Marvin, the Robotic Quarterback

I used to be an intern at Intel. I made web pages and built workstations.

I didn't get to go in the fab very often, which is best. If you've seen the ads with the factory workers in the multi-colored bunny suits dancing around, the fab may seem like fun.

It's actually really, really hot in one of those suits. And you can have whatever color you'd like, as long as it's white.

The cool part is you get to feel like an astronaut. You can wear a full mask with an oxygen pack. And if you're like me, you breath like Darth Vader and say, "Houston, we have a problem."

I had a very important job inside the fab. I had a clipboard of green stickers that said "Year 2000 Capable". I went through each section of the fab and put the stickers on equipment that had passed the Y2K rollover test. This was nearly every piece of equipment in the fab (minus that one boxy-looking one in the corner that made the ominous humming sound).

Since everyone was dressed the same, nobody could tell I was but a lowly intern. What they could see was my clipboard. This meant I could be an auditor - or worse, management. I would head over to a group of fellow astronauts to ask a question, and they would disperse before I got there.

Once I went into a suddenly empty wafer transfer room (it's probably not called that, but since I don't really know much about the equipment, I get to make stuff up and you probably don't know the difference).

I was putting stickers on the various machines, minding my own business, when I heard it.

*clink, rattle rattle*

I looked up, confused.

*clink, rattle rattle*

I turned around.

*clink, rattle rattle*

There were several microchip wafers on the floor. Even as an ignorant sticker intern, I doubted the floor was in integral part of our production line.

*clink, rattle rattle*

I followed the arc of the next wafer to see where it was coming from. One of the big expensive machines (let's call him Marvin) had a robotic arm that passed the wafer off to the robotic arm of the next big expensive machine. Marvin decided hand-offs were boring and he'd like to try touchdown passes instead.

For lack of a better plan, I started catching them. This worked fine for a minute for so, but then my hands were full.

*clink, rattle rattle*

I wandered down a corridor, trying to find someone older and more responsible. All the responsible-looking folks were hurrying away from me. I started hollering and waving, bunches of wafers stacked in my hands.

Once they found out I was a high school kid and not an auditor, I quickly became a suspect. It took considerable amounts of explaining and convincing to the higher-ups that I hadn't fiddled with anything.

At least Marvin was Y2K compliant.

Have you ever gotten in way over your head on the job?
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Comments (6)

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Oh boy this brings back the memories. I was disarming an unexploded bomb once. My boss was safely behind the blast wall calling out instructions. "Cut the red wire" ... snip ... "Cut the green wire" ... snip ... "Cut the black wire" ... snip ..."But before you do that, cut the blue wire" ... uh oh!
1 reply · active 713 weeks ago
Methinks you have a post to go write...
I had an interview for a government internship once. They kept me waiting in there for three hours before anyone came to see me, so I decided to keep myself entertained bylooking around at stuff. I found this pretty red button that had no other instructions on it. That must've been the "send someone in to interview this guy" button because when I pressed it voraciously, about a dozen guys came screaming in. That's when they started with the interview questions, which consisted of mostly stuff like "What the heck is wrong with you?" and "what are you doing?" They continued this line of questioning as we walked out the door together.

Oddest interview process ever. For some reason, I never got a call back from them.
3 replies · active 713 weeks ago
I'm dying to know what that button did...
What do you think caused the economy to crash? THE PRETTY RED BUTTON.
My 401k does not like�Zechariah Brewer.

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