So the Pimply-Faced Youth and I are heading through the corridors of computing central when our progress is impeded by the departmental Dead Wood Discussion Group.
It is a matter of concern to me and the PFY that the group appears to be growing in size. Once a group of two or three old salts whose technical skills consisted of the ability to fix eight-inch floppy drives, it's now the final resting place of brown nosers and work dodgers alike.
To disguise their true purpose (work and responsibility avoidance) they indulge in long conversations about what's new in computing, where it's heading and why, what we should be looking at and who's up with the play.
This in itself wouldn't be so bad except (a) they either congregate in corridors or someone else's office and (b) they sometimes infect the boss with the forward-thinking-stupidity virus.
Today is one of those days. Encrypted TCP/IP and how it should be implemented is the topic of the four-hours.
We pause briefly...
"What does that guy do?" the PFY asks quietly, indicating one of the key speakers who's obviously attracted to the conversation by the possibility of slipping one of his strategically polished boat shoes one rung further up the corporate ladder with a display of superior knowledge.
"Besides providing a load for the deodoriser in the air conditioning?" I ask.
"I'm not sure, they all look alike to me."
The boss meantime is enthralled, envisaging a workplace coup in pushing back the frontiers of networking security.
This is not a good thing.
Sure enough, two hours later, the boss is wandering around the office with some hastily prepared notes in his hand.
"Tell me," he asks. "Why aren't we using encrypted TCP/IP?"
"Network overhead," I throw out to test the waters of his preparation.
"But isn't the overhead minimal when combined with private key encryption software or better, single-stage encryption?" he asks, so far out of his depth that the appearance of a shark's fin wouldn't be out of place in our conversation.
"Hey, I never thought of that!" I cry in an enlightened manner.
"Well, get right onto it," he responds, gushing enthusiasm.
The PFY is looking at me with the same thinly disguised contempt that was present on his features in the corridor scant hours ago.
"You're not going soft are you?" he enquires.
"This will speak for me," I say, indicating a recently installed PC in screen-save mode.
True to form, the PFY hits the return key...and the wall behind him microseconds later.
"It's good isn't it?" I say as he recovers his wits. "The word 'return' is in fact a carbon track, which, when the key is depressed, is connected to a high, but mostly harmless, earth return voltage. Now what was that about being soft?"
Doubting no more, the PFY helps me implement the Boss's request to the letter.
The boss receives this news with a smug expression and spends the next day composing a memo about the frontiers of networking, new era of security, blah, blah, blah. He words the memo so as to give the impression that he single-handedly soldered bits together with a cigarette lighter to make this possible.
To increase the effect, he selects the following Monday as the switchover date.
The day arrives, and the boss bowls in with The Head of IT in tow. With baited breath he waits for 9am to so that he can press the key to start encryption.
With a click from the clock, a clack from the keyboard, and a thud as the boss's stunned body hits the cast iron frame of an old tape rack with lots of nasty protruding edges that the PFY and I had only removed from the computer room that morning, encryption begins.
Then the calls start. Hands-free allows the head of IT to eavesdrop.
"Hello, networks," I say.
"Hi, this is the help desk. We're getting lots of calls from people who say that their machine is throwing up TCP/IP errors."
"Yes, that would be the one-step encryption."
"Well how do they decrypt?"
"You can't. I thought you knew that. If you could, it would be two steps wouldn't it?"
"ARE YOU SAYING THAT WE'VE JUST INSTALLED A SYSTEM THAT CAN'T TALK TO ANYTHING?" the head of IT blurts anxiously.
"Not we," I say holding up a recent memo.
"I see," the head says, recognising the buttered side of bread when shown it.
Sadly the boss's attempts to switch the system off resulted in a lot of unnecessary damage to the tape rack, but luckily the head was keen to let all the members of the DDG have a crack at it and eventually things got back to normal.
Status Quo reinstated - all systems go.