B3ta QOTW again, again

A promise is a promise. I'm so terribly, terribly sorry.

Further crimes to be taken into consideration

In my early days as a main-frame computer operator, I had a hot thing going with one of my female colleagues.

We found a "talk" facility on the system where we could send one-line messages to each other which would appear on the bottom line of our work-station screens.

So we did, often.

It was only after a couple of weeks of this that we were both taken to one side by the programmers and informed that the "talk" facility goes through the central console screen, and they could see every single message we had sent. Especially the one in which I expressed a desire to shoot red-hot man gravy on her heaving bazooms.

Furthermore, the central console log was printed off every day and handed to the IT manager for his private inspection, which, thankfully, he never, ever read.

They thanked us for the free entertainment and sent us on our way.

Excuse: It was the 1980s.