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Squeeeek.
One of my best friends when I worked at a tech company in Illinois was a guy we'll call D. He was a "nerd's nerd": straightforward, down-to-earth, kind-hearted, and knew his technology inside and out.
D was a bit of a stickler for keeping his technology clean. He never ate while sitting at his desk, washed his hands before sitting down at this keyboard, and kept his desk neat and clean.
Periodically, someone would come into his cubicle to talk with him about a project, and they would invariably touch his monitor (the old, shiny, glass tube CRT type) when pointing at things during the discussion.
He kept a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels in his overhead cabinet, and as soon as they walked away, he'd wipe off any offending fingerprints and oils. I can still hear it today, that satisfying little "squeak squeak" of Windex from three cubicles over.
But the next time he asked me to come to his cubicle for a second to review something, I hatched an evil plan. As he was showing me an Excel spreadsheet with tiny little fonts, I leaned in (a bit too) close to his screen to get a better look. I could feel him tensing up behind me, ready to grab his Windex.
And then I did it.
I leaned all the way in so that my nose was touching his screen, and then with one deft swipe, I squeeeeeeeaked my nose in a 6-inch long arc across the screen, leaving behind an Exxon Mobil-worthy oil streak of skin oil.
If I'm not mistaken, he died a little inside that day. But he rallied, Windexed, and we're still friends to this day.
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