One part engineer, one part artist, one part salesman. All teenager. Nothing good can come of that combination. Well, except for an interesting story.

Our high school was one of the first to get in on California’s program to add computer labs to all of the schools. The goal, I believe, was a computer for every kid. The result, however, was several hundred computers dispersed between a handful of “computer labs” around campus. The school also started an elective class aimed at the more technologically adept kids; an “A+ Certification” class, where we’d get the books and lessons via the high school, instead of paying out thousands for the training by itself. It was win/win, the kids got a great deal of knowledge, training, and hands on experience. The school got a cheap “Geek Squad” of sorts to assist with the upkeep of the new magical electronic computer machines. It was called the “Technology Maintenance Team.”

Of course I was part of this program.

By the time I started high school, I had already been building computers for a couple of years. I was just starting to get into the software side of things. My parents, thrilled that something had finally kept my attention for more than 5 minutes were beyond enthusiastic about it, and aimed to keep that fire going. From spending money on expensive upgrades, to encouraging me to take various classes. They wanted to make sure that this skill-set thrived, because it was the future, and they knew it.

When we heard about this class, it was a no-brainer.

The class was great. Not so much the part with reading things I had already learned, or taking tests. But actually fixing computers, succeeding where the teacher’s had failed or given up. I felt like a hero, the big man on campus, the all knowing computer wizard – which, I think is the first time I had been labeled as such. We were all well known by the teachers, even the ones we didn’t have classes with.

If you give a teenager with raging hormones computer-god status on campus, you surrender your right to be surprised when he abuses it. Though you can be surprised at exactly how he abuses his power.

I was the tender age of 16. My interests were computers, and the opposite sex. If I wasn’t thinking about one, then it was the other. A girl in my biology class had caught my eye. My favorite TV show at the time was Dark Angel, a sci-fi futuristic post apocalyptic vehicle for Jessica Alba. And the girl in question was a dead ringer for Ms. Alba; Albeit, a couple years her junior.

Of course I wanted to get her phone number.

We only shared one class, which was an hour filled of science awesomeness, so I didn’t get much of a chance to attempt any contact there. Hey, don’t judge, science comes first. Then women. I entrusted my new-found lust in a confidant, who proceeded to tell me that the two shared most of their classes.

“Great,” I said, “how does that help me?”

As any good wingman would, he suggested that he could put in the good word for me. I may have been an idiot teenager, but I was smart enough to know that his plan wouldn’t work. Or, worse yet, he was out to steal her from me. No, I had to do this myself.

While he yammered on about wanting to ditch his next class, I nodded as I considered my options. Then, it struck me, the most brilliant idea I had ever had until that point. And, frankly, one of the more genius ones I’ve had since:

I would use my status as the on campus magic computer machine fixer to get her out of class!

The logic was flawless. It’d be her and I, alone for a bit, where I could use my halfwit teenage “moves” on her, chat her up, and get her phone number. What could go wrong?

My compatriot agreed with the sheer brilliance of my plan. He then attempted to hijack it for his own benefit, and tried talking me into getting him out of class as well.

“Of course we’ll need to do a test run to make sure it works!” – Wouldn’t want to look like a fool in front of a girl now, would we?

Our test run would begin the next day. The friend’s last class was English (and one he so desperately needed to attend). It was also the last class of the day, and would be taught by a substitute that day. Fish in a barrel.

The plan was simple. Shortly after class started, I would ditch my class and walk over to the English building. That day’s lesson was a VHS tape of Romeo & Juliet, so no loss really. I would walk in, introduce myself to the teacher, flash my badge (ok, laminated “technology maintenance team” card with my picture), inform the substitute that there was an issue in the computer lab involving my friend, and he’s very likely in trouble for breaking a computer.

As a side note, this substitute would go on to be a full time English teacher at the school the following year. Of course I had her as my English teacher after this took place.

Would she buy it? Would she ask any questions to which I didn’t have an answer prepared? What if she asked a question I wasn’t expecting, or called someone to verify the claim?

Thankfully she didn’t give it a second thought, and sent my friend and I merrily on our way without a moments hesitation. The door was barely closed behind us before our exclamations began.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe that worked!”

A completely successful test, it went off without a single hitch. This built up my confidence, perhaps a little too much. The next day would be the real deal, and had to go just as perfectly as the test. The risk level was high, but the potential reward much higher.

This just had to work. This was absolutely going to work.

D-day. I played it cool, and kept my plans mostly to myself. Overflowing with confidence, I just had to tell someone of my master plan, and the successful test the day before. The only people who knew of my intentions were a very select group of everyone I knew. Really, I couldn’t keep this one to myself. It was too good.

It started out the same as the test run. I ditched my class, walked over to the Math building. I waited outside for a minute, psyching myself up and getting my game face on. It was go time.

I opened the door, and walked in. Initially unnoticed, all eyes turned to me as the loud clang of the metal door slamming shut echoed through the room and interrupted the teacher’s lesson. The teacher glared at me, half anger and half quizzical of my intrusion.

“Yes Brett?” The teacher inquired.

Shit, I hadn’t planned for this part. This wasn’t just any random teacher, I had the same teacher for my math classes as well. She didn’t just know me, but knew me well. You tend to stand out a little bit when you’re not passing a class. This teacher was also the kind who would call parents, and indeed on several occasions she had spoken to mine. My parents and her bonded over “what to do with me” and “why is such a smart young man doing so poorly in school?”

Well, there was no turning back at this point.

I walked up to the teacher and fed her my lies out of earshot from the other kids.

“There’s a problem in the ‘E’ computer lab with one of the computers, and I’m trying to fix it. Laura was the last person logged in, I just need to talk to her for a minute to find out what she did so I can undo it.”

“Oh?” She says, monitoring my facial expressions closely.

“Yup,” my witty retort.

“So you just need to ask her a few questions then?”

“Well, actually I need her to go over with me and log in.”

“You can’t do that yourself?” You could hear the genuine surprise in her voice.

“I can, but there’s some deleted files and some recursive permissions issues which were done under Laura’s account. Lots of DLLs missing from the c:\system32 folder, which is preventing Novell GroupWise from downloading the config from the domain controller.” I don’t remember the exact explanation I gave, but it was similarly meaningless pile of drivel with buzzword sprinkles on top.

“I see,” she nods, “Laura, can you come here for a second?” never taking her eyes off of me. “Have you used a computer in the ‘E’ lab recently?”

Crap! This teacher was good. Clearly, she was not buying my bullshit. I felt myself starting to panic, but I did my best to keep my composure. The game wasn’t up just yet, this could still work, I reassured myself.

“Yeah, earlier this morning in my typing class, why?” Laura responds.

Yes, the teacher was good, but I was better. See, I had done my research and I knew which computer lab would have been used that day. A small detail which proved to be a big lifesaver.

“Alright, I guess there’s something wrong with your computer and Brett here needs to ask you about it. You’ll only be a minute?”

“Yeah, back in just a few!”

“Hurry back.”

. . . Did that just work?

Poor Laura thought she was in trouble and that she had genuinely caused a problem with one of the school’s shiny new computers. Clearly this was serious if one of the most hardass teachers on campus thought it important enough to miss math.

“So what exactly did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, I just thought it would be cool to get you out of class,” a line delivered so suavely I can hardly believe it came out of a teenage version of me. I explained my plan, and the motives behind it. Luckily for me, she was flattered by the whole thing, and my efforts were handsomely rewarded with the long sought after phone number. And, I got to be the cool guy.

We walked around campus for a bit before realizing that nearly half an hour had gone by, so I escorted her back to the class. It was among the first of my real world social-engineering attempts, and it was a huge success with a massive payoff.

That’s right. I got her number.

Later that day, after school had let out, the math teacher was in the office and bumped into the principal:

“Hey, got a quick question for you about the technology maintenance team…”

Brett Haddoak