Recap: I work in telecom. A hospital went down because cables don’t magically move themselves.

Part 1 for those wishing to read it.

$BT – Me

$CLRK – Front Desk Clerk at [Hospital]

$PLC – Splice Crew Supervisor

$RDCK – Redneck

When we last left off, I had finally discovered the reason for the hospital being down (despite having a diverse path), fixed it, shot the fiber to find out where the break was, and was ready to roll out the front door.

I made a beeline for the sliding front doors of the hospital the moment [Hospital’s] tech confirmed that they were back online. I was three steps from freedom, when I heard a voice call out from behind me.

$CLRK – Excuse me, sir!

I froze.

I was halfway through my third cup of Fair Trade Colombian and hadn’t yet made the transition into miserly tech ogre, so I was conflicted as to how I should respond.

$BT – Yes, ma’am. How can I be of service?

$CLRK – Did you see the news?

I stared at her for several seconds, with what must have been a look of confusion, because her reply still haunts me.

$CLRK – There’s a hail warning for the next 6 hours.

A choice had to be made at the moment:

I could call my boss, tell him that I was going to head home (because the hospital was up for the time being), wait out the hail, and then come back the next day to solve the issue. This would involve a lot of social effort and more energy than three cup me had left in him.

Or, I could hop in my truck, call a splice crew to meet me at the point my map told me the break was at, deal with the hail, and hope I didn’t end up worse for wear. Sure, I could die, but hey, at least I didn’t have to call my boss.

This wouldn’t be much of a story if I had chosen option one.

So away I went. The sky was dark, and that beautiful autumn weather that I loved about the Midwest was soured by the black clouds looming overhead. I arrived at the spot where the break should have been just minutes before the splice crew (thank heavens they were nearby working on a construction project). At the spot there was a house. In front of the house were poles, with our aerial fiber attached. And from our aerial fiber, there was clear goop dripping down.

Side note:

Aerial fiber is shit. Total and utter shit, and designed to be as durable as possible because companies like to cheap the fuck out on their installations (if you’re going aerial over buried, you’ve already lost the battle). Sadly, it also tends to have this protective gel inside of the jacket to shield it against the elements. This is what was dripping like a manmade stalactite.

We had definitely found the issue.

While the splice crew set about pulling the closest splice case down with the bucket truck, I took stock of the situation. Fiber doesn’t just drip; something had to have put holes in the jacket. I’ve seen mice chew on it and really aggressive birds fuck it up, but never have I seen dripping quite like that. It was then that I saw the man on the porch.

Early forties, balding head, and shaggy beard, he appeared quite content to sit on his rocking chair and watch us work while he sipped a cold brew (of the hoppy, alcoholic kind). Judging by the paintball splatter on the pole (which matched the color of the splatter on his truck) and the shotgun shells sitting on his porch, it was clear that this man was an expert in the fine art of country entertainment.

Wait, shotgun shells?

No.

No one is that stupid.

Just, no.

It was then that I heard someone call for me from the nearby enclosure.

$PLC – Hey $BT, you need to come look at this.

I climbed up into the trailer, hoping that what he was about to show me was something vastly different from what I thought it was going to be.

Spoiler:

It wasn’t.

$PLC – Someone put shotgun rounds into this 24 count.

Both of us looked at the redneck on the porch. The redneck on the porch looked at us. Not one to shy away from danger (even a potentially gun toting, drunken redneck), my splice crew chief decided to have words with the man.

$PLC – Excuse me, sir? Do you have a moment to talk?

I could see the panic in old boy’s face.

$RDCK – I'M SORRY I JUST MOVED IN ON FRIDAY AND I HAVE TO GO!

And with that informative salutation, he took off running.

Have you ever seen a drunken gazelle try to drive a truck? Because if you have, that’s what it looked like as he staggered over to his truck, leapt into the front seat, and took off with one leg hanging out the (still) open driver’s side door.

It wasn’t long before the police arrived (we were required to file a report), and they were just as happy as we were to be out in the middle of a (now very active) hail storm.

At the end of the day, we survived the hailstorm, pulled the slack, spliced the lines, buttoned up the cases, and mounted everything back onto the poles. The local deputy knew the man who owned the house (who would by extension be able to identify our redneck renter), and promised us he would take care of the problem. So by all measurements, that should have been the end of this tale, right?

I wish.

To be continued…

Edit: Part 3 is out. Enjoy!