It was the Concierge!
The poor guy had to receive and process code and data files from guests, staff and his bosses. It was his job to execute instructions. The hotel ran on this man’s clock. They heartlessly called him a Processing Unit.
If he sneezed, somebody screamed: “Off with his Bottleneck!”
He couldn’t stop. As long as Hotel Network runs, he must run faster. No breaks, no delays, and a lot of heat.
The processing unit ‘processes’ or thinks or calculates or executes – whatever the job description calls for. Since our concierge is the heart of the hotel, he is the Central Processing Unit, or CPU.
There’s a girl he likes. She works in reception. Her name is Miss Memory. She collects files and holds on to them until they are required.
The CPU dances to the tune of the guests, staff and his boss. Nobody knows where the next bit of instruction is going to come from, or what it’ll ask the poor guy to do. If it’s a large set of instructions, everyone else’s demands will have to wait.
Miss Memory has to keep in step. She just accepts the CPU’s random behaviour and writes it off to the demands of the job.
He doesn’t have the guts, or the time, to ask her out. He doesn’t even know her full name. He calls her Mem. Officially, she goes by the name: Random Access Memory, or RAM.
The lobby floor, the place where data physically moves, and all the other components are connected, is called the Motherboard. If the motherboard is slippery, then somebody carrying the data might slip and fall.
If the motherboard isn’t well designed, somebody might lose their way.
Who the hell is this, screaming “Bottleneck” all the time?
High above the main hotel lobby is a glass wall, through which the hotel manager keeps a tab on the CPU and RAM. He’s the dope who screams “bottleneck!” whenever a guest complains.
Sometimes he makes a fuss for no reason whatsoever.
Obviously, his set of instructions to run the hotel is the law. Nothing happens that is not under his control. If he doesn’t like the look of a file, he labels it corrupt. That’s a death sentence in these parts.
He is the Operating System, or OS.
If a guest complains about a bill, or a leaking ceiling, or poor Wi-fi, the instructions are studied by the OS, and hotel rules apply strictly.
When making calculations, the CPU must follow the rules set out by the OS on how to deal with files.
Sometimes, for special bits of software, the OS will make exceptions, as favors. Sometimes, if the bits of code are scamsters or goons, like viruses or trolls, then the OS could be compromised. Nobody likes to be made a fool of. The OS keeps a strict vigil – his hotel is at stake. Otherwise it is the Blue Screen of Death. When he blows his top, something or somebody will hang.
To keep one step ahead of everyone else, the OS must have access to information that is secure.
Evidently there is a repository for data somewhere – a storeroom if you will, where the darkest secrets are saved.
Where is it?
Links for Further Research: