Made up Diagnosis

Made up Diagnosis

The chances that you happen to be in the right place at the right time are not mathematically probable. But one of the joys with “pure” mathematical thought is that chance is always larger than probability, there by creating pockets of impossibilities that are essential to the very fabric of the time/space continuum.

“I’m sorry I was wrong, it is Cancer”. He happened to be sitting with his back turned away from the sofa where this particular conversation was taking place.

He first got the idea when he heard the conversation on the other side of the sofa. He looked up and saw the patient being lead away towards the toilet; he looked like he was about to be sick. The doctor held onto him tighter as his legs started to give way underneath him, the patients’ not the doctors. The entire medical journal was just left on the table lying next to him. He didn’t know why he did it at first, but he put the medical journal in his bag. It was like a powerful shining light that hit him square in the head, as his arm just scoped up the entire journal in one easy movement and stuck it silently in to his bag. And without blinking an eye, closed the bag, shut and locked the flap into the click-closed mode.

But how could he get away with it? You couldn’t, unless, you knew everyone that would surf the website would go through the same server. Then the “website” and all the text you put on the “website”, you could put straight onto that server. You then make it look like a World Wide Web shots on the browser, for that particular www address, but really it is just a local page only on that server. So everyone one would be reading “a local page” on one server but would think that the website was on the open web. If you worked in server programming it was easy to do. You load through a gate so you can down load from home. Its invisible, it is just mirror of a gate. And you pass in and out this gate, down load the “diary website” and everyone who reads it from work thinks its true. And because deep down nobody really gives a shit who you are or how you feel, it works.

He was waiting for his plastic identity card that they had just gone to get, because they had forgotten to give it back after the check up he had done on his stomach due to indigestion, stress related or Pepsi-X max related. The nurse came with the card and gave him a nice smile and said they had found it. She was cute, he felt he wanted to leave quickly, but smiled back at her. As he left the building he started to walk a bit faster. He made it in time to the next train, which pulled in like twenty seconds after he got on the platform. He threw himself into the corner of the back seat the train. Commuter trains were mainly empty around midday out in Flemingsberg.

The bag felt heavy till he got it all out at home. Everything. All the files and the letters all clear as crystal, the guy was in even the same age, same year same month, what are the chances of that. Poor sod, he is the one whose dying but I can go on for years. A few changes here and there nobody will question this; this is one hundred percent foolproof. This is the real deal.

Getting the changes made to the document was not the hardest part at all. The fact that his best friend was a professional graphical designer with his own business didn’t hurt the process rather the opposite. They sat down and scanned in the documents into the best computer imaging programs on the market and simply recreated them perfectly with his name and social number on them, not the other poor sods. Then they sent them to all the relevant authorities and got all the conformation with other authentic documents, and finally they sent all these to his work place, in the form of a medical diagnosis from all authorities saying. Terminal cancer. Death Date unknown, Aggressive. 0 % work ability, 100% disability.

So he then quite simply got the company’s insurance policy to put him under the sick and dying and leave him there to rot quietly in peace. But he would have to create the illusion of him dying; otherwise after a while people would start wondering what was going on. He knew that most work places like the giant company he worked for had the best formulated policies for helping sick people. When anyone was sick they seemed to have armies of personal people (Human Resource People) and consultants ready to march off into the sunset to find ways in which they can help you get back to work or “quite”. The company was not keen on the paying of wages to sick people who didn’t work, so they used some bloodhound like people to track you down. The truth of the matter was quite simple if you ever got “sick enough” then they left you alone like you had the plague. Cancer was sick enough to get everyone running for the hills.

But it’s not easy to say you have Cancer, well it is, but it’s not easy to prove you have Cancer; that takes certain documents that seldom leave the hospital wards or the doctors’ offices. All “Restricted” areas with low access.

He hated his job at the company it was dull and boring. He worked with the computer installation as well as the servers. He spent his days watching for “blips” or “glitches” in updates of servers and other hubs, router’s and millions of wires that went into black boxes, which kept the company running along. He sat and pressed buttons, did the diagnosis tests, which was required to check the status of “information transferal”, doors, firewalls, locks and gates. He had all the keys, in form of code, to open and shut electronic pathways, by working with the simplest of binary codes.

0100101101010010010101001001011110101001000010001011101.

This is the truth according to Information Technology or IT.

He had opened up his own personal gateway that nobody knew about. So he could basically do his job from home or wherever he was at the time, it saved him from going to the company office at work when he couldn’t be bothered. But you could only do that once a week before the fat lady sang. He couldn’t stand the boredom of the job but he needed the money and steady income of cash to live on with some sense of security.

He hated the meaninglessness of doing something so dull as to watch the diagnostics of the company’s entire IT platform. Three gigantic servers that all had to constantly “relay” information in sequence, to and from, each other creating a “one-base” computer system, that links every program you have into one program and into the same operative base code. That type of system is of course entirely compatible with “itself” for a cost of next to nothing, once you have bought the system and translated it from German and then translated all “your other programs” into the base code. But unfortunately it is “highly expensive to run” with other programs, that you already use and haven’t had converted into the same “three dimensional” base structure system developed by the Germans in their car manufacturing plants during the late 90’s.

His job in the company was to watch and monitor (repair if needed) the diagnostic tests of the relays. What this meant in real terms was that each of the three servers, large fridge-like black box things, was constantly monitored by another program counting the “interchange of information” in terms of diagnostic study. A program that counted and then crossed checked information on a regular base, and also on an irregular random interval base. The diagnostic testing then crosschecked the eventual difference in thousands of related bits of information from the same three machines at the same time.

This was graphically displayed in “mind numbing graphs” that reset themselves every 30-second interval, so as to be unnoticeably changed beyond the update time frame. The reason the “diagnostic tests” were monitored by a human at all, was if the relays went down during business time, “the face” could manually be patched (reconnected) and the “diagnostic tests” would then be directly monitored from the patch. But that was just because “they” didn’t understand that the patch was really only a code, not a cable, because all the other wires would serve to carry the code.

If “they” could rewire relays then they would understand. But programmers aren’t trained on the hardware aspect of anything, so even a simple chipboard meant nothing to them. Those that do have knowledge know “the Relay” is the Key to working computers. What you do is adjust the program enough so it looks like you have work enough to do but in fact you just changed the program. So all manual patching that you do, is in fact not technically ever done, it just looks like it is done in the program. The need for “human support” of this machine is fictional, but because everyone believes it to be true, it becomes true. All due of lack of insight into very basic of physics in terms of electro-magnetism, a lie has become the truth, and the need for manually backed “diagnostic test studies” has become written by the hand of god into stone.

So he could quite easily make up his own “diagnostic test” study around his death that would basically function the same way the program did at work. The main advantage for him would be not have anything whatsoever to do with these people anymore. They would get someone else to do his job, so he didn’t have to it anymore, and the company would pay him for being off from work as sick from their insurance, which by law, they are obliged to pay, not only for all his medical treatment but all his up keep.

So the company would have to pay him his entire wage and on top of that all his living costs. All he had to do was just invented a “website” describing his slow but inevitable death and everyone would just find the whole thing so unbearable that they would just end up ignoring him. Finally he would disappear but still be employed claming full wages and benefits from the company until such time as he died, which could take like 30 years or more.

In the beginning he wrote like every day a small diary “blogg-thing” on how ill he was, and how he puked up forever after chemotherapy, which he got twice a month. Well, people just found it terrible, so after a while they stopped looking at the website. As he could see the number of times people tried to log onto the website he could rearrange the site automatically according to the number of searches (people going to that website address from their work computers). He didn’t have to write anything in the diary website, the program wrote the diary for him automatically, after doing the “diagnostic test” on the searches. It had preprogrammed phrases and sentence construction so it could use many different combinations to say the same thing. Write itself.

If a larger numbers of people would look at the website at the same time, it would be programmed to make it look like he would get much worse (much sicker with lots more detail of puking and nasty stuff). Then when the number of searches decreased and he got a lot better. So as soon as anyone of the “HR people” or “consultants” or any of the other arseholes employed to aggravate you, looked into what was happening with him on the website he got sicker causing them to leave the website well alone and forget he existed. He had programmed “their profiles” (the HR peoples) individually, so he knew what made them stop looking on the website on a personal level. So the program adjusted the text in the diary according to numbers and according to the particular people looking at the site, this is “diagnostic test” study working at its best.

He programmed the site with his friend the designer to make it look good. The better the things look the better people thought they were. It is like thinking, but going blaaah blaaah, at the same time. Why do people presume that “the truth” is always the best packaged? Well, it doesn’t matter a ratsarse as long as it looks believable and not some homemade hand-job with black background and dark blue text

The website just looked like this kind of thing should look, not a load of “flash” and other spin monkeys. Plain text, day after day, you made on the “blogg machine tool”, set it up; made some choices to get it looking safe and sound. Being able to change a few fonts to make it that more believable was his mates idea, the graphical designer, so that was no problem. He then down loaded it onto the server through the gateway he had made to run the machine from home. Totally untraceable because the gateway wasn’t there. They would presume it had to be cabled which was not the case, it was wired and relayed.

For the first few weeks people all over the company was searching his website. He could see how the address spread from department to department. He wrote it himself in the beginning, how he had found out he was sick and dying and how bad it was. He then wrote like a daily diary about being in hospital and then moving home to get treatment in his own home. It didn’t take that long for people to lose interest in him. The number of searches on the website from sales and marketing, went up one day and more or less disappeared by the end of the day, deal done, move on. A few people form the IT department seemed obliged to look everyday or every other day for the first few weeks, but that trailed off by about a month.

With the sublime insight of the all seeing “diagnostic testing tool” he was able to automatically use phases in the blogg that reduced interest from specific groups or individuals. This would enable the “website” to actively reduce interest in him from all departments of the company without him every having to bother with looking at it. All he needed to do was to run a “diagnostic test” on the relays to the website. That meant he was now paid his full wage and on top of that all his living expenses and any medical treatment he might every actually need without every having to do another days work in his life. He miraculously survived on the edge of death but never died. Freedom never tasted so sweet, autoload: Enter code, XXXXXXXXXXX, relay open, and download information diagnostic 20051022. The 22 th of October today, I am feeling a bit better than yesterday.

The vomit just gushed out of his mouth as he saw the sink rise up in front of him from the handicap toilet that he was being lead into.

The End