Exactly! I did it for a living for a while myself, actually. And that stuff took days for simple stuff- I imagine some of it is faster now with USB 3, but the size of the drives has gone up faster than the speed of the interfaces I believe, so some things might actually be slower.
Stuff like finding emails was SUPER long at the beginning- chugging through a medium sized enterprise’s Exchange server and anyone’s local PST files for indexing took a while. And that’s assuming we didn’t have to go through the whole Encase/FTK shuffle to get the PST files off someone’s PC in the first place.
That gets me to another thing you don’t see in real life- polymath types who do it all. In real life, law enforcement agencies have teams of people who do these various tasks, not one person who knows how to do it all. Our guys who were certified for the serious stuff might have heard the words “mass spectrometer” on NCIS or something, but that’s about it. And their chemistry was limited to knowing that bourbon, water, sugar and bitters makes an Old Fashioned.
Ah Encase. I didn’t do collections personally. I was more the guy who processed the data once it was collected. Tools like Attenex/Ringtail or Relativity for unstructured data or SQL Server for structured data.
Honestly, it was such mindless work for what they would pay us.
Everyone is driving too fast on unpaved roads (dirt, gravel, etc). Even if it isn’t a car chase, just a casual ride, the car is jittering up and down over the bumps.
On the subject of doppelgangers: I’ve seen at least three in real life, two of whom were downright shocking. One (in Moscow) was a dead ringer for a professor at Middlebury and one (in Prague) was identical to my own older brother. The third (in Toronto) I mistook for my ex-wife until I got closer to her.
I also knew a woman with a daughter who was the image of her, even though she was only one year old.
I’ve been hearing “You look like Stephen King” for about three and a half decades now. Could be worse; couple of years ago I had to pull out my driver’s license to prove to a woman in a restaurant that I wasn’t Gary Busey(!)
I must not have been the only Russian School graduate in Moscow back then, because when I talked to the woman and told her she looked exactly like my professor she said “You know, that’s the second time I’ve heard that this week.”
Funny you should mention that- I have a doppelgänger story:
In the very late 90s or very early aughts, I was flying the now defunct Northwest Air from Michigan to Florida to visit my sister.
NW Air had a sharing arrangement with KLM Airlines at the time, which used the same planes to fly different routes. KLM routinely flew to Mexico.
A flight attendant asked me what I wanted to drink. I wanted a beer. Of the boring Budweiser’s and Miller’s, there was one lone Tecate in the drink cart left over from a KLM run to Mexico. So I bought it.
The other flight attendant came down the aisle and saw me drinking the Tecate. And here’s where the doppelgänger part of the story comes in- she was a dead ringer for Gwyneth Paltrow.
She says to me “you’re not supposed to bring your own beer on the plane. I won’t turn you in, but please at least be discreet about drinking it”. I said I bought it from the other FA when she brought the cart. She was like “don’t lie to me”. I said really, she said ok, sure. She definitely didn’t buy my story.
I saw her go to the end of the aisle where the other flight attendant was still serving, and watch this pantomime where Gwyneth2 spoke animatedly to her while clearly pointing to me, other FA nodding yes, and Gwyneth2 finally shrugged and accepted my story.
A few years later the movie “View from the Top” came out in which Gwyneth Paltrow played… a flight attendant. And I thought “hmmm…practice for a role?!? Nahhhh…?”
I was working on a documentary film in Moscow a few years back, when it was pointed out to me that one of our Russian fixers bore a striking resemblance to young Walter Koenig (“Ensign Chekov” of Star Trek). He wanted to know what we were talking about, so I explained to him who Koenig is. Then he asked me “What do you do in Moscow?” I said (jokingly, of course) “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.”
The rest of the crew laughed, except for the star of the show and his producer, who didn’t speak Russian.
Someone is murdered, but just before they die they have a moment in which to write out or otherwise create a cryptic clue that identifies their killer, if only the police can figure out what it means.
This happened in the two-part Hawaii Five-O episode I finished watching today. A doppelganger impersonating McGarrett whispered “Ninety seconds!” just before he died. It turned out to be a clue to a Red Chinese plot to disable a US radar installation so they could launch a clandestine missile.
This episode is especially memorable because Donald Pleasance was a guest star, playing a former Nazi rocket scientist. I think it was also the last episode with Zulu as Kono.
This is a good one. I recently saw something where the victim just had time to scratch out two letters of their murderer’s name, only a lower case l was mistaken for an i at first.
I remembered that because I just watched a movie tonight where the written-out name ‘Clint’ was mistaken for something else for comedy purposes because two of the upper case letters were just a little close together. A forgotten comedy classic from 2015 with Rainn Wilson, Elijah Wood and several other comedy folks who made me say ‘hey that person’s in this too!’
This also happened in an episode of The Saint I saw many years ago. A murder victim wrote “COP” in his own blood before he died. I thought “Huh! It would be funny if he was writing in Cyrillic instead of Latin letters.”
Turned out the murderer was named “Soran,” and the victim was a Russian who sometimes lapsed into his native language. (“SORAN” being “COPAH” in Cyrillic.)
I had a supervisor (from Honduras, FWIW) that found Darren (my middle name) too hard to pronounce so called me Robert (my first name which I’ve never gone by) instead. Several people there called me Robert (sometimes mangling even that) and others called me Darren. Didn’t really insult me, though.
There is a difference between being unable to pronounce a name for whatever reason and being too lazy to try. I had a Chinese TA in a botany class in college. Closest he could get was Maritta. That’s fine; I accepted it because he was trying. “Oh, that’s too hard; I’ll just call you Rita”? Fuck off.
My favorite example is in Charade. A dying man uses his fingertip to write “DYLE” in the nap of a carpet—in clear, legible block letters—before expiring.
Now I’ll never see Charade, because I’d be way too upset if the next scene isn’t a bunch of British cops arguing over the corpse:
“Well, he’s a cockney git, ain’he? An’ that’s how he’d say ‘Dale’. Let’s go arrest Dale!”
“Ya mad, guv’nor? He’s from farther north, and that’s how he’d say ‘Doyle’! Me an’ the lads are all for bringin’ Doyle in!”
