This week at work was "Disaster Recovery." This is where we test out our "business continuity plan." All the big, evil corporations have them since 9/11, in case another pack of wacky Muslims fly some planes in to some buildings, or whatever the next big disaster might be.
So at 4:00 on Wednesday, we get a "phone blast" (otherwise known as a phone call) to announce that the disaster has occurred and the BCP is effect. (I downloaded a new ringtone just for the occasion..."Shout at the Devil.") So I'm sitting in my little gray cube making jokes about the four horsemen breaching the horizon and cackling to myself. No one knows what the hell I'm on about, as usual.
**Kind of like when I'm sitting in the cube listening to "Glorious" again, and someone comes back to see just what exactly I'm laughing about. "Aaaaaaigh! Covered in bees!!" I say. And they just look at me like I've grown an extra head or something.**
The question is this: in the event of a real disaster, am I going to head out and help get my employer's system back up? Or am I going to pack up the guns and head for the hills? Depends on the disaster, I reckon. Keeping my job is going to be way, way down on my list of priorities when the rivers turn to blood while four Skeletor-looking fuckers gallop by on their way to Armegeddon.
"I'm sorry sir, I won't be hopping a train and coming down to the Agency "war room" in Philadelphia to process student loans. Why ? Well, the Lord of the Flies just came in to my kitchen and demanded that I make him a sandwich. I don't even know what demons eat."