If I come back from lunch and find that my screensaver now says, “I should log off before I leave my desk” with an unflattering cartoon image that insinuates I have larger than optimal hips, I laugh. No harm done, clever, and it’s actually a good point—about not logging off, not about my hips. Technically that prank is against company policy in most places, but I’m not looking to cause drama. It was funny, and no sandblasting is necessary to correct it. If anything, it will make me log off next time I go to lunch.
But while I may be casual with my work station, I will take steps to prevent losing my work, because that is not something to play with. That’s my reputation, my livelihood, and frankly my baby—I put my heart and soul into what I do and it would kill more than my productivity rating to lose it. Luckily, my coworkers are in no way interested in messing with me to that degree, but I can’t say the same for time and random acts of power surges.
You know you will be hit by the effects of time if nothing else, and we don’t live in a world where “nothing else” is likely. Data loss can be significant and it can ruin more than just your day. Set up a maintenance contract for your company’s digital storage so you can prevent most problems and address the rest while they are small, before you find yourself standing in the proverbial burned-out husk of your creative project, wondering why the universe felt the need to surge you.
If it were a real burned-out husk, like the rubble behind newscasters in war-zones, people would see it and offer sympathy. Since it’s just a proverbial husk, no one can see it but you, and you wander around an otherwise normal-looking office with a spaced-out look on your face for a while. Not many people recognize the Data-Loss-Stare right off the bat, but if you happen to wander over to my desk, I’ll probably figure it out and give you a hug, if you want one. It won’t bring back your project, but at that point it’s the best I can do.
And while you’re here, does this post make my hips look big? No, really, you can tell me.