2 hours ago, I was winding up a single-lane blacktop through the redwoods, smelling dust and smoke and thinking I was on my way to a campsite in the Sierras rather than an IT gig. The day job has a winery for a client, the client has a virus-infected whitebox workstation and here’s me, on my way to them.
The unincorporated area of Gilroy has a ton of wineries – if you pull off Bear Creek Road on the 17 and look high up to the top of the hills, you can see a vineyard just kind of hanging in space at the top of the hill shimmering in the heat.
The client has a year-old rescue dog; a mutt that’s part blue healer and something else. She’s petrified of me and this depresses me a little bit – I hate it when animals are afraid. The client doesn’t want to spend too much money fixing this old clunker, they say. They have a price limit and it’s obvious we’ll burn through that just trying to scan the viruses and get it clean. We agree on a course of action [new workstation] and I’m off down the road again.
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