Putting one over on building management
I work occasionally with a nonprofit that takes an interest in the old “Flatline Building,” to which I reported each morning for most of my alleged career. I attended a meeting there yesterday—the duffer who represented the nonprofit was, shall we say, technologically unprepared (“Gee, I must have saved those files to my thumb drive at home”), and I was fortunately in a position to make good some of the deficit, since I had duplicates of most of these at ready.
Anyway, I ran into the new building manager, whose parents probably hadn’t even met when I commenced my meteoric rise through the ranks at FCT&D, who was measuring the marble walls for new office signs. At the moment these are cheapish plastic jobbies. I mentioned that decades ago they had been made of bronze, or more likely brass, but that these had been replaced (by the selfsame management outfit) with the cheapoid plastic circa 1990. “I’ve heard that,” she said, “but no one seems to be able to find pictures.” “Oh, as to that,” I replied carelessly, “I can get you a picture.” “Really? Oh, could you?” I could indeed, because I swiped mine at the time before all the others were gathered up and, I do not doubt, sold for scrap. It presently sits on the mantelpiece in my dining room.
A moment after saying this, I realized that the building manager, could she but know of the artifact’s existence, would demand its return. This I am not prepared to undertake. I went on to tell her that I retain an archive of electronic files from that era, and would comb through it for an image of the thingie. I went home directly and took a picture.
But stay! Whatever anyone may think of the imaging chops of an iPhone 13 Mini, it takes a much studlier picture than anything available on the consumer market in 1990. Were I to send her that image it might be apparent—perhaps not to her, but maybe to her older colleagues—that the digital cameras of that era were not snagging such collections of photons on their CCDs. And heavens! Date stamping! Geotagging!
The risk was minor, perhaps, but why take chances? I took a screenshot, already drastically stepping down on the resolution. I further reduced it to 640 x 480, which is what low-end cameras of the era commonly took. Then—clever Rand, cunning Rand!—I upscaled it back to 1280 x 960, making no attempt to compensate for the artifacts these procedures introduced.
This may all have been supererogatory, but these precautions required only a fraction of an hour, and have yielded a product that will not, I think, yield its secrets in the vanishingly unlikely event of a forensic inquiry.
(redacted image embedded here)
cordially,
Anyway, I ran into the new building manager, whose parents probably hadn’t even met when I commenced my meteoric rise through the ranks at FCT&D, who was measuring the marble walls for new office signs. At the moment these are cheapish plastic jobbies. I mentioned that decades ago they had been made of bronze, or more likely brass, but that these had been replaced (by the selfsame management outfit) with the cheapoid plastic circa 1990. “I’ve heard that,” she said, “but no one seems to be able to find pictures.” “Oh, as to that,” I replied carelessly, “I can get you a picture.” “Really? Oh, could you?” I could indeed, because I swiped mine at the time before all the others were gathered up and, I do not doubt, sold for scrap. It presently sits on the mantelpiece in my dining room.
A moment after saying this, I realized that the building manager, could she but know of the artifact’s existence, would demand its return. This I am not prepared to undertake. I went on to tell her that I retain an archive of electronic files from that era, and would comb through it for an image of the thingie. I went home directly and took a picture.
But stay! Whatever anyone may think of the imaging chops of an iPhone 13 Mini, it takes a much studlier picture than anything available on the consumer market in 1990. Were I to send her that image it might be apparent—perhaps not to her, but maybe to her older colleagues—that the digital cameras of that era were not snagging such collections of photons on their CCDs. And heavens! Date stamping! Geotagging!
The risk was minor, perhaps, but why take chances? I took a screenshot, already drastically stepping down on the resolution. I further reduced it to 640 x 480, which is what low-end cameras of the era commonly took. Then—clever Rand, cunning Rand!—I upscaled it back to 1280 x 960, making no attempt to compensate for the artifacts these procedures introduced.
This may all have been supererogatory, but these precautions required only a fraction of an hour, and have yielded a product that will not, I think, yield its secrets in the vanishingly unlikely event of a forensic inquiry.
(redacted image embedded here)
cordially,