Saturday, 17 August 2013

The Tile Story

Years ago....working in the intelligence field....I was detailed one day to go and help some folks unload a truck out front, and bring some items into the vault.

I get out front, and it's a truckload of acoustic sound absorbing tiles.  There's some project to redo a conference room, and make it absolutely sound-proof.

I was thinking the tiles would be the same as regular ceiling tiles.  I was wrong.  They were a bit heavier, and this tote-job took up most of the morning, and made this Bama guy sweat a fair amount as I helped the other guys carry in hundreds of these tiles.

Days would pass, and the room would be rendered sound-proof. As it was completed, I walked in and stood there with five or six other folks.  To be honest, for some odd reason....I got feeling dizzy.  Sound just didn't carry right.  I left the room after two minutes.

I bring this story up because out of DC this past week....they had this acoustic tile episode to occur.

At some fancy musical the midst of some serious jazz music....heavy acoustic tiles from the ceiling just let go, and came crashing down on the audience.  The authorities note that eight folks got taken away by ambulance to the local hospital with varying injuries.

You can imagine this chaos.....folks laying there.....other folks screaming.....and some security guys thinking it was a jihad attack or something.

The only thing now that the auditorium folks will say is that the tiles loosen up and just fell.  I'm suspecting lawyers will sort this out, and every guy taken off to the hospital will get an initial offer of $5,000.  No one will accept that, and eventually most will get $50,000.  Me personally?  I wouldn't mind getting whacked in the head with a ceiling tile....for $50,000.

The NSA Bama Analyst

Based on news comments this's apparent that a massive amount of our emails and telephone calls, are being browsed or checked by some NSA analyst.  I sat and pondered upon this.

Around eight in the morning....Ben arrives at his NSA job and clocks in.  He's the Bama analyst, and has the job of checking through traffic and calls from the previous day.

So Ben starts with emails.  First, there's the one between one Auburn football enthusiast and a University of Alabama enthusiast.  There's a bit of aggravation by the Auburn guy, and this guy says that he thinks Muslim radicals have taken over the football program.

Then the second email is read.  This is commentary from one Bama guy to a cousin about the local Dollar General Store being taken over by Chinese Islamic folks.  He writes on and on.....roughly five pages....of mostly incoherent stuff.

The third email?  It's from some agency in Florida who was contacted by a Bama guy to provide a go-go dancer for the guy's buddy and his bachelor party in two weeks.  The company says they can't provide Wanda....she's busy.  But they've got Trudy, who did some go-go dancing in the late 1990s.

The fourth email?  It's a difficult to read email from some Baptist minister to members of his congregation over the consumption of alcohol.  There's about forty verses cited, but none of the verses have anything to do with drinking booze.  Ben is a bit frazzled at this point and takes a NSA-approved ten minute break.

Upon returning....Ben now goes to the phone recordings.  The first one is from some concerned wife over her husband listening to Islamic ministers on some AM station out of Mobile.

The second call is from some guy complaining about his transmission job.  He thinks the guy is a Muslim and did a lousy job because of the "Vote Obama" sticker on his car.

The third call is a 30-minute conversation between two Red Bay women and the possibility of aliens existing.

The fourth call is a six-minute talk between one meth user, and another meth user.  There are a total of twelve words spoken over the six minutes by the two guys.  Nothing makes much sense over what was spoken.

The fifth call is from a Dothan high school kid and his school teacher.  It's fairly intimate and the NSA guy listens intently as various fantasy talk is discussed between the two.  For a brief moment, the NSA guy would like to give the kid some advice but remembers the forty-four standard NSA rules of non-interference.

The sixth call is from a astrology gal from Athens to her customer.  She's advising him of some woes coming up this week over NCAA football, a black dog, a storm cloud, and George Bush.  The guy is worried, and the astrology lady advises him to come by for a more personal reading.  She mentions the cost of $75.

The seventh call is between a guy from Birmingham who is set up for a blind-date with a gal from Guntersville.  He wants directions, and keeps asking about her looks.

The NSA guy takes lunch at this point.  To be honest, he's a bit burned out, and would like to be transferred to the Florida division.  There's too much of nothing chatter....too much NCAA football....too much wrestling updates....too much gossip....and too much talk over Bible interpretation.

After lunch, the highlight of the afternoon is a seventeen line text message that some Bama guy sent to his daughter about the evils of smoking, the evils of drinking, and the evils of carousing.  The daughter has responded back that she is forty-six years old and knows all the various evils, plus another seventy-two newer evils.

The NSA guy clocks out at 5PM, and gets into the car.  He's never been to Bama in his life....having grown up in Queens, New York and attended a fancy-pants university in New Hampshire.  He had higher aspirations in life when he joined the NSA.  He thought he'd be going after the bad Islamic guys, but he spends forty hours a week....focused strictly on Bama folks.

To be honest, this NSA guy would like to pack up, and move to Florence, Bama....where he's heard a good bit about their great golf courses, and low cost of living.  He's got a list of sixteen different Baptist Churches he could attend, and already has the phone-numbers of a dozen eligible single ladies with the right educational background and already knows their personalities.

Tomorrow?  A new and fresh day, with fresh phone calls, and more emails.