On a doorway in Dover
I once stumbled over
a programmer wrapped in a sheet.
This poor prostrate nerd
didn’t utter a word
as he lay there half-blocking the street.
“From your face I can see
that you work in IT
what has brought you to this sorry state?”
This poor wretched geek
then started to speak
and told me his terrible fate
Cruel fortune had picked him,
as sad deadlock victim.
The conflict had left him for dead;
for wise men don’t mess
with a deadlocked process
an incident DBAs dread.
“When I’m dead, on my harp
I shall play in C#”
on my terminal, happy I’ll be.
I’m going offline
to a site that’s divine
where all pizza and coffee is free.”
“Insert into grave
select * from poor Dave
And put on my gravestone ‘Raiserror!
a victim, one time
of a deadlocking crime”
Then he died with a look of sheer terror.”