Dear Company IT Guy, Thank You


Let me just say first and foremost, thank you. Thank you for dealing with all of the technologically slow people (like my boss) as often as you do, patiently asking them if they tried rebooting, then simultaneously waiting for them to reboot. That task alone probably accounts for 30% of your time, and even though I know you’re streaming episodes of The IT Crowd as you wait just for something to do, it takes extraordinary patience to deal with the level of idiocy you do on a daily basis.

This letter however, is to thank you for something different – something a lot more personal. My job. You see, although my boss likes to think (while he waits for his computer to reboot) that he holds the keys to my pitiful paycheck from this establishment, you and I both know that isn’t the case. We both know that you hold my job in the palm of your carpal tunnel-inflicted hand.

Your two-year program from ITT Tech was a way smarter investment than the four years I spent drinking my way through a bachelor’s in psychology. It gave you the power to monitor my computer activity – specifically my internet browsing history. Now the company is shelling out thousands a year to fly you to Vegas or LA and certify you in SQL, Java, SEO, and more all while my boss won’t stick a crowbar in his company wallet and pay for a one-day seminar on Excel formulas at the Marriott downtown.

You sit calmly and straight-faced in meetings, listening to my excuses, like that I “didn’t quite have the time to get to that just yet,” all while knowing just how much time I blow on Facebook, Gchat, trying to get around the internet filter, or just simply idle – and presumably Costanza’ing, since there were no meetings on my calendar.

The fact that you haven’t busted me yet, shows that you do in fact have a human sense of humor, and therefore are even more worthy of praise than most idiots at this company realize. But not I. Oh no, as you sit in your overly air-conditioned server room, breathing the stale, recycled air that smells vaguely of burning metal, know that I understand your worth and power.

As I sit, typing my ode to your worth on the company computer, on company time, know that I am fully aware that I owe you a debt unlike any other. Blue, you’re my boy.

Forever your humble servant,



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Spaceman Spiff

Now a graduate with a few years of business "experience", Spiff didn't exactly turn into the interplanetary explorer extraordinaire he had hoped to become. Instead, he spends his days as a cynical desk jockey, moonlighting as a Contributing Writer for PGP and marching ever closer to the big 3-0, which has only fueled his transition from quarter-life crisis straight into thrisis.

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