Following meetings with varying counsels this week and other, very important de-Rubifying work, I received confirmation of today's retrieval appointment this morning in a very odd manner. Maxi of the damned sent:
Buen día. Está bien por mí.
No hay problema en proceder a dicho retiro. Ello no implica renuncia o dispensa de la obligación de cumplir plenamente la obligación de pago prevista hasta la finalización del contrato.
Maxi's predecessor Rodrigo wrote to me in Spanish infrequently. It has been a very long time since anyone affiliated with the damned wrote to me in Spanish. Not a single communication during all of their demonstrations of some faith of an other than good nature this month was in Spanish. However, there was an exchange Wednesday when I pointed out official translations of the pile of English language correspendence would be expensive and the counsel being auditioned pointed out I would have to pay to. My response was a very clear, deadpan "I know" as the tag team pair had thus far been struggling to build my enthusiasm by simply repeating that "[The damned] is a very bad company" over and over. The switch from exclusively English communication out of Maxi to Spanish appears to have confirmed Mircea Popescu's assertion.
No big deal, the relevant licensing authorities will be notified of their bad faith deception if there is no generous deal and the revocation of their licenses to practice law will be pursued. No big deal, for the cause of making the world at large and Uruguay at small better places... I will be pursuing the revocation of their licenses to practice law in a just and lawful manner. A gambit had been played out of desperation. Not a defensible lines opening gambit like 1. d4 d5 2. c5... where you trade a pawn for time. This was an insulting gambit where... however dumb they though I was, they were even dumber for trying. Not only is their license at risk, the node that referred me to them has closed to them. The kids working on apps looking to buy or check fine fiatist print... They poisoned their own well. Names will be named in time.
Thusly issued my clear response as a model plaintiff:
Todo lo que quiero hoy es mover pacíficamente los materiales que
coloqué en sus instalaciones. Aparece en el mejor interés de todos si
la comunicación adicional sobre otros asuntos se dirige a través de
nuestros respectivos imperios legales.
Por su conveniencia:
His firm's mailing address
His email address
Tel: His telephone number
His firm's site
I will be outside the provider's entrance to tower 4 at 15:00 with my
hand truck, necessary tools to remove equipment, and the keys.
And for good measure I cc'd my counsel into the conversation with my reply. My big fear going into today was that I would be walking into service of a premature and ill thought out contract enforcement suit leading me to spend the rest of the day walking around engorged and priapistic.1
I give my beard a trim,2 put some wax in it, and assemble my mission kit. I put my receipt for the "hecho polical" in my pocket for the possibility the damned try to surprise me by charting new frontiers of other than good faith. Peruana is at the hospital doing Peruana things like keeping old folks from falling, cleaning old folks, talking to the very old folks for their health, etc.
I arrive 20 minutes early and wait outside the provider's enterance to World Trade Center Tower 4. Some folks greet me with a polite nod, which I return as is the local custom among strangers. Three minutes after the appointed time I approach the security checkpoint, state my business and request he call to summon someone representing the damned. Instead he offers the standard visitor key card check out routine and informs me he is certain there are living, breathing, featherless bipeds with flat nails down there. I am escorted to the elevator.
I was greated by an unfamiliar red haired man with a build that suggested private security or investigation as a profession. I was offered tools and declined as I had brought my own. Mine are better anyways.3
I unlocked the server rack with the key and then surrendered it to the fellow who greeted me.
In side the glass walled room looking into the datacenter was a small crowd. The one face that seemed to be familiar appeared to be that of the damned's CEO, previously absent through this mess.
I was not at all harassed as I removed my things in a professional workman like manner. I laid the materials I removed on the floor before securing them to my hand truck with ratcheting straps for transport with the exception of a large plastic box containing my cables which I carried out. First out was the Rockchip plant followed by its switch. The Dell rails came out next with their spring loaded lever actuated locking mechanism releasing far more readily than the struggles placing them had me anticipating. Next was the main Ubiquiti switch which required finger finess to not drop hand turning the last screw out. It was removed without incident.
Taking out the Supermicro rails using the 9 inch needlenose pliers was an absolute pleasure I had not anticipated. My initial expectation was that whether I used a screwdriver or pliers to manipulate the locking tabs, that I would have to pry. Prying would almost certainly look bad for the cameras. What I found with the big pliers is that once grabbed the locking tabs could not resist any manipulation I wanted to impose on them. The Supermicro rails offered no resistance coming out. I do not believe I could have appeared any more competent or professional when removing the rails.
I left one gray C13/C14 power cable in the rack as I had been loaned to me when I was doing the initial setup. I left the server cabinet open and unlocked. I had arranged the plastic air dams which had been covering vacant openings in the rack from bottom to top, which in my understanding most usefully directs the cool air in a favorable manner for the health of the datacenter. As they had collected the air dams I removed when I installed equipment as I removed them, there were not enough available to me to cover the full front of the rack.
At one point someone working in a smaller half server rack asked to borrow my pliers and I allowed him. He returned them. There was no discussion at all between us as to what the other was doing and why beyond his need for the pliers to cut something. He seemed to understand the grim nature of my work but effective understanding of his limited words were impaired by the noisy East Indian Spanish accent until I switched to English. I am reasonably certain he is employed by am unfortunate customer of the damned.
Lacking a good way to secure the eared rails on their own I improvised and used my backpack to contain the feet. One network cable was drafted into duty as extra cordage securing the rails higher up where, if I had one a third ratcheting strap would have been overkill. The Rockchip plant and its smaller switch were placed in a duffel bag and attached somewhat losely to the hand truck's handle using its own straps.
As I left I carefully manipulated the hand truck with one hand while carrying the plastic box with the other, setting the box down to open and close doors. As the hand truck was loaded with substantial weight it did land loudly descending the single step at the door seperating the data center hall from the entry hall. This somewhat shifted the load on the cart. God as I understand him bless ratcheting straps. I corrected the load and departed.
Leaving Tower 4 I surrendered both my visitor access card for today and the original, weathered from nearly two years in my wallet, access cardthe damned gave me at the exit checkpoint.
Retrieving my things took roughly an hour of time inside Tower 4.
The Roll Home
It was largely uneventful, but markedly more difficult than wheeling four 1U servers. The load never shifted again until unlocking the apartment door. Near where the journey changed from uphill to downhill an older woman commented on the creative use of a rope. Her tone seemed to imply my creative use of the network cable, worthless in this country for its intended pupose of manufacter in light of the big box filled with many more, was a waste of something valuable and rare.
At the last intersection and the only one with rampless curbs I received an opportunity for rest.
This is a coach type bus of a sort locally reserved for tourist, inter departmental, or international travel. It was attempting to turn right off of the wide 26 de Marzo and on to the narrow Jose Osorio where Cuidacoches park cars on both sides of the street. Yes, traffic is hell today for the mass of people going from where they were to where they are registered to vote in order to not get hit with fines for avoiding the mandatory voting regime. It clearly should have waited a couple blocks to make a right turn onto a street capable of handling it intead of scratching up its paint.
The hand pictured is moving rapidly from the optical capture device to the hand truck.
After about five minutes I get my opening to cross. Nearly and hour and a half after the time I scheduled the retrieval appointment I was unloading the hand truck and rehydrating.
After firing off a shorter narrative which would later be expanded into the "Into Action" section of this post to the lawyer and checking in with the people that matter, I went to stock up on food and acquire a delicious cake because I've dropped four kilos and change since mid September. Also the whole removing material of whatever value the damned may perceive as leverage from their premises thing. By the time I left fat bus had escaped. And then I saw more bus fail.
Same street about a hundred meters away from the fat bus incident we have:
A boulevard, in this case one that normally carries traffic flowing as freely as can be seen in Montevideo, is one again congested for una falta by someone who makes their money from the activity of driving large potential obstructions.
I failed to get a good picture, but the dumpster clearly won this encounter. Not even close. Bus was still in the same obstructive location on the return trip.
Going through the voting sheet gauntlet on the way to acquire food, I offered comfort to the Blancos, and all of the commie pamphleteers along this particular gauntlet have learned at this point that I am uninterested in their shit.
Once again I end a day satisfyingly exhausted.
- I actually do enjoy spending time in courtrooms. The prospect of being a civil docket defendant in a Roman law jurisdiction actually makes me hard. Back in old country with the common law insanity, a successful defense involved being a good enough searcher to throw weird at opposing counsel assigned student debt litigation by the batch and being exhausting yet right enough to get afavorable settlement. In a Roman law system where opposing counsel is thoroughly steeped in Uruguayo culture, and I already have counsel laying out his dissenction kit for application in the case where I'm on the offensive? It doesn't just sound like a fun diy job. It sounds like a thrilling diy adventure where the truth is on my side and the Roman law cookie cutter code compels me to fuck very orifice raw. Even if procedural rules and docket congestion mean I gotta wait for the court ordered nasal stretching to take for the purpose of getting every single one. [↩]
- Cleaning up the sides only. [↩]
- This includes, but is not limited alien tech like a ratcheting screwdriver. As I came to this country to do something with wires I brought Klein needle nose pliers in two lengths, because I did not anticipate the entry level hand tools that end up in Uruguay exceeding the quality of all but the highest end hand tools available at retail in the US. Pleasant surprise yes, but having spent plenty of time in the tool aisles of the Orange store I planned for the worst on this front. [↩]