Month: March 2024

The Pink Datacenter – 1.5 – The Telco “startup”

Chapter 1: First steps, baby steps

5     The Telco “startup”

The technology

In 1997, I stepped into the world of telecommunications, where one of the key (and first) players was the AT&T Definity switch, later known as Lucent Technologies’ Definity switch, after a company’s spinoff for their enterprise communications products. This switch was a powerhouse in the realm of telephony, designed to handle both analog and digital telephony and to interface with various adjuncts, including servers equipped with specialized software for reporting, business intelligence (BI), messaging, and Interactive Voice Response (IVR).

The Definity switch was the heart of many corporate phone systems in its heyday. It was a Private Branch Exchange (PBX) system that allowed organizations to manage their phone lines, extensions, and calls internally. What made the Definity switch so versatile was its ability to handle both analog and digital telephony.

Analog telephony, characterized by the use of electrical signals to transmit voice and data, was still common in 1997. Many telephones and fax machines used analog connections, and the Definity switch had the capability to interface with these analog devices seamlessly. It could route analog calls, manage voice mailboxes, and even handle the transfer of faxes between users (only through its external messaging system).

On the other hand, digital telephony, which involved encoding voice and data into binary code for transmission, was emerging as the future of telephony. The Definity switch excelled in this domain as well. It could manage Digital Signal Processor (DSP) resources for tasks like voice compression and encryption. The switch could interface with digital telephones and provide features like call waiting, call forwarding, and three-way calling, as long as 6 party conference calls and at some point, a whole deal of call center logic and queuing directly within the switch. VoIP and IP telephony were still far in sight…

The true power of the Definity switch lay in its ability to interface with adjuncts, specialized servers that hosted software applications designed to enhance the telephony experience. These adjuncts were connected to the switch via serial connectivity, allowing for real-time data transfer and communication.

  • Reporting and Business Intelligence (BI) Servers: These adjuncts were essential for organizations seeking to analyze their call data. They collected and processed information related to call volumes, call durations, and other call statistics. The specialized software running on these servers could generate detailed reports, enabling businesses to make informed decisions regarding their telephony systems. With access to these reports, organizations could optimize their call center operations, improve customer service, and identify areas for cost reduction. The CMS (Call Management System) was my pride and joy, as it was hosted on a Sun Solaris platform where we would provide the hardware and the software (preinstalled) to our premium customers.
  • Messaging Servers: Messaging was a crucial aspect of telephony in the late ’90s. Organizations relied on messaging servers to handle voicemails and fax messages. The Definity switch interfaced with these servers, routing voicemails and faxes to the appropriate user’s mailbox. Users could access their messages through their telephones or, in some cases, through computer-based applications. Messaging servers streamlined communication within businesses, allowing for quick and efficient message retrieval. Here we were talking about a SCOUnix server, with our proprietary software named Audix that would handle all the real-time requests coming to and from the PBX. The server also hosted the users mailboxes, with their voice and fax messages that could then be backed up on tape.
  • Interactive Voice Response (IVR) Servers: IVR servers were at the forefront of customer service and call center automation. The Definity switch integrated with these servers to provide automated responses and gather information from callers. The specialized software on these servers, named Conversant, enabled businesses to create interactive menus, handle customer inquiries, and route calls to the appropriate agents. This technology significantly improved call center efficiency and customer satisfaction and was obviously hosted on SCOUnix OS.

The serial connections between the Definity switch and these adjuncts were crucial for data exchange. They allowed the switch to communicate with the servers, providing information about call routing, call statuses, and user preferences, along with voice messages and additional data transmitted. This integration was the backbone of efficient telephony operations and was instrumental in creating a seamless and productive communication environment within organizations.

The AT&T-then Lucent Technologies Definity switch, with its capability to handle analog and digital telephony, and its ability to interface with specialized adjuncts via serial connections, played a vital role in shaping the telecommunications landscape of its time. It empowered companies to manage their phone systems effectively, providing the foundation for more advanced telephony solutions that have since evolved with the ever-changing technology landscape.

We started talking about VoIP and IP communications only around the years 2000-2001, where this new technology would disrupt the voice lords in more than one way… but back then, this was still almost sci-fi.

You start working in 1997 on an old at&t, now lucent technologies, Definity switch. describe how the switch works with analog and digital telephony and how it interfaces via serial connection to special adjuncts, servers that have a specialized software (either for reporting and bi, or for messaging, or for IVR).
the prompt

The Pink Datacenter – 1.4 – The Montana Incident

Chapter 1: First steps, baby steps

4. The Montana Incident

It was a day etched in the annals of our office’s history, a comedy of errors that could rival a Shakespearean farce.

It all began innocently enough, with a mischievous glint in our eyes and the clickety-clack of keyboards as we concocted what we thought was a harmless prank. You see, Davide, our beloved grumpy bear, was known for his aversion to anything outside his cozy tech cave. So naturally, the idea of sending him off to the wilds of Montana for a year-long project seemed like the ultimate jest.

With devilish glee, we drafted an email fit for the ages, meticulously crafting every detail to mimic the style and tone of our esteemed General Manager. We even went so far as to spoof the email address, ensuring it appeared as though it came straight from the top.

The contents of the email were nothing short of elaborate, outlining Davide’s supposed assignment in Montana, complete with project details, timelines, and even a faux itinerary. We spared no detail, making it seem as convincing as possible, all the while stifling our laughter like mischievous schoolchildren.

With trembling hands and barely contained excitement, we sent the email off into the digital ether, watching with bated breath as Davide’s unsuspecting inbox received the faux missive.

And then, the moment of truth arrived. Davide, pale as a ghost and visibly shaken, burst into our midst, his frustration palpable as he waved the email in our faces.

“What is this?!” he demanded, having printed the note, adding an extra layer of drama to the scene.

Suppressing giggles behind our hands, we feigned innocence, pretending to read the email for the first time. “Oh Davide, how could this have happened?” we exclaimed, struggling to contain our amusement.

As Davide’s panic reached a fever pitch, it became clear that the prank had spiraled out of control. He was on the brink of storming into the General Manager’s office, ready to decline the invitation to Montana in person.

With a collective sigh, we finally came clean, revealing the truth behind the elaborate ruse. Davide’s relief was palpable, followed swiftly by a mixture of amusement and exasperation as he realized the extent of our deception.

In the end, the “Montana Incident” served as a cautionary tale, a reminder that even the best-laid plans can unravel in the most unexpected ways. But amidst the chaos and laughter, it also brought our team closer together, forging bonds that would withstand even the wildest of pranks. And as for Davide, well, let’s just say he’s never looked at his inbox the same way again.

write about that time when you and your colleagues wrote a very detailed email using the branch General Manager as the sender (you could send it directly to the mail server back then) stating that one of the developers, Davide, was to be sent in Montana for a 1 year project starting in 2 weeks. We decided to spill the beans only when Davide came to us pale and frustrated as he did not know how to turn down the invite and was almost going through the GM’s door!!!
the prompt

The Pink Datacenter – 1.3 – That time with the message server

Chapter 1: First steps, baby steps

3. That time with the message server

One day, I had one of my greatest computer lessons that I still cherish to date. Oh, what a nightmarish moment that was. I’d had my fair share of dealing with frustrating users from hell, and after a particularly maddening interaction, I was feeling a bit more snarky than usual. It was the umpteenth time I’d had to explain the same super easy and documented procedure to the same user, and patience had worn thin. Without thinking, I composed an email that was both condescending and scolding, outlining the solution in the harshest tones I could muster. A classic RTFM message.

I hit the send button, thinking that it would finally get the message across. Little did I know that I had set myself up for a truly cringe-worthy situation. As I closed my email client and leaned back in my chair, I got a reply of the message from a guy who was definitely not the intended recipient! My heart sank as I realized what had happened.

With a sense of impending doom, I opened the email and scrolled right, into a hidden part of the message to check the recipients. My laziness had me copy an old email with the procedure that was originally sent to…well… everyone this side of the ocean! I had inadvertently sent my scathing email to all the pharmaceutical representatives in Europe. Every. single. one. of. them.

My desk, which had been a place of tech gadgets and quirky humor, suddenly felt like the scene of a disaster. Panic set in as I realized the implications of my mistake.

There were dozens of people across Europe who would receive an unsolicited message from me, their tech support contact, that was nothing short of embarrassing as it was clear I was scolding one specific user.

But, hey, this was the 90s and the email was still not mainstream. This meant that the users would have to dial into the server in order to download the message, but until then, I could still delete it from the server mailboxes. I had to act quickly. This was to date the most daunting task of all: manually deleting each and every offending message from each user directory of the server. It was a long and grueling night, typing away through countless messages, feeling the weight of each delete command as I tried to erase my unfortunate blunder. It was a painstaking process, and I couldn’t help but cringe with every click.

As the sun began to rise, I finally cleared the last of the emails from the server and sent out an apology email to those 5 users who did receive the message. The damage control was complete, but my pride was still in tatters. From that point on, I vowed to be extra cautious with my messages, rereading them at least ten times before hitting the send button. The fear of making the same mistake again loomed over me like a dark cloud, and still does!

My colleagues, those who had often joined me in light-hearted banter and sarcastic responses to absurd user queries, were surprisingly supportive. They understood that we all had our moments of frustration, and they offered their own stories of email mishaps to make me feel a little less foolish.

In the end, my unintentional message blunder served as a humbling reminder that no matter how experienced and knowledgeable we are in the world of tech, we’re all capable of making mistakes. It was a lesson in humility, professionalism, and the importance of treating every user with respect, no matter how challenging they might be. And it was a lesson I carried with me throughout my career, ensuring that my interactions with users were always marked by patience, empathy, and the utmost professionalism.

From that day forward, I learned to find more constructive ways to deal with frustrating user interactions, channeling my sarcastic wit into helpful and informative responses. I had come to understand that tech support wasn’t just about fixing technical issues; it was also about providing excellent customer service and ensuring that users left every interaction feeling valued and understood.

My colleagues and I continued to share stories and laughs, but the tone of our responses had evolved. We remained a team of tech enthusiasts who embraced our quirks and humor, but we also made sure that our interactions with users were always positive and helpful, no matter how challenging the situation. We channeled our goliardic strive towards ourselves: the screenshot pranck is just an example. And as for that fateful message incident, it remained a cautionary tale, a reminder to always double and triple-check before hitting the send button. It had been a painful experience, but it had also made me a better, more empathetic tech support representative. In the end, it was a lesson well learned in the world of tech support, in a time when the internet was still finding its way in Europe, and we were considered proper gurus for just being able to switch on a computer and understand the boot sequence.

Scary moment: you send an email with condescending and partly scolding instructions (for the umpteenth time) to the same user without realizing that in a hidden cc windows it is copied to all the reps of Europe. You spend the night manually deleting each message from the server and from then on you will reread your emails 10 times before hitting the send button.
the prompt

The Pink Datacenter – 1.2 – First “real” job

Chapter 1: First steps, baby steps

2. First “real” job

The year was 1995, and the internet had not yet become mainstream, at least in Europe. I was a 21-year-old girl with a passion for all things tech, using a whopping 1200 baud modem to connect with my BBS (Bulletin Board System) friends who shared my skills and interests. Little did I know that my affinity for computers would lead me to a job that was both easy and incredibly fun, with the exception of those users from hell.

With my unruly reddish hair, t-shirt and black pants, and a stride that was a mix of enthusiasm and defiance, I approached the work market with the only viable reason at that age: independence. I wanted my own house with my own rules, and I wanted them as soon as possible, so I searched for jobs that would make good use of my capabilities while giving the most money.

Now, you might be wondering what led me here. Well, it all started when I was a kid, taking apart my family’s VCR to see how it worked, and in general being the one that knows how to use technology in the house. My parents and elder boomer brother never understood my obsession, but they couldn’t deny that I had talent for all things tech related. So, naturally, I decided to make a career out of it.

I had always been aware that I didn’t exactly fit the typical mold of a computer whiz. Instead of being the classic bespectacled nerd, I was a young woman who embraced her uniqueness. My passion for technology was as fiery as my bright red hair, and I refused to let stereotypes or expectations define me.

Having now dropped out of computer science engineering at university, I found myself working at a software company that specialized in creating collaboration software for pharmaceutical representatives. My official title was “Customer Support Representative,” but in reality, my job encompassed a whole lot more. I helped users navigate our software, beta-tested new versions, and wrote user manuals. And oh, the tales I could tell from those early days in tech support.

 The technology

This was an American company that sold a framework to be customized by the local subsidiaries, not just with language but also with specific features. It was an old day’s collaboration software where the users would dial in via modem from their portable laptop (and portable meant 3-5kg weight for a Pentium processor with maybe 4Mb RAM!) to upload their client data and download updates and messages, via modem on the telephony line. The first versions had no GUI. The message server was internal only, typically a unix OS with a large DB, hosted on our company’s local servers (what we would now call private cloud), and not connected to the internet or to any other external mail server, so they could only communicate within the server and remote clients topology.

The job

My desk was a haven of tech gear, complete with the latest computers and gadgets, some personalization, and a coffee mug that declared “No, I won’t fix your computer”.

My coworkers were a mix of personalities. My cubicle neighbor, Mauro, a developer and dba, had the ultimate decorations: his dead tarantulas pinned into frames, where you could watch and observe these fascinating creatures without the fear of them jumping on you. This is where my love for spiders all started. I embraced my unique identity in the male-dominated tech world, and I was known for my sarcastic wit and love of all things geeky.

Some were tech-savvy and got my sense of humor, while others… well, let’s just say they were tech-challenged. But one thing was for sure: I could always count on my fellow geeks to make me laugh.

One day, I was sipping my coffee and browsing through a new beta version of our software when my phone rang. It was our receptionist, Lisa, who had a knack for spotting the “users from hell” before they even made it to my desk.

“Hey, there’s a user here who’s convinced their computer is possessed,” Lisa said, her voice laced with amusement.

I chuckled and grabbed my headset. “Send the call up, I’ll perform an exorcism.”

Moments later, I was speaking on the phone with a frazzled pharmaceutical rep named Mr. B. who talked as if he’d seen a ghost, and not the friendly Casper type.

“Please, you have to help me. It’s doing things on its own!” he exclaimed.

I tried to maintain a straight face (we were told to never laugh or even smile while on the phone as the receiving end might tell) but couldn’t help the smirk that crept in. “Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with poltergeist computers before.”

I asked him if the cursor was darting around the screen as if it had a mind of its own. I knew the culprit immediately: a malfunctioning trackpad. I guided him to discreetly disabled the trackpad, enabled it back, and the cursor finally obeyed commands. Mr. B was enthusiastic and promised to send the laptop for repairs along with flowers… I did not mention how I have always loathed flowers: they made a great gift for my female colleagues.

My colleagues overheard the commotion and joined in the fun. Stefano, a tennis player with a collection of famous players pictures on his desk, quipped, “If the touchpad acts up again, just sprinkle some holy water on it.” Mauro, who would be mocked forever for showing up in a complete blazer and vest suit on his first day of work, chimed in, “Or call the Ghostbusters. They’re good with all things supernatural.”

Days like these were the norm in my job, where I never knew what kind of tech-related escapade I’d encounter next. Some days, it meant helping a user understand the basics of copy-paste (yes, in 1995, not everyone had mastered it, especially on non-graphic operating systems). Other days, it was deciphering why a user’s keyboard was suddenly typing in hieroglyphics (language settings, folks).

My colleagues and I had a blast sharing stories of our most memorable interactions with users from hell. There was that time a user called because her computer was “smoking.” Turned out, it was just a dust bunny in the exhaust fan. Then, there was the infamous “any key” incident, where a user couldn’t find the “any key” to continue an installation.

This was also a time filled with pranks: when, finally, our computers donned the Windows GUI, we used to screenshot the desktop of an unaware colleague, hide all the icons and then use it as the background picture, measuring the time it took to realize why clicking on the icons had no effect.

As much as I enjoyed the camaraderie with my tech-savvy coworkers, I couldn’t escape the occasional frustration that came with dealing with users who had literally never seen a computer before and were forced by the company to use it on a daily basis to record all their interactions and work (free data entry!). But I reminded myself that patience was a virtue, and each interaction was an opportunity to educate and help someone in need.

Back in the realm of tech-savvy coworkers, we often engaged in friendly competitions of who could come up with the most sarcastic but helpful response to absurd user queries. It was a way to let off steam and share a laugh during those long days of troubleshooting.

One day, as we gathered around my desk, I received an email from a user named Robert. His message read, “My computer is making strange noises. It’s like a mix of beeping, buzzing, and quacking. Is it possessed?”

My colleagues erupted into laughter. Stefano, who had a vast collection of sci-fi novels, said, “Tell him it’s just a computer duck. They’re known to be quite mischievous.”

I couldn’t resist the temptation. I replied to Robert, “Don’t worry, it’s just your computer duck, a distant relative of the ghost mouse. They tend to get chatty when they’re hungry. Try feeding it some virtual breadcrumbs.”

My colleagues and I had a good laugh, but we also took our roles seriously. We were responsible for ensuring that our software worked seamlessly for the pharmaceutical representatives who relied on it for their daily tasks. We beta-tested new versions rigorously, squashing bugs, and provided valuable feedback to our development team.

As for the user manuals, I approached that task with my own unique flair. Instead of dry and technical instructions, I infused them with humor and relatable anecdotes. I wanted our users to feel like they were having a conversation with a friend, not wading through a dense technical document. It was a small touch, but it made a big difference in our users’ experience. In the world of tech support in 1995, sarcasm and humor were my allies. They helped me navigate the challenging waters of clueless users, and they brought joy and camaraderie to my interactions with fellow tech geeks. Every day brought a new adventure, a fresh challenge, and a tale that I was sure one day would be the subject of a book.

It’s 1995. internet is not mainstream yet in Europe. you are a 21-year-old girl with good computer skills, using a 1200 baud modem to connect with your BBS friends with similar skills. these people will become your best friends for life. You are hired by a software company that localizes a pharmaceutical collaboration sofwtare (or the grandfather of a crm) for reps. describe your workplace with wit and sarcasm as people act a bit funny seeing you are a woman and not the usual eye glassed nerd. Internet is not there yet, and your job is technical support to those poor reps, forced to use technology to ditch the daily paperwork for a free data entry.
your job is customer care representative, helping users with the software, and beta test the new versions, and writing user manuals. The  job is super easy and fun, except when dealing with users from hell. write with witty and sarcastic tone, adding conversations with unskilled computer users and funny colleagues who get it.
the prompt