Zel-kun’s Words

The outskirts of Oklahoma City were very similar to the outskirts of Chicago.  The roads were set in the same way, the buildings had the same architecture, it had the same feeling.  At the same time, however, it was so… clean.  The walls were free of graffiti, the roads were smooth, even the paint seemed brighter.  You could tell you weren’t in the best part of town, but it sure didn’t look like it.

My first visit on this trip was supposed to be a site in Tulsa, a hundred miles northeast of Oklahoma City, which was where I landed.  In the morning, I was informed I would need to drive to Oklahoma City, but I didn’t have my laptop, as it was supposed to be shipped to my hotel room that afternoon.  This meant I had to first pick it up from the UPS facility in Owasso, about ten miles northeast of Tulsa.  The trip was looking up.

That afternoon, I arrived in Oklahoma City, it was a little cold, but nothing compared to the temperature in Chicago.  It was about forty degrees, which was nothing for Wintertime up north.  I passed the jobsite half a dozen times before I finally found it, pulling up to the tiny black speaker, which was the only sign that this place might just be where I’m trying to go.  The building was short and unmarked, surrounded by a tall barbed-wire fence, it looked like a military compound.

After checking my credentials, I was led into the compound, where I began to work.  My job was pretty straightforward for the most part, to take asset inventory in the location and import the data into a new inventory system.  There were different nuances, but that was the basic routine.  The room I worked in was large, spacious, and cooled to the point where I could occasionally see my breath.  The room was divided into aisles with towering cabinets housing the equipment, each one seven feet tall.  It was easy to lose yourself in the aisles, with nothing marking your location other than a letter or two at the top of each cabinet.

At the very front of the room was a door and two windows.  The door led into the control room, where the operators sat and monitored the performance of the site.  The windows were so the operators could see into the room.  I spent three days in that room, entering one piece of equipment after the other into the database, occasionally taking breaks to show one of the operators how to use the new system.  The job had its tedious moments, but being in a different location somehow made it seem more exciting.

On the third day, as I was nearing the end of the last aisle, I opened a cabinet to see it full of unfamiliar equipment with no serial numbers visible.  I check through my entire book that shows the numbers for models with no visible model numbers, and there’s nothing there.  I call my project manager and begin describing the equipment.  He tells me to wait.

So I wait.

Half an hour later he calls back to tell me how I’m to input these new devices into the database.  It is slow and tedious, with it being nearly ten in the evening by the time I’m done.  As I’m finishing, the lights go out.  I’m standing there in the dark, surrounded by millions upon millions of dollars of equipment.  I carefully pack up in the dim glow of the machines, and make my way to the control room.

The control room is dark and empty, everyone had gone home.  I flip the lights on and call out, “Anyone here?”  After a few moments, I realize that I have, in fact, been left here alone.

Great.

I call my project manager, who is probably upset that he’s still working, and I tell him that I’m alone.

“Alone… what do you mean?”

“Well, they all left.  There’s no one here, the lights are off.”

There’s silence on the other end.  In hindsight, this scenario happened pretty often on my trip, me being able to render my poor project manager speechless.  “Don’t move, those places have some tight security systems.”

“I’m in the control room now,” I respond.

“Good, don’t move, I’m going to try to get in touch with some people.”

Sure enough, he can’t get in touch with anyone, being ten in the evening, and calls me back, “I’m not sure what to do, you can’t leave, if you set off that security system, we’ll all be in a lot of trouble.”

Just then, the door to the outer hallway opens and in walks a young kid, maybe eighteen or nineteen, and grabs the trash.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have never in my entire life been so happy to see a janitor.  I catch him and ask him to let me out of the building.  He complies, and relate the news to my very relieved project manager.  A few minutes later, I’m standing in the cool night air of Oklahoma City.

I take a deep breath, grab my things, and walk to my car… on the other side of a giant, electronically locked, barbed wire fence.  I lean against the wall, shaking my head.  Out of the frying pan and into the fire.  I kept thinking that any minute, a cop was going to drive by and see me meandering around this secure area.  He’ll see my out-of-state license, and complete lack of credentials for the place in which I stand, and he’ll throw me in the back of his car.

Luckily, that never happened.  But I did have to stand out in the cold for another hour or so until the janitor finished his shift.  He let me out, and I was finally able to leave Oklahoma City.  But I chose to go back to my hotel room and sleep first.

Zel-kun out.