One Christmas in the NOC
First published in Telephony magazine in 2002, Tim McElligott dedicates this blog to all the people who are still keeping the lights green in the NOC this holiday season, especially as network automation increases within networks around the world.
18 Dec 2019
One Christmas in the NOC
Next year, TM Forum will publish an in-depth report on network automation. Starting research on the topic has brought me face to face with the profound changes closed-loop automation will have on the people who work in network operations centers (NOCs) around the world, standing watch 24 hours a day, 365 days a year to ensure that telecom networks live up to their promised ‘five-nines’ reliability. Automation is inevitable, but at this time of year, it feels right to look back at the human touch that will soon be no more. The following story was first published in Telephony magazine on December 19, 2002. It is dedicated to those who are still keeping the lights green, especially on Christmas Day.
They drift in from different parts of the city, 15 minutes early. “Not a car on the street,” they say. “Better get while the gettin’s good.”
The night crew doesn’t hesitate. One points to a tray of cookies shaped like little Christmas trees. “Help yourself. Network’s quiet,” he says, and they all add a “Merry Christmas” as they leave.
She looks up and scans the central region. Miniature ornaments dangle from her ears. They match the green and red lights on the alarm panel overhead. She taps on a keyboard and half the red lights turn green. She does the same at the next terminal, then the next. Then she takes off her coat and settles in.
The rookie wears a T-shirt featuring Donner on Blitzen in graphic detail. He puts in a Christmas CD, but the old man walks by and shuts it off without a word, just a cross look over the top of his glasses as he pulls the morning report off the printer they call the washing machine. “Anything going on at Wabash, Ruby?” he says.
“I reset mod six. Hasn’t come back,” she says without turning around. “There’s a ticket on it.”
The rookie takes the hint and mans his terminal. “Open-door alarm at Monroe, Chester.”
They drift in from different parts of the city, 15 minutes early. “Not a car on the street,” they say. “Better get while the gettin’s good.”
The night crew doesn’t hesitate. One points to a tray of cookies shaped like little Christmas trees. “Help yourself. Network’s quiet,” he says, and they all add a “Merry Christmas” as they leave.
She looks up and scans the central region. Miniature ornaments dangle from her ears. They match the green and red lights on the alarm panel overhead. She taps on a keyboard and half the red lights turn green. She does the same at the next terminal, then the next. Then she takes off her coat and settles in.
The rookie wears a T-shirt featuring Donner on Blitzen in graphic detail. He puts in a Christmas CD, but the old man walks by and shuts it off without a word, just a cross look over the top of his glasses as he pulls the morning report off the printer they call the washing machine. “Anything going on at Wabash, Ruby?” he says.
“I reset mod six. Hasn’t come back,” she says without turning around. “There’s a ticket on it.”
The rookie takes the hint and mans his terminal. “Open-door alarm at Monroe, Chester.”
Without taking his eyes from the report or acknowledging his young co-worker, the old man one-fingers the NMS. The alarm clears.
The phones are quiet, but the fluorescent lights are humming and the heat is unusually strong. Minus all the usual fingers in the network and the engineers coming in and out with requests, the crew gets through its morning routines by 9 a.m. Seven hours to go. They do busy work. By 10 a.m. the rookie buckles under the monotony and Chester’s glare. He re-shelves the manuals left out by the night crew and turns on CNN. Chester shuts that off, too. He hands the kid a stack of papers. “These scripts didn’t run last night. See if you can figure out why.”
Ruby sneaks in a call home. “Are the kids up yet, hon? Oh good. I can’t believe I am not there. Okay, gotta go.”
By eleven, the rookie is pacing. “You got like, what, 40 years in, Chester? What are you doin’ here on Christmas? You can’t need the money. You never spend a dime.”
Chester presses his tea bag then wraps it neatly, setting it aside for the afternoon. “I’m here to keep an eye on you, Billy boy.”
Suddenly, alerts fill the monitors and bells sound the alarm. Ruby slides her chair across the floor alternating between terminals. Her head whips in all directions correlating what her tools are telling her. She rips the adornments from her ears and tosses them aside. Billy’s fingers fly across the keyboard as windows pop up and disappear as fast as bubbles in next week’s champagne. “It’s the fiber again,” he says with life back in his voice.
Chester scans the printer as it spits out reams of paper. “Protection’s working,” he says.
The phone rings. “Hi sweetie,” Ruby whispers. “Yes, I’m wearing them.” She puts one hand to her unadorned earlobe and her shoulders slump. She slams a black box on the counter to stop the incessant beeping. “Yes, I’ll be home soon. But Mommy’s gotta go now.” She hangs up and wipes her eyes.
As quickly as they came, the alerts go green, the alarms quiet. The three of them freeze. They wait, staring at the monitors. Billy runs a test. “We’re good,” he says. Chester shakes his head while Ruby runs to the washroom telling Billy to send the page.
Quiet returns to the NOC. Time drags. Chester trades his printouts for the financial page and tells Billy to shred some old documents. Ruby tries to glue her earring back together.
“I never should have worked today. Screw the double time,” she says. Billy agrees, lamenting that his seniority precluded the option and speculating aloud that Chester must have no life, likening him – not for the first time – to Ebenezer Scrooge himself.
The phone rings again. Billy answers, thinking it’s the boss. It’s Linda calling to thank Chester for taking her shift on such short notice. And, no, her mother’s not doing very well.
Later, they reminisce, laughing about the time their second-level got called in during an outage in the middle of the night and showed up in her moo-moo and paced the floor in her flabby bare feet. They laugh even harder about her getting transferred to New Jersey three months later.
The trio scatters during pregnant pauses and goes through the motions, then reconvenes to talk about their favorite parts of Christmas and what they would be doing right now if they were home. Chester mostly listens. They talk about the members of their crew who got laid off over the summer and about which ones found new work. And the day grows quiet again.
The door alarm sounds and Billy hurries to close Solitaire. Ruby opens a window on her screen to look busy and flips open a manual. Chester opens the door to the NOC and greets a woman with a kiss. Taking her bag, he leads her into the operations center.
“This is Helen. My bride of 31 years,” says Chester, beaming. He sets the bag on the console and unloads it.
“You must be Ruby,” Helen says. “And you...William, right? Oh, Chester talks about you guys all the time.”
Slack-jawed, Billy and Ruby exchange a curious glance. Suddenly conscious of his T-shirt, Billy throws on a sweater. Helen quickly sets three turkey dinners before them and a pumpkin pie.
As they eat, Helen keeps them laughing as she confirms the stories she’s heard over the years. Chester fills their glasses and tidies up, touching Helen’s shoulder each time he passes by. He even hits the play button on Billy’s Christmas mix, but keeps the volume low. They don’t even notice when the evening shift arrives 20 minutes late.
Chester retired the following day, without fanfare, without giving notice.
A special Merry Christmas to all those at the helm on Christmas Day.
The phones are quiet, but the fluorescent lights are humming and the heat is unusually strong. Minus all the usual fingers in the network and the engineers coming in and out with requests, the crew gets through its morning routines by 9 a.m. Seven hours to go. They do busy work. By 10 a.m. the rookie buckles under the monotony and Chester’s glare. He re-shelves the manuals left out by the night crew and turns on CNN. Chester shuts that off, too. He hands the kid a stack of papers. “These scripts didn’t run last night. See if you can figure out why.”
Ruby sneaks in a call home. “Are the kids up yet, hon? Oh good. I can’t believe I am not there. Okay, gotta go.”
By eleven, the rookie is pacing. “You got like, what, 40 years in, Chester? What are you doin’ here on Christmas? You can’t need the money. You never spend a dime.”
Chester presses his tea bag then wraps it neatly, setting it aside for the afternoon. “I’m here to keep an eye on you, Billy boy.”
Suddenly, alerts fill the monitors and bells sound the alarm. Ruby slides her chair across the floor alternating between terminals. Her head whips in all directions correlating what her tools are telling her. She rips the adornments from her ears and tosses them aside. Billy’s fingers fly across the keyboard as windows pop up and disappear as fast as bubbles in next week’s champagne. “It’s the fiber again,” he says with life back in his voice.
Chester scans the printer as it spits out reams of paper. “Protection’s working,” he says.
The phone rings. “Hi sweetie,” Ruby whispers. “Yes, I’m wearing them.” She puts one hand to her unadorned earlobe and her shoulders slump. She slams a black box on the counter to stop the incessant beeping. “Yes, I’ll be home soon. But Mommy’s gotta go now.” She hangs up and wipes her eyes.
As quickly as they came, the alerts go green, the alarms quiet. The three of them freeze. They wait, staring at the monitors. Billy runs a test. “We’re good,” he says. Chester shakes his head while Ruby runs to the washroom telling Billy to send the page.
Quiet returns to the NOC. Time drags. Chester trades his printouts for the financial page and tells Billy to shred some old documents. Ruby tries to glue her earring back together.
“I never should have worked today. Screw the double time,” she says. Billy agrees, lamenting that his seniority precluded the option and speculating aloud that Chester must have no life, likening him – not for the first time – to Ebenezer Scrooge himself.
The phone rings again. Billy answers, thinking it’s the boss. It’s Linda calling to thank Chester for taking her shift on such short notice. And, no, her mother’s not doing very well.
Later, they reminisce, laughing about the time their second-level got called in during an outage in the middle of the night and showed up in her moo-moo and paced the floor in her flabby bare feet. They laugh even harder about her getting transferred to New Jersey three months later.
The trio scatters during pregnant pauses and goes through the motions, then reconvenes to talk about their favorite parts of Christmas and what they would be doing right now if they were home. Chester mostly listens. They talk about the members of their crew who got laid off over the summer and about which ones found new work. And the day grows quiet again.
The door alarm sounds and Billy hurries to close Solitaire. Ruby opens a window on her screen to look busy and flips open a manual. Chester opens the door to the NOC and greets a woman with a kiss. Taking her bag, he leads her into the operations center.
“This is Helen. My bride of 31 years,” says Chester, beaming. He sets the bag on the console and unloads it.
“You must be Ruby,” Helen says. “And you...William, right? Oh, Chester talks about you guys all the time.”
Slack-jawed, Billy and Ruby exchange a curious glance. Suddenly conscious of his T-shirt, Billy throws on a sweater. Helen quickly sets three turkey dinners before them and a pumpkin pie.
As they eat, Helen keeps them laughing as she confirms the stories she’s heard over the years. Chester fills their glasses and tidies up, touching Helen’s shoulder each time he passes by. He even hits the play button on Billy’s Christmas mix, but keeps the volume low. They don’t even notice when the evening shift arrives 20 minutes late.
Chester retired the following day, without fanfare, without giving notice.
A special Merry Christmas to all those at the helm on Christmas Day.
