I was doing a temp stint at a place that shall remain nameless to protect them from the hoardes of angry IT folks that would surely set fire to the HQ if said name were made known. Suffice it to say it was one of those huge juggernaughts that we all love to eviscerate with vitriol at every opportunity.
I was in a server room tending to an old cluster that needed some TLC. Archaic disks that hadn't been backed up in aeons, software so old it had probably been given first drafts on clay tablets by Egyptian clerks wondering how to spell all the buzzword bingo bullshit, managed by monkies in feisty knickers.
I had verified that the server was no longer connected to the internal network by order of the manager I had been assigned to. I made sure that it wasn't running any jobs that hadn't been marked as non critical, temporary, or otherwise able to be sacrificed without need for panick. At which point I start searching the disks for where the largest concentration of files (sizes, numbers, etc) were to be found.
Imagine my surprise when the largest by an exponential margin turned out to be a personal directory full of porn. I dutifully made an offline copy for *cough* Reasons and began backing up the entire system to the specific NAS unit dedicated for just that cluster & purpose.
I get done, detach the NAS, lock it in the drawer the manager indicated, and began cleaning up/out said server for repurposing to other tasks.
I'm about halfway through when some guy I don't know barges into the server room in a wide-eyed frizzy-haired state & heads straight for me like a laser beam.
"What have you done to my server?!" he roars as if he were Zeus & I'm about to get smote with lightning.
I explain what I'd been brought in to do, show him the paperwork from my manager giving me authorization to do it, & explain that I've just given the machine a fresh, legally licensed copy of the OS (complete with drivers) to prep it for reuse elsewhere.
"You can't DO that! That's MY server!" he roars again.
Unimpressed I show him the paperwork that expressly says I most certainly can & have $Manager's orders to do so.
Back & forth, back & forth, him roaring, me not giving a shit. I'd made *damn* sure I was on the machine $Manager specified to prevent me from fucking anything else up, so to have a different manager berating me for doing my job leaves me wanting to smack him upside the head with a NAS.
He shouts he'll talk to $Manager, I nod & say to go ahead, & while he's off to go have some more shouting, I'll finish the job I want to get paid for.
Turned out that Old Yeller had been some up-and-comer nepotistic bugger that had hit his Peter Principle limit. He was used to coming in to work, vanishing into his office, & surfing porn all day. Actual work? Don't make him laugh.
My having taken down his personal porn server was seriously putting a crimp in his pseudo-productivity & he was Having Words with $Manager about why said interference Was Not Allowed.
Except Old Yeller really should have talked to whomever he'd been related to first. Because that person no longer worked at the company, upper management was sick & fekkin' tired of the useless dolt, & this had been their shot across the bow to get him to actually DO something for a change.
$Manager showed their paperwork authorizing said work & sent Old Yeller up the ladder. At some point Old Yeller was told to stuff it.
$Manager thanked me for not giving in to the idiot, for having had the forethought to keep all the paperwork I'd needed to deflect said idiots anger, and for giving him back seriously needed resources.
I was quite pleased with the trip to the pub for lunch & a pint on $Manager.
I was even MORE pleased with the fat brown envelope he offered for his own copy of what I'd found on the machine.
"It's all on that NAS you locked in the cabinet." made him grin like a shark swimming through a cloud of fresh chum.
I was even MORE pleased when I uploaded the entire trove to my various torrent accounts (Demonoid FTW!) & watched my street cred go through the roof.
Ahhhhhh... fun times!