Broken Perfection - Augustus (small books to read TXT) 📗

Broken Perfection

My boss came to my office and stood at the threshold. “What are you staring at?”
I looked up from the computer screen at his puzzled countenance. “I think my computer is broken.”
“Looks like it’s working fine to me,” he said, studying the screen. “Click on the refresh button and see what it does.”
I shook my head. “I did that already. All I get is a picture of a little hardhat.”
“Lemme see that,” he said, as he waved me aside. I rose from my chair and let him take over. I knew he was more of a neophyte than me when it came to computers, but what the heck.
“Well, did you figure it out?”
He shook his head. “No, but I think I know what may be happening.”
“Really? What is it?”
My boss nodded. “It’s those Rupert Murdoch people.”
“You mean those newspaper folks that got busted for hacking phones and emails?”
“Yup. That’s the ones.”
“But why would they hack into Bookrix?” I pointed to the taskbar on the screen with the name of the Bookrix website.
“It’s just a theory, but here’s what I think. Those hacking-type people look for newsworthy stories wherever they believe they can find them. When they cannot find what they’re looking for, they create an artificial crisis and then report it in their sensationalistic manner.”
“Wow! You think that’s what happened here?”
“Beats me, but look at the evidence. Bookrix was pretty much working fine, correct?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Okay then, out of nowhere comes this major glitch throwing everything topsy turvy, right?”
“Go on.”
My boss reclined in my high-backed chair and smiled. “There’s no more to tell. They probably hacked the site right when all fuss hit the fan over there in London.”
I thought about my boss’ comments. It all made sense. Everything seemed to be a strange coincidence, the website crash, the London hearings, my computer unable to function. “What do you think we ought to do?”
My boss shrugged. “Write them an email. That still works doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it does. But write who an email, Murdoch or Bookrix?”
“I’m quite sure Bookrix knows of their online/offline problem. You might have more of an impact contacting the news people of the Murdoch empire, you know, letting them know we’re onto their game. But then again you might be inviting them to hack our computers too.”
“You know me boss. I’m not afraid of anyone, on the computer that is. But these are your computers. Is it okay with you if I send that email?”
My superior clasped his hands and twiddled his thumbs. For a moment, I was sure he was gonna bust out laughing and call me a gullible fool. Then he shrugged and said nonchalantly, “Sure, why not? How long has the site been down?”
“A day and a half, so far.”
“Yeah, go get’em tiger!”
“Woo whoo!” As soon as the boss rose from my chair, I slid back onto it and began typing. I was courteous but firm. I warned the powers that be to leave the Bookrix site alone or suffer dire consequences. I wasn’t sure what those consequences would be, but it was my bluff and I hoped it would work.
It was approximately 8:00 am the next morning when I appeared for work that the staff greeted me with applause.
“Thank you, thank you,” I said, “But what's this all about?”
“You did it, big shot. You put the fear of God in those London hackers,” said the boss.
“I did?”
“Yeah, Look. I logged on just out of curiosity, and boom-shalaga, there it was. Bookrix in all its perfection.”
I glanced at his computer screen and sure enough, the little hardhat was gone. Back now were the stories, the complaints of my fellow whiners and writers. The world was right again.

Publication Date: 07-28-2011

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