A Peasant’s First Day

My first day at TDS was a whirlwind event. I was handed countless amounts of forms to sign, handbooks to read, training manuals, company policy memos, and a healthy sampling of Government rules and regulations to absorb. The Government stuff is all about guidelines of security precautions and safeguarding measures that must be observed while working with classified technology. Skimming through all of the rules I realized that for each item listed in the guidelines a nitwit at some point in the past did something really dumb. Common sense must have escaped a few people and I bet they landed themselves in a whole heap of trouble. Here’s a few examples of the rules that morons must have broken:

“Do NOT record classified information in a private diary.”
Uh, right. I sure as hell hope whoever got popped for that one wasn’t working on our nuclear weapons programs.

“Classified documents are NOT to be removed from the plant for home study or as an overnight convenience prior to a business trip.”
I can see it now, some defense executive was staying at a Motel with a pile of secret stuff and stepped out for all you can eat steak and lobster at the Sizzler down the street. Meanwhile the KGB micro filmed the war plans back in his darkened room. Who in the fuck would be so stupid as to take that shit with them on an overnight “business” trip? Sheesh.

“Never discuss classified information on the telephone. Modern computer techniques make it possible for others to easily sort through microwave communication links to find target conversations.”
You think that cell phone of yours is secure? Try again, retard.

“Do NOT bring any of the following items on company premises: unsealed containers of alcoholic beverages, illegal drugs, cameras, tape recorders, electronic listening devices, explosives, firearms or weapons of any kind. Requests for deviation from these restrictions must be processed through the security office.”
OK, so I’m going to ask the Facility Security Officer (FSO) if it’s all right with him that I show up to work one day next week with an opened, half consumed 40 oz. of King Cobra malt liquor and my 35mm camera. I’ll come in covered in wiretaps and I’ll bring in a Ruger Super Red Hawk .357 magnum with a sheet of acid. If I request all that in advance it must be cool, right? Sweet.

My boss dragged me all over the company introducing me to everyone she could round up for a couple of seconds. There’s no way I will remember all their names or what it is that they do here. I just kept politely shaking hands with everyone and nodding like I understood completely everything they yapped at me. We finally ended up at the door of the Facility Security Officer. He’s a tower of a man by the name of John. Apparently he was a career Marine and made it up to a respectable rank before he retired from the service. After our initial exchange of pleasantries I could tell he was a by the book no fuss no muss kinda guy. He looked me over with that Vietnam thousand yard stare veterans are legendary for. Perhaps he doesn’t expect me to last long here. His office was no bigger than a closet and he somehow managed to cram a desk along with a half dozen full sized filing cabinets bristling with combination locks you’d see on the front of a safe.

Before I left John’s office with my boss he handed me yet another thick stack of papers. This new mess of stuff was going to be a monumental task to fill out. It was my application for a DoD security clearance and I was told I had to complete it all and get it back to them as soon as possible. The frustrating thing about it is they want to know everything about me from years and years ago. I mean they want to know everything. Schools I’ve been to, jobs I’ve had, places I’ve lived, and they want names of people who can verify all of it. There’s no way I’m going to remember all that crap let alone be able to dig people up who can verify it. This is going to be a big old headache I can tell. Ugh.

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~ by factorypeasant on November 5, 2004.

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