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Apparently, Children, and Christmas: awkward. @howtobeprada imagine if you called the wrong number and "mom?" "no this is Morgan freeman" Reply Retweet Favorite voroxpete: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.” So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is “No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.” I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear: “Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.” I accidentally called the director of the FBI. My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon. This is my new favourite story. When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified. There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.  The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.  During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.” So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.  I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing. So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by… “Uh… Is Shantavia there?” It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States. There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink. The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.  Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before. But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started. Seriously, this is legit. In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline.  Here’s the ad they posted. Only problem is, they misprinted the number.  And the number they printed?  It went straight through to fucking NORAD.  This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay.  NORAD was the front line. And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD.  Oh no no no. Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the number,” she says. “This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on the United States,” Rick says. The red phone rang one day in December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ” His children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, Terri says, the little voice started crying. “And Dad realized that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the phones to act like Santa Claus.” “It got to be a big joke at the command center. You know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering Santa calls,’ ” Terri says. And then, it got better. “The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam says. “And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” Rick says. “Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says. For real. “And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor. And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s known for.” “Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.” So yeah.  I think that might be the best wrong number of all time. Source:  http://www.npr.org/2014/12/19/371647099/norads-santa-tracker-began-with-a-typo-and-a-good-sport
Apparently, Children, and Christmas: awkward.
 @howtobeprada
 imagine if you called the wrong number and
 "mom?"
 "no this is Morgan freeman"
 Reply
 Retweet Favorite
voroxpete:
arctic-hands:

therobotmonster:

kuroba101:

prismatic-bell:

HERE’S THE THING THOUGH
I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click
And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.”
So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is
“No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.”
I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear:
“Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.”
I accidentally called the director of the FBI.
My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon.

This is my new favourite story.

When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified.
There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server. 
The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors. 
During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.”
So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound. 
I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing.
So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by…
“Uh… Is Shantavia there?”
It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States.
There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink.
The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring. 

Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before.

But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started.
Seriously, this is legit.
In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline.  Here’s the ad they posted.
Only problem is, they misprinted the number.  And the number they printed?  It went straight through to fucking NORAD.  This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay.  NORAD was the front line.
And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD.  Oh no no no.

Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red 
one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the 
number,” she says.
“This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, 
and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on 
the United States,” Rick says.
The red phone rang one day in 
December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a 
small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ”
His 
children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was 
annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, 
Terri says, the little voice started crying.
“And Dad realized 
that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, 
ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your 
mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper 
yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad 
looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had 
children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the 
phones to act like Santa Claus.”
               
   “It got to be a big joke at the command center. You 
know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering 
Santa calls,’ ” Terri says.
And then, it got better.

“The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and
 Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam 
says.
“And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was
 a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” 
Rick says.
“Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re
 sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ 
Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called 
the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat 
Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks 
like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour 
and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says.

For real.

“And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people 
saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor.
 And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a 
briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she
 says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s 
known for.”
“Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.”

So yeah.  I think that might be the best wrong number of all time.
Source:  http://www.npr.org/2014/12/19/371647099/norads-santa-tracker-began-with-a-typo-and-a-good-sport

voroxpete: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I was ...

Apparently, Children, and Christmas: awkward. @howtobeprada imagine if you called the wrong number and "mom?" "no this is Morgan freeman" Reply Retweet Favorite kkhendin: voroxpete: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.” So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is “No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.” I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear: “Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.” I accidentally called the director of the FBI. My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon. This is my new favourite story. When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified. There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.  The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.  During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.” So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.  I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing. So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by… “Uh… Is Shantavia there?” It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States. There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink. The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.  Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before. But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started. Seriously, this is legit. In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline.  Here’s the ad they posted. Only problem is, they misprinted the number.  And the number they printed?  It went straight through to fucking NORAD.  This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay.  NORAD was the front line. And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD.  Oh no no no. Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the number,” she says. “This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on the United States,” Rick says. The red phone rang one day in December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ” His children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, Terri says, the little voice started crying. “And Dad realized that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the phones to act like Santa Claus.” “It got to be a big joke at the command center. You know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering Santa calls,’ ” Terri says. And then, it got better. “The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam says. “And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” Rick says. “Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says. For real. “And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor. And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s known for.” “Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.” So yeah.  I think that might be the best wrong number of all time. Source:  http://www.npr.org/2014/12/19/371647099/norads-santa-tracker-began-with-a-typo-and-a-good-sport It got better.
Apparently, Children, and Christmas: awkward.
 @howtobeprada
 imagine if you called the wrong number and
 "mom?"
 "no this is Morgan freeman"
 Reply
 Retweet Favorite
kkhendin:
voroxpete:

arctic-hands:

therobotmonster:

kuroba101:

prismatic-bell:

HERE’S THE THING THOUGH
I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click
And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.”
So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is
“No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.”
I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear:
“Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.”
I accidentally called the director of the FBI.
My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon.

This is my new favourite story.

When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified.
There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server. 
The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors. 
During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.”
So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound. 
I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing.
So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by…
“Uh… Is Shantavia there?”
It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States.
There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink.
The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring. 

Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before.

But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started.
Seriously, this is legit.
In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline.  Here’s the ad they posted.
Only problem is, they misprinted the number.  And the number they printed?  It went straight through to fucking NORAD.  This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay.  NORAD was the front line.
And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD.  Oh no no no.

Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red 
one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the 
number,” she says.
“This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, 
and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on 
the United States,” Rick says.
The red phone rang one day in 
December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a 
small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ”
His 
children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was 
annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, 
Terri says, the little voice started crying.
“And Dad realized 
that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, 
ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your 
mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper 
yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad 
looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had 
children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the 
phones to act like Santa Claus.”
               
   “It got to be a big joke at the command center. You 
know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering 
Santa calls,’ ” Terri says.
And then, it got better.

“The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and
 Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam 
says.
“And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was
 a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” 
Rick says.
“Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re
 sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ 
Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called 
the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat 
Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks 
like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour 
and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says.

For real.

“And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people 
saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor.
 And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a 
briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she
 says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s 
known for.”
“Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.”

So yeah.  I think that might be the best wrong number of all time.
Source:  http://www.npr.org/2014/12/19/371647099/norads-santa-tracker-began-with-a-typo-and-a-good-sport


It got better.

kkhendin: voroxpete: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center...

Apparently, Click, and College: awkward. @howtobeprada imagine if you called the wrong number and "mom?" "no this is Morgan freeman" Reply Retweet Favorite fun-n-fashion: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.” So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is “No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.” I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear: “Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.” I accidentally called the director of the FBI. My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon. This is my new favourite story. When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified. There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.  The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.  During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.” So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.  I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing. So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by… “Uh… Is Shantavia there?” It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States. There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink. The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.  Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before. This is how the whole Santa Tracker thing got started with NATO.  Also reminds me of a story.  A dude I once knew has a fancy job in computer security that has him travelling all over the world and one of my favorite stories is how this company (I was not allowed to know the name due to confidentiality clauses but I was assured it was one with strong ties to national security) had a problem where every day their servers would go down at the same time for 15 mins straight and no one could figure out why because everything checked out and it was literally supposed to be impossible for the servers to go down and so they hired him to come have a look at their servers and figure out if they were being hacked or what because according to security logs no one had been in there that shouldn’t be. The security around the server room was ridiculous. Like, he couldn’t even go in the room without the head of security and one of the vice presidents of the company in there with him.  He had to pretty much force them to let him put a small camera, encrypted data  streaming to his laptop,  in the server room overnight and then he wasn’t allowed to leave with his laptop. So he goes in and reviews the footage the next day and at the exact time stamp he has for the footage going down he sees…. The cleaning person unplugging the servers so that they can plug in their vacuum. Fifteen minutes later the vacuuming is done and the servers are up and running again. 
Apparently, Click, and College: awkward.
 @howtobeprada
 imagine if you called the wrong number and
 "mom?"
 "no this is Morgan freeman"
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fun-n-fashion:

arctic-hands:

therobotmonster:

kuroba101:

prismatic-bell:

HERE’S THE THING THOUGH
I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click
And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.”
So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is
“No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.”
I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear:
“Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.”
I accidentally called the director of the FBI.
My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon.

This is my new favourite story.

When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified.
There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server. 
The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors. 
During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.”
So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound. 
I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing.
So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by…
“Uh… Is Shantavia there?”
It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States.
There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink.
The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring. 

Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before.

This is how the whole Santa Tracker thing got started with NATO. 
Also reminds me of a story. 
A dude I once knew has a fancy job in computer security that has him travelling all over the world and one of my favorite stories is how this company (I was not allowed to know the name due to confidentiality clauses but I was assured it was one with strong ties to national security) had a problem where every day their servers would go down at the same time for 15 mins straight and no one could figure out why because everything checked out and it was literally supposed to be impossible for the servers to go down and so they hired him to come have a look at their servers and figure out if they were being hacked or what because according to security logs no one had been in there that shouldn’t be.
The security around the server room was ridiculous. Like, he couldn’t even go in the room without the head of security and one of the vice presidents of the company in there with him. 
He had to pretty much force them to let him put a small camera, encrypted data  streaming to his laptop,  in the server room overnight and then he wasn’t allowed to leave with his laptop. So he goes in and reviews the footage the next day and at the exact time stamp he has for the footage going down he sees…. The cleaning person unplugging the servers so that they can plug in their vacuum. Fifteen minutes later the vacuuming is done and the servers are up and running again. 

fun-n-fashion: arctic-hands: therobotmonster: kuroba101: prismatic-bell: HERE’S THE THING THOUGH I used to work for a call center and I...

Advice, Bilbo, and Books: the-honey-blossom: lilprince: ekjohnston: cogito-ergo-dumb: sourwolf-loki-destiel-221b: iridescentoracle: animate-mush: malibujojo: pippin4242: lulasseth: imsorryimovedtoaidanturnerspants: hash-tag-whatever: Merry: confused awe Frodo: confused awe Sam: confused awe Pippin: finally i’m getting the respect i deserve from these peasants  so accurate i am choking on my carrot. this is making me giggle harder than it should. I love Pippin so much. I don’t think there will come time when I’m not reblogging this. Sorry guys.  no no no you guys don’t understand, Pippin is someone really important in the Shire! The books don’t talk about it a lot, and the movies won’t touch that stuff with a bargepole, but Pippin will be inheriting land rights to about a quarter of the Shire. He’s second in line to becoming military leader of all Hobbits. His dad is currently in charge of that stuff, but he’s completely aware of it, and educated for it, and that’s why he’s such an over privileged little shit in the books. I thought it was a shame the movies didn’t talk about class differences in the Shire. Also puts M&P stealing food in an uglier light. To be fair, at the time of the Party, Pippin would have been 12, which puts it back into a more acceptable light.  And they’re stealing food from Bilbo, a wealthy and eccentric family member, which again makes things a bit different. But yes, when they call Pippin Ernil i Perrianath - Prince of the Halflings - they are actually completely spot on. And when Pippin tells Bergil “my father farms the land around Tuckborough” he’s deliberately downplaying his class so that he can greet the boy as an equal rather than a superior.  It’s Pippin’s most adult moment in the series.  Bergil is engaging in a status contest which Pippin can totally win - but instead chooses not to compete.  Pippin is a gilded and spoiled lordling in the Shire, but he becomes a Man of Gondor. Yeah, to add a bit of unnecessary trivia/level of preciseness, Frodo is the oldest of the four; he was born in 2968, was (obviously) 33 at the time of the Party, and so he’s 51 here. Sam’s second-oldest; born in 2980, he was 21 when Bilbo left and is 39 at this point. Merry’s two years younger than Sam, making him 18 or 19 in 3001, when the Party took place, and Pippin was born in 2990, so he was actually 10 or 11 during the Party, and during this scene they’re ~37 and ~29, respectively. So yeah, Pippin’s the youngest by a lot. Plus, taking hobbit aging into account, he really is still in the equivalent of his teens; remember the Party was half to celebrate Frodo’s coming-of-age at 33, and Pippin’s around twenty years younger than Frodo.  This fucked me up. I didn’t read the books and in the movie it was shown like Frodo took off with the ring like 2 days after Bilbo’s gone away, but it was 17 years after that. OMFG. i’m not sure if it’s ever been explicitly stated but the movie and book follow different timelines in the books, bilbo leaves the shire 60 years after his first adventure, giving frodo the ring. seventeen years pass before frodo sets out on his quest in the movies, seventeen years cannot have passed while gandalf goes all nancy drew in denethor’s basement - for one, pippin is obviously not 10 in the party scene - but the story does allow us some wiggle room - maybe a few months, even a year or two? (I DUNNO DID JACKSON EVER SPECIFY GIMMIE NUMBERS) this also accouts for a lot of the confusion re. aragorns age following thranduils advice to legolas at the end of BOFA - in the books, aragorn is about ten during the events of the hobbit, but in the contracted movie timeline, he tells eowyn he’s eighty seven, putting him somewhere around 27+ when legolas goes off to find him also i think i heard some messing around was done with thorins age? i dunno BASICALLY THE MOVIE TIMELINE IS CONTRACTED AND FUDGED AROUND WITH AS MUCH AS THE MOVIE MAPS dont even get me started on those BUT BACK TO PIPPIN so pippin does indeed become the thain, merry also become the head of his ginormous family - the master of buckland, in fact but you know whats best of all SAM BECOMES MAYOR OF THE SHIRE SAMWISE GAMGEE BECOMES ELECTED MAYOR OF THE SHIRE SEVEN TIMES k so to understand the importance of this you gotta remember that sam is poor he comes from a poor family - so poor, in fact, that i’m fairly certain that sam was the only one of them who could read - and only because bilbo taught him. in the very first scene of FOTR, the Gaffer (sam’s dad) says “But my lad Sam will know more about [Bilbo’s treasure]. He’s in and out of Bag End. Crazy about stories of the old days he is, and he listens to all Mr.Bilbo’s tales. Mr. Bilbo has learned him his letters - meaning no harm, mark you,and I hope no harm will come of it. “Elves and Dragons’ I says to him. ‘Cabbages and potatoes are better for me and you. Don’t go getting mixed up in the business of your betters, or you’ll land in trouble too big for you,”I says to him. And I might say it to others,” he added with a look at the stranger and the miller.” firstly im super fascinated by class divides in the shire - and there is a huge gap between the workers and the landed gentry- but not the bitter feud between proletariat and bourgeoisie of the industrial england that tolkien so despised. the poor of the shire are the poor of an idealised rustic england. there are no slums in the shire, and i imagine that the homeless vagrants (if they exist) are more akin to Wordsworth’s Old Cumberland Beggar IM SO SORRY TO BRING WORDSWORTH INTO THIS, I REALLY AM but yeah does anyone wanna talk pre industrial revolution englands social structures and how they relates to the shire cause im pretty sure thats what tolkiens aiming for here SORRY im off topic im talking about how hella rad it is that sam becomes mayor of the shire and pippin becomes the thain and merry becomes master of buckland and between the three of them they lead the shire into a golden age of prosperity and happiness and good external relations with gondor and arnor and rohan ALSO SAMS DAUGHTER AND PIPPINS SON GET MARRIED HA HA IM GONNA GO HIDE FOR A WHILE ITS TOO CUTE Basically the Shire operates Perfectly (with a few notable exceptions, like Ted Sandyman and the Sackville-Bagginses), unless it is being meddled with. So while Gandalf sets up the Rangers to protect the borders (not meddling), Saruman introduces trade the Shire can’t support, imports Men and industry, and unseats those in charge (Will Whitfoot, the Mayor, is the only Hobbit who has been in the Lockholes longer than Lobelia, and during the Scouring, the first military thing Pippin does is go to Tuckborough with some Hobbiton lads and break the siege on the Great Smial so that the Tooks can help roust Sharky. So, Hobbits have rank, but they don’t care much about it. What you do is way more important, and social mobility isn’t unheard of. The only person who ever talks down to Sam is his own father. Pippin and Merry recruit him on purpose, and Rosie (whose father is a landowner, which the Gaffer is not), is not even a BIT reluctant to marry him before he does anything heroic, just because he’s a great person. HOBBITS, I TELL YOU. HOBBITS. I love the Tolkien side of tumblr. You are my people @coldestcaress
Advice, Bilbo, and Books: the-honey-blossom:

lilprince:

ekjohnston:

cogito-ergo-dumb:

sourwolf-loki-destiel-221b:

iridescentoracle:

animate-mush:

malibujojo:

pippin4242:

lulasseth:

imsorryimovedtoaidanturnerspants:

hash-tag-whatever:

Merry: confused awe
Frodo: confused awe
Sam: confused awe
Pippin: finally i’m getting the respect i deserve from these peasants 

so accurate i am choking on my carrot. this is making me giggle harder than it should. I love Pippin so much.

I don’t think there will come time when I’m not reblogging this. Sorry guys. 

no no no you guys don’t understand, Pippin is someone really important in the Shire! The books don’t talk about it a lot, and the movies won’t touch that stuff with a bargepole, but Pippin will be inheriting land rights to about a quarter of the Shire. He’s second in line to becoming military leader of all Hobbits. His dad is currently in charge of that stuff, but he’s completely aware of it, and educated for it, and that’s why he’s such an over privileged little shit in the books.

I thought it was a shame the movies didn’t talk about class differences in the Shire. Also puts M&P stealing food in an uglier light.

To be fair, at the time of the Party, Pippin would have been 12, which puts it back into a more acceptable light.  And they’re stealing food from Bilbo, a wealthy and eccentric family member, which again makes things a bit different.
But yes, when they call Pippin Ernil i Perrianath - Prince of the Halflings - they are actually completely spot on.
And when Pippin tells Bergil “my father farms the land around Tuckborough” he’s deliberately downplaying his class so that he can greet the boy as an equal rather than a superior.  It’s Pippin’s most adult moment in the series.  Bergil is engaging in a status contest which Pippin can totally win - but instead chooses not to compete.  Pippin is a gilded and spoiled lordling in the Shire, but he becomes a Man of Gondor.

Yeah, to add a bit of unnecessary trivia/level of preciseness, Frodo is the oldest of the four; he was born in 2968, was (obviously) 33 at the time of the Party, and so he’s 51 here. Sam’s second-oldest; born in 2980, he was 21 when Bilbo left and is 39 at this point. Merry’s two years younger than Sam, making him 18 or 19 in 3001, when the Party took place, and Pippin was born in 2990, so he was actually 10 or 11 during the Party, and during this scene they’re ~37 and ~29, respectively.
So yeah, Pippin’s the youngest by a lot. Plus, taking hobbit aging into account, he really is still in the equivalent of his teens; remember the Party was half to celebrate Frodo’s coming-of-age at 33, and Pippin’s around twenty years younger than Frodo. 

This fucked me up. I didn’t read the books and in the movie it was shown like Frodo took off with the ring like 2 days after Bilbo’s gone away, but it was 17 years after that. OMFG.

i’m not sure if it’s ever been explicitly stated but the movie and book follow different timelines
in the books, bilbo leaves the shire 60 years after his first adventure, giving frodo the ring. seventeen years pass before frodo sets out on his quest
in the movies, seventeen years cannot have passed while gandalf goes all nancy drew in denethor’s basement - for one, pippin is obviously not 10 in the party scene - but the story does allow us some wiggle room - maybe a few months, even a year or two? (I DUNNO DID JACKSON EVER SPECIFY GIMMIE NUMBERS)
this also accouts for a lot of the confusion re. aragorns age following thranduils advice to legolas at the end of BOFA - in the books, aragorn is about ten during the events of the hobbit, but in the contracted movie timeline, he tells eowyn he’s eighty seven, putting him somewhere around 27+ when legolas goes off to find him
also i think i heard some messing around was done with thorins age? i dunno BASICALLY THE MOVIE TIMELINE IS CONTRACTED AND FUDGED AROUND WITH AS MUCH AS THE MOVIE MAPS dont even get me started on those
BUT BACK TO PIPPIN
so pippin does indeed become the thain, merry also become the head of his ginormous family - the master of buckland, in fact
but you know whats best of all
SAM BECOMES MAYOR OF THE SHIRE
SAMWISE GAMGEE BECOMES ELECTED MAYOR OF THE SHIRE SEVEN TIMES
k so to understand the importance of this you gotta remember that sam is poor
he comes from a poor family - so poor, in fact, that i’m fairly certain that sam was the only one of them who could read - and only because bilbo taught him. in the very first scene of FOTR, the Gaffer (sam’s dad) says
“But my lad Sam will know more about [Bilbo’s treasure]. He’s in and out of Bag End. Crazy about stories of the old days he is, and he listens to all Mr.Bilbo’s tales. Mr. Bilbo has learned him his letters - meaning no harm, mark you,and I hope no harm will come of it.
“Elves and Dragons’ I says to him. ‘Cabbages and potatoes are better for me and you. Don’t go getting mixed up in the business of your betters, or you’ll land in trouble too big for you,”I says to him. And I might say it to others,” he added with a look at the stranger and the miller.”
firstly im super fascinated by class divides in the shire - and there is a huge gap between the workers and the landed gentry- but not the bitter feud between proletariat and bourgeoisie of the industrial england that tolkien so despised. the poor of the shire are the poor of an idealised rustic england. there are no slums in the shire, and i imagine that the homeless vagrants (if they exist) are more akin to Wordsworth’s Old Cumberland Beggar IM SO SORRY TO BRING WORDSWORTH INTO THIS, I REALLY AM but yeah does anyone wanna talk pre industrial revolution englands social structures and how they relates to the shire cause im pretty sure thats what tolkiens aiming for here
SORRY im off topic im talking about how hella rad it is that sam becomes mayor of the shire and pippin becomes the thain and merry becomes master of buckland and between the three of them they lead the shire into a golden age of prosperity and happiness and good external relations with gondor and arnor and rohan
ALSO SAMS DAUGHTER AND PIPPINS SON GET MARRIED HA HA IM GONNA GO HIDE FOR A WHILE ITS TOO CUTE

Basically the Shire operates Perfectly (with a few notable exceptions, like Ted Sandyman and the Sackville-Bagginses), unless it is being meddled with. So while Gandalf sets up the Rangers to protect the borders (not meddling), Saruman introduces trade the Shire can’t support, imports Men and industry, and unseats those in charge (Will Whitfoot, the Mayor, is the only Hobbit who has been in the Lockholes longer than Lobelia, and during the Scouring, the first military thing Pippin does is go to Tuckborough with some Hobbiton lads and break the siege on the Great Smial so that the Tooks can help roust Sharky.
So, Hobbits have rank, but they don’t care much about it. What you do is way more important, and social mobility isn’t unheard of. The only person who ever talks down to Sam is his own father. Pippin and Merry recruit him on purpose, and Rosie (whose father is a landowner, which the Gaffer is not), is not even a BIT reluctant to marry him before he does anything heroic, just because he’s a great person.
HOBBITS, I TELL YOU. HOBBITS.

I love the Tolkien side of tumblr. You are my people

@coldestcaress

the-honey-blossom: lilprince: ekjohnston: cogito-ergo-dumb: sourwolf-loki-destiel-221b: iridescentoracle: animate-mush: malibujojo: ...