The Web's Wonders


Tricks People Play
Working with George was an education. He'd decided that traffic on the web site was the key to success. There were some simple, if devious, methods used to get our "hits" to astronomic proportions. On a select number of pages, George ensured that they constantly refreshed when opened by an unsuspecting browser. At the rate of four refreshes a minute, those pages helped get our traffic to over ten thousand a day within a month. George's computer was left on all night, with Netscape displaying those pages to achieve this figure. He was so inventive, but definitely dodgy. As I sat across from him working away, I'd hear him chuckle for no apparent reason. He'd type a little, then sit for a minute, then type again. Very odd if you are not able to see what he was doing. Finally I asked him. It was then he showed me IRC. He was in a channel called #bartender, "talking" to a group of people, primarily from the USA and Canada. Amongst them was "Choppers". This was the nickname Laura used. Well, it wasn't long before I decided two could play at that game. Thus managing to contradict my earlier opposition to the medium. Arming myself with the nickname "Rubadub", I joined in the fun and frolics of IRC. Imagine my amazement, when Laura began to flirt with me. Here she was privately expressing love to George and flirting with me, sitting opposite him. Then, emails began to arrive from her when George wasn't paying her enough attention. There were no innuendoes, she steamed right in, suggesting we shared sexual experiences via email. Quite bizarre. I did tell her of a few of my more racy moments in life, only to receive in return stories which, frankly, revolted me. This woman was clearly someone who I wanted to steer clear of. She began to pester me with emails and messages declaring her love for me too. As though I knew nothing of what she was saying to George! Talk about whacko! Much to my relief, she introduced someone else into the "party". She asked me if I would be prepared to open communications with her friend June-Anne. This was a much better idea. So I wrote to this lady I didn't know and introduced myself. It was a week, before I received a reply.
Dark Forces
June-Anne replied with a sensible letter, telling me of her life in South Western Ontario. She was divorced, a victim of spousal abuse, had three sons and lived next door to her parents, whilst she attended college. We corresponded a few times during the next couple of weeks and finally met on IRC in September, when she obtained her own Internet connection. We'd type about any subject under the sun and it became clear to me there was a kind of empathy and bond developing between us. Not that it could go anywhere, not with three thousand miles separating us. George and I were getting along well and pulling in a little business, so there was no way I was going to leave Ireland, unless for a holiday, which looked unlikely due to lack of funds. Then, in late September, the phone rang. Dear Mary was intervening in my cosy life once more.
Spurious
"You" she squawked, " have not only ruined our business with your meddling ways, you have stolen money and modems to finance your high life while you were employed by Internet Eireann". She was off again! The fact is that I did use some petty cash to survive, because they paid me nothing for my work. Slave labour it was. True it was that I'd kept the cash for the sale of a modem. Mary no doubt thought I could have existed on fresh air. I denied her accusations of course, but she persisted with her vitriol, until I finally put the phone down on her in mid sentence. Telling George what she was accusing me of, I suggested he would be getting a phone call, telling him to sack me. Sure enough, a few minutes later the call came. George defended me and my reputation as I listened. When he put the phone down all he could say was, "That women is a looper and she is out to get you mate". I nodded sadly, the picture becoming only too clear. "Yep," I said, the next thing she will do is threaten to close this business down, unless you get rid of me." "She won't do that mate", he said, "I can handle her". I knew better. I got onto IRC and found June-Anne. She was sympathetic, understanding and afraid for me. I told her what I thought was about to happen. She was aghast and christened Mary the Black Witch. We talked, or rather typed for hours, even experimenting with "Netsex". I don't know about her, but it was a weird experience typing things I wanted to do with her, then waiting for a response from three thousand miles away. Sometimes the response didn't come at all, causing amusement and frustration as the high volume of Internet traffic caused Coitus Interruptus in Cyberspace. As the days passed, George became bombarded with calls from Mary, demanding that I was removed from the room while she and he talked. The plot to get rid of me was gathering pace.