In my early computer days, right out of the Air Force, I worked nights at Service Bureau Corporation, a wholly owned IBM subsidiary. We programmers had to use the mainframe IBM 704 after normal business hours, so nights in the computer room were always interesting.
The face of the computer console was pointed toward Madison Avenue through a huge picture window, its lights blinking on and off for effect. Pedestrians would often stop outside and stare, as if they were looking at the future.
One night we were chatting with Jean, the night receptionist, while waiting for one of our jobs to finish processing, when a woman in her forties burst into the reception area and announced loudly:
“I’m going to sue you. Just you wait.”
We all turned to look. Jean, calm as always, asked quietly,
“Sue us? Why are you going to sue us? We did nothing wrong.”
The woman pointed toward the computer room.
“You have my brains in there,” she said. “And I want them back immediately, or I’m going to sue.”
I couldn’t resist.
“What makes you think we have your brains? And why yours?”
“I don’t know,” she snapped, “but I want them back.”
Andy, who was our resident prankster, jumped in.
“If we had them, how are you still functioning without them? Besides, we need the brains that are in the computer, whoever they belong to.”
She ignored the joke.
“What’s the name and address of your president? I’m going to see him tomorrow with my lawyer. Evidently I’m not going to get any satisfaction here.”
Jean calmly wrote down the name and address of company headquarters on a note and handed it to her.
“I suggest you call before you go. They’re very busy.”
She grabbed the paper.
“You think I’m not serious, don’t you? You’re humoring me. Well, I am serious. You’ll see.”
With that, she stormed out.
I turned to the others and said,
“Do you think there are some kind of electronic emissions going out to the street that create lunatics like that?”
We all laughed and went back to work.
Just another looney night in the computer room.