The Wax Conspiracy

Beware the trail left in fact-finding escapades

Harpoons in one hand, moist lips pursed in the other, whistleblowing is all about the collection of articles and making away with the goods. Documents and records gathered in the fugue of lunch breaks ready to blow off the lid from that curry in the microwave. Don't get caught.

Wiping splatter off the inside of the microwave compares naught to the mess that comes when, in your efforts to unash or uncover a truth, you leave your oily fingerprints all over the place.

Case in recent point, the New Matilda report on Frances Abbott's scholarship shoe-in, where it was a-wedged:

Rather than an exhaustive application process, Ms Abbott, aged 22, was offered the ‘Managing Director’s Scholarship’ at her first and only meeting with the owner of the Institute, Leanne Whitehouse.

Like the flat upstairs who run their air conditioning all day to the point of breaking, now the actual leak has been revealed with the mould's actions come to light. The report on the reporting of the reports shows what went on in the uncovering of the glad-handing.

That evening, [Freya] Newman allegedly used another employee's login details to access the college's EduPoint server.

Yes. Good start. Always make sure you cover your tracks by using someone else's login credentials. Preferably that jerk by the north side of the office who leaves the communal kitchen griller covered in mayo and cheese. Because really, who does that?

Newman then allegedly emailed two other employees, writing:

No. Stop.

If anything, we have to keep reminding ourselves in the noosphere after that Sandra Bullock movie and Edward Snowden, your emails are not secure and always being sniffed. If you're going to break the bank, it's not that expensive to buy a burner phone that you can use to write sticky notes in lemon juice on and pass back and forth.

Privileged information makes a trail. But if you're on the hunt for organic coffee in Canberra, not so much. Or at least, it's on a level beyond privileged. Hipster.

A federal public servant from Canberra took long smokos to, instead of chaining through a pack of cancer sticks, look for the restaurants of Brigadoon selling soy milk. Restaurants in tune with Schumann resonances.

The executive level 1 worker claimed she took longer than the normal 15 minutes allowed for coffee breaks because she needed to find organic coffee and the non-dairy based soy milk for dietary reasons.

Because once you find one establishment and order a cup, you can never go back lest they think you have some kind of fetish. Like a nulligravida trying to convince everyone all those jars of baby food are not for her dinners down in front of the television.

In the game of stairwells and smoking guns you need know when to cover your tracks and when to make sure you know how to retrace them. If you get them mixed up, you're out of a job.

Ethan Switch

Written on Sunday, 21 September 2014

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