Slashdot Mirror
How Did You Become a UNIX Administrator?
xylix asks: "I figure there must be a number of UNIX admins among the Slashdot readership and I am wondering how you got into that field to start with. The reason I am asking is that I really want to be a UNIX admin but don't know how to get from here to there. What kind of education did you have(CS or other)? How did you start out (as a junior admin or moving laterally from another position)? What certifications are useful?"
"I am an English teacher now but am a techie at heart and spend all my time coding and using various Linux / BSD distros. I figure I am capable of handling a junior position, but most ads I see for *nix admins are looking for several years of work experience (on specific platforms), CS or EE degrees (I have a BA in philosophy) and perhaps years of experience in a specific industry (financial, wireless, transportation...).
I have been told by a couple people that at 33 I am far too old to start ANY kind of tech career (with no previous work experience). Anyone out there with experience to counter that? I know the job market is tough right now, but I am thinking long term."
Simple...I was told to "upgrade the NT servers," so I installed FreeBSD :)
For your security, this post has been encrypted with ROT-13, twice.
I grew a beard, started wearing only t-shirts and jeans, and developed a surly attitude. The group accepted me, and I've never worked a full day in my life since then.
Potato chips are a by-yourself food.
I am wondering how you got into that field to start with. The reason I am asking is that I really want to be a UNIX admin
Just find a surgeon and get your fingers removed. Now. Trust me, it will be less painful in the long run.
I really want to be a UNIX admin
:-)
Ahh - This is your first mistake. Anyone going into the poky comms room meeting the grumpy sysadmin realises that all sysadmins would rather be anywhere else doing anything than what they are doing at that point. Serial murder for example.
Miserable Bastards
Don't ever go out in the sunlight, bathing is optional, answer all questions with a clear and concise grunt, and use one word e-mail replies (my personal favorite is "NO").
You'll know you're good when you are like a phantom and you're co-workers can't describe what you look like and are too afraid to try finding you.
1) Repeat 10 times a day: "this change should not affect end users.
2) Type 20 times a day: "rm -fR ~user"
3) 10 reps: "what did *you* do to screw this up?"
4) Stop showering. Now.
5) Smash your pager, claim it was "killed in the line of duty".
6) Pick any given operating system, and develop an intense hatred for it. You will work with this os for the rest of your life.
7) rinse, repeat.
Hiya,
/var/spool filled up or the SCO refused to talk to the HP 9000. When Marlon left it was decided that Jay had been most seen in the vicinity of Marlon so he started getting the calls, got his name in HP's and UUNET's support databases, etc. When Jay left, well, I had been Jay's roommate for a year... The rest is history.
True Story: At my small accounting software company Marlon hated hardware the least so he ended up being the one that called when the
For management style think 'Lord of the Flies', not Harvard MBA.
-Greg
I did it the wrong way.
Me: "I can build the corporate web site. We've got some older PC's laying around here. I have Slackware 1.2, it has a web server. That should do it"
Boss: "I want it to run on NT."
Me: "Why? There are problems all over the place with Windows in general crashing just by receiving a bad packet. Nobody will know the difference."
Boss: "I will know, I want to run NT."
Me: "No. I don't want to spend all my time rebooting the thing, and people won't be able to SEE our website when that happens."
Boss: "It WILL run on NT."
Me: "Fine. Just get me the ad slicks and I'll make them into web pages."
A week later....
Me: "We site is all done. Goto www.xxx.xxx to see it."
Boss: "Great! And it runs on NT right?"
Me: "Nope."
Boss: "GODDAMMIT RICK!"
At that's how it all started....
"I can't give you a brain, so I'll give you a diploma" - The Great Oz (blatently stolen sig)
You should consider becoming a Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer (MCSE). Once you know Windows well, Unix is basically an outdated version.
When I arrived at my current place of work, I admitted to knowing a few linux hacks. Suddenly I'm the sysadmin, in addition to my real job. Now I get to spend hours and hours helping newbies configure their systems, cut ethernet cables, and clean up the carnage when we get hacked.
Don't make the same mistake I did. Never admit to sysadmin knowledge, or you will be marked for life.
Toronto-area transit rider? Rate your ride.
it's like my uncle says:
"lock yourself in a room and lie down for thirty minutes. Once the urge passes you can leave the room"
Douglas Calvert
Grab him by his tie, and fling him out of the window. Without opening the window before, of course... because "open" and "window" are somewhat incompatible...
...or at least, used to sell: "It's a tough job, but somebody said I had to do it."
hmm.. you still bother with the jeans??
//rdj
No one can understand the truth until he drinks of coffee's frothy goodness.
--Sheikh Abd-Al-Kadir, 1587
After getting mugged for the third time, two by knife and another by gun, and surviving happening in on a gang turf war while trying to make a single delivery, I realized that I bet I could get a safer job where I could wear t-shirts and jeans too. I had been dinking with UNIX boxen up to that point and saw and ad at the local library to administer a small system they had (the thing is while it was UNIX getting a shell on it was impossible).
I bullshitted the entire interview including my age.
You can't grep a dead tree.
-- Support Ometz le-Serev.
I became a UNIX admin by hanging out around a bunch of other UNIX admins until they let me have root. Then I started to get rid of them...
That sounds like the title of a great poll to me. Imagine the poll:
How Did You Become a UNIX Administrator?
o Programming too stressful.
o Some script I got off IRC.
o Told to "upgrade the NT servers" (apologies to Shoten!).
o Read "Tricks of the UNIX Masters" over thirty times.
o That's GNU/UNIX administrator, thank you very much.
o Everyone else laid off, also CEO and Janitor.
o Defeated CowboyNeal in hand-to-hand Nealmatch.
"There is more worth loving than we have strength to love." - Brian Jay Stanley
"As far as certification, it might look good on a resume for a PHB, but in real life don't mean much. Like an MCSE."
MCSE? You mean Minesweeper Consultant and Solitaire Expert?
Am I a hipster-doofus?
You need to sleep your way to the top. And don't be picky who you sleep with.
Phase I: Linux at home
Phase II: Linux at work
Phase III: Linux users group
Phase IV: Become 31337
Phase V: Prosecution
Phase VI: Sysadmin
She sure wasn't what I was expecting. It was late on a Friday night at the Burger Hole, and I was closing up. We were just about to shut off the grill, and I was sweeping up out front when this red Corvette pulled up to the entrance. She didn't bother to park it in a real parking place. She just pulled up to the door and put it where on a busy lunch hour she would have been in everybody's way. In spite of the cool night, the top was down, and out of that car stepped the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen in my life. She offered me a little smile as she came through the door, teasing me, I know. And then she went on to the counter were Mitchie was still taking orders. What happened next was beyond unfair. She bent over the service counter, resting her elbows right next to the register so that I'm sure Mitchie got the most beautiful look down her blouse that any man had ever seen. Mitchie's eyes went as big as hoops. I, of course, was left gaping at her butt, thrust toward me in a clingy mini-skirt that left just enough to my imagination. A Coke she ordered. One Coke. Mitchie got it, spilling the first one, but he got it. She pulled a dollar or two out of her bra and threw it down on the counter like a clip from Nine and a Half Weeks, and then she turned on me as if she knew I had been watching. I sure wasn't sweeping. She walked slowly toward me, tracing a finger around the top of her cup, and then she took that straw into her mouth with a smile that I will never forget. My mouth felt as dry as hers looked wet. "Come with me," she said after a cool drink, and with only a moment's hesitation, I let my broom fall to the floor with a clatter. We got into that Corvette and she slipped it into gear and left burning rubber on the concrete of the Burger Hole parking lot. We hit the freeway a few minutes later, and finally when she had reached a comfortable cruising speed of 110 MPH, her hand found a resting space on the inside of my thigh. I certainly wasn't complaining. A couple of times she pulled her hand away to shift gears, but everytime she worked the clutch her short skirt climbed higher and higher up her legs until I could no longer stand the choice between wanting her hand on my thigh and watching her pump the clutch just one more time. Twenty minutes later, our ride was over. She pulled up to a small apartment building and parked. "Would you like to come up for a drink?" she asked me, and I could only nod. We went into her apartment, she leading me along like a dog on some kind of invisible leash. She got that drink for me as I milled about trying to look so much more sophisticated than the fast food worker in a brown polyester suit that I was. As she brought my drink over I suddenly noticed that she had slipped a few buttons of her shirt, and I could plainly see her fullness straining at the lace of her black brassiere. She put a hand to my chest and with an easy shove, dropped me into a leather chair, where she immediately straddled me, her legs against mine and my heavy breath on her chest. She stirred my drink with her finger and then put her finger to my lips that I might drink a few drops. What happened next is a blurry memory for me, but I know that in my nervousness I glanced for a moment at her desk where a computer monitor provided most of the light illuminating her extravant body. "What's that?" I asked, her finger still playing on my lips. "Sshh," she answered softly, her lips suddenly against my ear. "It's Linux," she answered. "Uh?" I murmered, my body tingling with anticipation as her hands began to gently explore me. "Linux," she repeated, and as if to show me, she tapped out ls -l at a command prompt, and the files went by. I was captivated and taken away, all in one. "Can you show me something else?" I asked, and she did, her body still pressing against mine in a myriad of ways. She typed cd and pwd and su and find and she piped it to grep. "Can I try it?" I asked, and as if to reply, she took my hands and put them on the keyboard, where I began to type myself. We spent the night that way, my hands on that keyboard, typing Unix commands, our bodies locked together in a passion that would never, ever be resolved. It didn't matter. The computer mattered, and when I left the next morning, I took my virginity with me, but I also took a freshly burned copy of Linux, her phone number written in permanent marker on the disk, you know, in case I needed any help with the install.
And it has an added bonus, too: it forces you to stay healthy so you can keep wearing it.
And you also get babes to look at you...