[1079] in Humor
HUMOR: We have many...tools...at our disposal
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Andrew A. Bennett)
Wed Sep 20 14:47:29 1995
To: humor@MIT.EDU
Date: Wed, 20 Sep 1995 14:44:23 EDT
From: "Andrew A. Bennett" <abennett@MIT.EDU>
Date: Wed, 20 Sep 1995 17:23:04 +0000 (GMT)
From: Espacionaute Spiff domine! <MATOSSIAN@aries.colorado.edu>
...
Forwarded-by: Dougal Scott <dwagon@aaii.oz.au>
Forwarded-by: Michael Travers <mt@media.mit.edu>
Forwarded-by: Patrick Sobalvarro <pgs@pa.dec.com>
Friday I was talking to my friend Johnson from the CDC, who told me that
the CDC had been doing an epidemiological study of clustered RSI cases
among computer scientists. He said that they've been waiting to act until
their internal review process is completed, but it seems that there is
indeed an infectious agent causing RSI. But it's not a biological agent.
It's software.
"In particular," Johnson told me, "the significant vector among academics
is Emacs."
"Emacs?" I gasped.
"Oh yes," he continued; "Didn't you ever notice that two of the first
people in the computer science community around MIT who suffered from RSI
were Richard Stallman and Bernie Greenberg? What were those people
implementing fifteen or twenty years ago? That's what tipped us off."
We were having lunch at the cafeteria at Moffett Field. Johnson watched
my hands throughout the meal. "Hey buddy. You're still doing okay
anyway, aren't you? It's good to see that. Really good." He smiled,
then looked at his watch and asked, "Walk me to the terminal, will you?"
I accompanied him to the little facility where crew-cut young men in
uniform and their dependents, trailer-park girls with squawling babies,
sat around waiting for MAC flights to other military facilities. A black
helicopter, curiously silent, was waiting on the tarmac outside, its
rotors turning lazily in the sunlight. "Ah, that'd be my flight," said
Johnson. "Old Uncle Sam always sends you first-class, ha ha."
We shook hands. A little anxiously, I asked, "But what will you do about
it? About the epidemic?"
Johnson paused before answering. He looked outside at the black
helicopter. The pilot had seen him now; in his helmet and visor he
appeared strangely insectile as he regarded Johnson patiently. I noticed
the booms extending from the sides of the helicopter, where standardized
weapons pods could be attached. "Patrick, old buddy," said Johnson
playfully, "Back in high school people said you were smart, but I never
thought you had an ounce of sense in your head. Listen: our charter is
to protect the people of the United States of America by containing
epidemics and eliminating disease. We have many... tools... at our
disposal. Why don't you take a break for a while? Go someplace where
people don't use Emacs. Where they never heard of Emacs. Don't take it
with you. Go to Hawaii -- better yet -- go to Redmond. Okay?" He
punched my shoulder, smiling. I winced.
Then he strode out onto the tarmac, giving a thumbs-up to the pilot, who
spun up the turbines. There was almost no noise. I didn't wait to watch
them take off.
