Scoot and the Infinite Playlist.

I realized today that there were going to be many more stories with the guy who sits behind me.  In the spirit of privacy (mine, not his), I was going to have to come up with a name for him.  I pondered this for a while before he came in today, but it was when he appeared with a rustle of....I don't know what...he's one of those people who appears out of nowhere, looking like he's run a marathon, and makes a great deal of rustling sounds when he does it.  He is also one of those people who seems to be made completely out of curves.  His shoulders slump, his back hunches in the style of someone who spends too much time at a desk, peering at a computer.  He is just one of those people who is a mess, and it wouldn't matter how you dressed him.  He'd still be a mess.

So..today...he rustles in, and it comes to me.  Scoot.  Your name is Scoot, o problematic one.  Well, my friends of the interwebs, it was not Scootie's day.  His day was was fraught with injustices of the technological kind.  My boss decides he should move on to a new and more dangerous project.  I don't know what it was, I really was trying to bury myself today.  As if that isn't always the case...but this is not my story, this story belongs to the Scootmeister.

So my boss joins him at his desk and says, "I think this will be fairly easy.  I think you can handle this."  Poor Scoot.  They begin a flurry of computer activity, clicking hither and yon across the screen.  Then all of a sudden, they sit back, puzzled.  My boss looks concerned and says, "Well.  This does seem to take a while sometimes."  They wait longer.  Nothing is happening, it seems.  She says, "Well, let's see if one of the IT guys is here."   Scoot, of course, replies with, "I'm sorry."

The IT guy joins them in this activity.  There is a full hour of 'Hm' and 'Huh!' and 'Well...' and then the IT guy says, "I don't know." and goes off.  At this point, Scoot narrows his eyes.  You can see the narrative building in his head.  He will not let this defeat him!  He will overcome!  I try not to visibly cringe when he says, "Well...maybe I can do this!" and begins muttering to himself in a diabolical manner.  After an hour of the muttering, he falls back dejectedly.  My boss wanders over.
"Still nothing?"
"No.  Clearly this is a virus.  A bad bad virus.  I have all my fingers crossed that it hasn't eaten the memory and that this computer will be saved.  In fact, I'm even going to cross my legs for this too."

Poor Scoot.