THE RUNNING OF THREE-OH-THREE
With apologies to Eugene C. Field

 There are bugs adrift on the midnight shift
   That cannot be foretold.
The audit trails have their secret tales
   That would make your blood run cold.
Debugging nights have seen queer sights,
   But the queerest they ever did see
Was that time on the way to cutover day
   I ran test three-oh-three.

Now three-oh-three in its infancy
   Was simple and sublime;
A bit set here or a patch put there;
   All done in record time.
"A trivial test is always best,"
   The experts love to state;
But a test gone sour at the midnight hour,
   Is a test you come to hate.

All through that day we slugged away
   At data errors in store.
Talk about dumps! They lay in lumps
   On every foot of floor.
The printer's stammer beat like a hammer
   In sonic tyranny.
It wasn't much fun and we hadn't yet run
   The infamous three-oh-three.

That very night by the lonely light
   Of the empty Coke machine,
The problems solved, we all resolved
   To embark on the next day clean.
"Just one more test," does the boss suggest,
   "Before we end this session.
You're doing well, I'm proud to tell,
   But humor this last obsession."

We were really beat; we'd been on our feet
   For eighteen hours or more.
Our eyes were glazed and through the haze,
   We could not tell "NEITHER" from "NOR."
But he smiled and said, "Before the bed-
   Just one little test to run;
And if you do, and I tell you true,
   Next payday you'll have fun."

Now talk about pay was an eloquent way
   To make our adrenalin rise;
And one little pest of a simple test
   Was trivial enterprise.
We fell for his tact and swore a pact
   That before the hour would come,
Our victory over three-oh-three
   Would be absolutely won.

 We said, "What the heck," and loaded the deck,
   Then toggled the bootstrap switch;
But the ROM was burned and a bit was turned--
   'Twas the ever present hitch.
We keyed-in the code as in days of old,
   With nary an audible murmur,
But beneath our breath, we snarled of death,
   Misery, mayhem, murder.

I loaded the patch, the floppy was scratched,
   Its backup locked in a drawer.
I cursed the slob that did that job,
   A damnable disc destroyer!
We reversed ten yards, picked up the shards
   Of a version he'd discarded.
It rankled like hell--it was sad to tell,
   Each bug was disregarded.

I shouted, "Nix! I refuse to fix
   A bug that's been glossed over!"
I flung my pencil, listing, stencil
   In disgust and went for the door.
But the boss called me back, gave me a pat,
   And said it's a night he'd remember.
He promised booze and great reviews,
   And a bonus in December.

Just one more hour, with tempers sour,
   'Til we could try again.
That code was mangled, tortured, tangled
   Unstructured, dumb, inane.
But after a while we began to smile;
   We'd corrected every blunder.
Just one little test and we could rest
   In sweet repose and slumber.

I hit the key for three-oh-three,
   But the system wouldn't have it.
I tried once more from the monitor,
   On the verge of throwing a fit.
The more I tried, the more I cried
   As the output mocked by silence.
It wasn't fair--I tore my hair,
   The time had come for violence!

I kicked the frame and kicked again;
   The printer burped the beginning.
Ignoring the risk, I stomped the disc,
   Sure now that I was winning.
I relished the hate as I beat the tape,
   Enjoying its rewinding.
That proc knew fear! The fact was clear
   From its internal grinding.


 With every hit, I advanced one bit;
   Approaching the conclusion.
My fists were sore, replete with gore,
   Abrasion and contusion.
The tapes were rocking, no more mocking;
   I drove that system, beaming!
And by morning's light, the end in sight;
  I knew I'd soon be dreaming.

But then its bowel began to howl--
   My guts turned into jelly.
The metal shrieked, disk platters streaked
   Across the room pell-melly.
About the hall, from wall to wall,
   They dove at us; we cowered,
One did a flip, and in a nip,
   The boss was disemboweled.

It didn't wait, but threw a tape
   Which bounded and entangled.
The loops unwound, around and round;
   My partner died--enstrangled.
The printer dumped, gallumped and thumped,
   The platen leapt and zoomed.
As in a dream, there was a scream;
   The analyst was doomed!

There wasn't much fuss for the rest of us--
   Just fracture and concussion,
An eye gouged out, a busted snout,
   From which the red was gushin'.
As for the fire, you shouldn't inquire;
   Nor of the flood that followed.
Those with skin called next of kin;
   The memory forever hallowed.

There are bugs adrift on the midnight shift
   That cannot be foretold.
The audit trails have their secret tales
   That would make your blood run cold.
Debugging nights have seen queer sights,
   But the queerest they ever did see
Was that time on the way to cutover day
   I ran test three-oh-three.

Anonymous