to be called until Monday, that could wait, but the editors needed to be notified and the ranks of the workers would start to thin out by Wednesday, looking toward the holiday. It would be essential to lock down those who would reluctantly commit to sacrificing their holiday to the greater good.

There is a government mission to be met, and there is a modest profit to be made if we can meet it. More than that, it will help stabilize the revenue stream and justify my continued employment. Times being what they are, a paycheck is a marvelous thing.

I cursed again, and got up to make the coffee. I had to get to work to find out whether I had to work or not.

The beans this month from my coffee club are organic Timor Maubesse. The birds began to sing as they flew about energetically about getting their breakfast. I wondered if I should consider simplifying my life, since there is the distinct possibility that I am the idiot.

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