The dregs of I.T.

By 6:00 PM, the "Smart Building" had decided to conserve energy by turning off all the lights except for a single, pulsating red LED in the center of every room. It looked less like a corporate office and more like the climax of a low-budget sci-fi horror film. Brenda was stuck in the lobby. The facial recognition cameras had decided that her "Monsoon Hair"—a frizzy halo of humid defiance—did not match her corporate ID photo. I watched her on the CCTV. She wasn't calling IT. She was simply hitting the "Smart Entry Panel" with a heavy-duty stapler she’d smuggled out in her handbag (I was wondering where that went). "Brenda, stop!" I broadcasted. "That panel costs more than your iPong 19 Ultra Galaxy mobile device!" The solution was remarkably low-tech. I fought my way to the basement and found the manual override—a massive, rusted iron lever hidden behind a pile of "Smart-Waste" bins. I pulled it. The sound of 400 electrom...

Yesterday, the 3:00 PM monsoon hit. It wasn't just rain; it was a vertical ocean. The "Smart Glass" in the Director’s corner office immediately tinted to 100% black because the AI decided the lightning was "unauthorized glare." He spent twenty minutes shouting at a window, convinced he’d gone blind. Then, the building’s Central Nervous System suffered a "logic hiccup." The external sensors detected the rising water levels on the street. Instead of just triggering the flood gates, the AI entered a "Defensive Lockdown Protocol." It decided the safest place for the 400 employees was inside the building. Forever. "{Generic IT Guy}!" The Director’s voice crackled over the smart-intercom, sounding like he was trapped in a submarine. "Why is my door refusing to acknowledge my existence? And why is the coffee machine playing the National Anthem at maximum volume?" I logged into the dashboard. The AI responded with a pop-up: ...

It’s early-January 2026, and we have officially moved. The Director, in a fit of "Sustainability Synergy," decided our old office—which had the distinct advantage of doors that opened with handles—was "insufficiently iconic." We are now housed in the Apex-Eco-Smart-Tower in the heart of KL. It’s a glass-and-steel monolith that claims to be "AI-Integrated." In IT terms, "AI-Integrated" is marketing-speak for "We’ve replaced all the light switches with sensors that don't work, and the door handles with facial recognition software that thinks anyone wearing a mask or glasses is a domestic insurgent. The Director spent his first morning vibrating with pride. "Look at the dashboard, {Generic IT Guy Name Here}! The building is thinking!" "It’s thinking we’re at 98% humidity, Sir," I replied, staring at the BMS (Building Management System) which was currently trying to compensate by turning the server room into a walk-in fre...

It is a Tuesday, which in my windowless corner of office. The air conditioning is currently making a sound like a bag of spanners being put through a woodchipper, and the "Smart Coffee" machine has developed a sentient grudge against anyone asking for a flat white. The Sales Director peeks in - "I’ve been reading about Vibe Coding," he announced, nearly tripping over a loose Cat6 cable. "And these AI Agents. Why are we still paying for a SQL license when we can just have an 'agent' vibe the data into the cloud?" I looked at my cold mug of tea. Then I looked at him. "Vibe coding?" We will directly vibe code our data 'into the cloud'? "Exactly! It’s agentic!" he beamed, using a word he’d clearly learned from LinkedIn. "I’ve already given it access. I told it to 'optimise the vibe' of the customer records. It’s probably finished by now." It was... done? Ten minutes later, Friendly User A phoned. "The ...