$ cat post/sudo-bang-bang-run-/-the-alert-fired-at-three-am-/-we-were-on-call-then.md
sudo bang bang run / the alert fired at three AM / we were on call then
Title: Life on the Cutting Edge of Y2K Aftermath
October 7, 2002
Today, sitting in my cubicle at a small tech startup, I look back on October 7th as just another day. But if you fast-forward to today, it seems like a lifetime ago—pre-Y2K panic and post-dot-com boom. Back then, the tech world was still reeling from the crash, but there was an underlying sense that something new was brewing.
We were living in the shadow of Y2K. For most companies, it had been a success story—a huge investment in infrastructure and systems to avoid any potential disasters. But as 2002 began, we found ourselves with surplus hardware and teams still geared up for battle. It’s hard to believe now, but back then, everyone was worried about the year 2000 rolling over, and I had my fair share of sleepless nights.
On this particular day, I was debugging a particularly stubborn issue in our Linux server. The application would occasionally crash with a segfault deep in its core codebase. It wasn’t until I started diving into kernel logs that I realized the problem lay not within the app itself, but in an external library we were using for file I/O operations.
The library in question was OpenSSL. Yes, you read that right—OpenSSL. In those days, it was still a relatively new player on the field of cryptography libraries, and its widespread use in various applications made it a staple in our development environment. But this version had some obscure bugs that caused it to fail intermittently under high load.
I spent hours tracing back through the stack traces, reading the OpenSSL source code line by line, and comparing it against other versions. Finally, I came across what seemed like an unoptimized memory allocation function that was causing these crashes. I worked late into the night, crafting a patch that would bypass that particular area of code when under high load.
The next morning, I rolled out the fix to our production environment. After running for 24 hours without any issues, it felt like a small victory. Debugging those kinds of problems can be incredibly frustrating, but solving them is one of the most satisfying parts of my job. It’s like unraveling a complex puzzle and finally seeing everything fall into place.
Around this time, I was also following the early discussions around IPv6 with great interest. While we had plenty of IPv4 addresses left to go around, everyone knew that transition would be crucial in the coming years. Companies were starting to experiment with dual-stack implementations, and there were heated debates about when and how to make the switch.
One evening, I got into a lively discussion with our network engineer about whether we should start migrating to IPv6 soon or wait until there was more widespread adoption. He argued that given the potential security benefits and future-proofing, we should start now. However, I countered by pointing out the practical difficulties of deploying such a significant change in an existing production environment. It’s always a delicate balance between innovation and maintaining stability.
On this day, as I sat typing up my notes for today’s meeting, I couldn’t help but think about how much has changed since Y2K. We’ve come a long way from that frenzied rush to avoid the impending doom, into a world where technology is advancing faster than ever before. Looking at our current projects, it’s hard to imagine we’ll face anything quite like those days again.
But one thing hasn’t changed: there will always be new challenges and problems to tackle. And for someone like me who loves digging deep into code and solving complex issues, that’s exactly what makes this job so rewarding.
This is a snapshot of my life in tech during October 2002. The world has moved on since then, but the core principles remain—the thrill of problem-solving, the importance of staying informed about industry trends, and the satisfaction of contributing to something bigger than yourself.