On the other side of the equation, we have the lifelong griefer. This is not someone who can't keep the personal problems out of the workplace: this is someone for whom the personal problems are the workplace, and there is no divide in between. I haven't had to walk a female friend through a divorce, but I can tell you that for guys, each and every one goes through a phase where their world is in pieces, they're staring at them all scattered on the floor, and they have no idea how to pick them back up or even which one to start with. It's an awful situation, trying to put one's life back together.
Unfortunately, the Grief Sponge is in this exact spot and seems to be stuck in neutral. There is no way out because the exits all lead back to the entrance. As they throw themselves into their work, the workplace becomes the sounding board for all the awfulness, and every little hiccup in the workflow is Her walking out, all over again. Grief Sponges are no fun to be around. Eventually people stop inviting them to the after-hours get-togethers, because the last thing you want is to be close to the guy when he's had a few beers in him. Women get slobbery pleas for sympathy, as if they can barter diplomacy on behalf of their gender. Guys are the shoulder to cry on--guys are bad listeners enough without having to be coerced into a marathon session of How She Left Me--for the nth time.
So....what to do? As bizarre as it sounds, sometimes companies apply the Dilbert Principle and promote the Grief Sponge. Get him out of the workflow and give him something to do that doesn't involve people, much. The catch is that there's this little thing about management that involves actually managing people, and placing The Grief Sponge in a position of power turns out to be a bad thing, indeed. I have a friend who is going through this situation right now. Nobody underneath TGS likes to deal with him because he is pessimistic and rude. Worse, he will issue proclamations from on high that derail the development process. It's a vicious cycle: the more the team keeps him out of the loop, the less he knows, and the worse the edicts become. Typically, this is where the Peasants revolt--they go over his head, and TGS feels the squeeze from being in Middle Management.
Upper management will typically do one of two things: protect The Grief Sponge, or push him.
It seems unavoidable that management will take on an Us vs. Them mentality when it comes to conflicts. Conflicts are messy, and when the complaints come from below, sometimes management doesn't want to be bothered with it. Don't rock the boat; there's a lot of liability from up here, and none of us wants to be knocked off our pedestal. On the other hand, there's the fact that the Defendant in question is Management: part of the fold. Condemning them would both project the image that Management made a mistake by hiring/promoting the guy, and remind the masses that even Managers can get the axe.
Neither is a favorable proposition.
It's amazing how far I've seen the protection racket go--a GS can get a lot out of the company if he tumbles to his diplomatic immunity (Golden Parachute, anyone?). But that is a post for another time. :) Instead, let's look at the other choice: the push.
This one is simple--management doesn't want to fire anybody because fired people bad-mouth the company. They sue. They might even be unbalanced enough to come back and shoot up the place. Or just key a few cars in the parking lot on their way out. All of this is bad, and once again, we want to avoid confrontations because confrontations are messy. So instead Managment culls its own by indirect means. Make the guy's job so miserable/impossible/intolerable/all of the above that he up and quits on you. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, and hopefully when he goes, the guy is so happy to be out of there that he forgets to be angry at the company.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Rise of the Bastard II: The Ball-Busting Black Widow
Okay, so maybe the title on that one says it all.
Have you ever met or worked with a woman who could not control her emotions in the workplace? Someone for whom you leave your home every morning to take on their problems for them during the workday? And finally, do you sometimes find yourself wondering which of you would work best under heavy medication?
If you've answered yes to any one of those questions, you've worked in at least one white-collar office environment. Typically Miss Dystemper ends up behind a phone station, trying very hard not to scream at the general public when they call in and mis-dial an extension. Her husband/ex is a jackass, her bills are outrageous, and her children are completely out-of-control: almost as bad as the Automotive Harrassment Squad that follows her to and from work every day.
Things become worse when your sympathetic ear isn't enough. Slowly--
(well, if you want to get there quickly, dry up the sympathy well early on...it's like a secret passage, directly to Hell)
--but surely, you will eventually be rolled up into The Problem and added to The List.
Usually there's a reason this person will never be asked to leave unless and until they shoot up the place. Either they know where the bodies are buried, or they have carefully built their web over the years, and no one dares touch it, let alone try to take it away. By attrition they become indispensable.
"Indispensable" is often in the eye of the beholder, who happens to be a robot. Humanity does not compute. Continued function is imperative. Mission-critical buster of balls shall continue. Inefficient humans will be deleted.
I had the joy of being with two such persons. Thankfully in entirely different companies (though you never know--I hear BastardCo is hiring). In one situation, my cheerful disposition made it a joy to the BBBW to knock my feet out from under me, wrap me up in red tape, and drain the life out of me. In the other, my cheerful disposition was seen as the iron-clad guarantee that the Wicked Witch would Re-Glenda-fy beneath my Awesome Sunshine Powers.
Neither worked, of course. Both taught me that if you're a good person, shitty people don't deserve you. Both also taught me that if you're a good person, you will lose to anyone who owns the web and/or hides the bodies.
(P.S.: for the Morally Offended, this gender-door swings both ways...more in the next entry, because good--and bad--things come in trilogies)
Have you ever met or worked with a woman who could not control her emotions in the workplace? Someone for whom you leave your home every morning to take on their problems for them during the workday? And finally, do you sometimes find yourself wondering which of you would work best under heavy medication?
If you've answered yes to any one of those questions, you've worked in at least one white-collar office environment. Typically Miss Dystemper ends up behind a phone station, trying very hard not to scream at the general public when they call in and mis-dial an extension. Her husband/ex is a jackass, her bills are outrageous, and her children are completely out-of-control: almost as bad as the Automotive Harrassment Squad that follows her to and from work every day.
Things become worse when your sympathetic ear isn't enough. Slowly--
(well, if you want to get there quickly, dry up the sympathy well early on...it's like a secret passage, directly to Hell)
--but surely, you will eventually be rolled up into The Problem and added to The List.
Usually there's a reason this person will never be asked to leave unless and until they shoot up the place. Either they know where the bodies are buried, or they have carefully built their web over the years, and no one dares touch it, let alone try to take it away. By attrition they become indispensable.
"Indispensable" is often in the eye of the beholder, who happens to be a robot. Humanity does not compute. Continued function is imperative. Mission-critical buster of balls shall continue. Inefficient humans will be deleted.
I had the joy of being with two such persons. Thankfully in entirely different companies (though you never know--I hear BastardCo is hiring). In one situation, my cheerful disposition made it a joy to the BBBW to knock my feet out from under me, wrap me up in red tape, and drain the life out of me. In the other, my cheerful disposition was seen as the iron-clad guarantee that the Wicked Witch would Re-Glenda-fy beneath my Awesome Sunshine Powers.
Neither worked, of course. Both taught me that if you're a good person, shitty people don't deserve you. Both also taught me that if you're a good person, you will lose to anyone who owns the web and/or hides the bodies.
(P.S.: for the Morally Offended, this gender-door swings both ways...more in the next entry, because good--and bad--things come in trilogies)
Rise of the Bastard
I still haven't figured out how nasty people rise above the good people.
I'm not talking about the Peters Principle--that incompetence rises to its own level. I'm talking instead about people who, regardless of how good or bad they are at their job, are simply snake-mean. And manage to get promoted, again and again.
A man I very much admire has an excellent reputation for sales. He had a superior hired into the company after him--let's just call him "Joe Bossman"--who very much resented him for it. Like the aging athlete who sees only his own legacy, the man simply resented the fact that he was no longer in sales, and his underling was somehow better at it than he had ever been.
"New policy," Bossman said one day. "The higher-ups have said we're discounting too much. So...until further notice, there are to be no more discounts of any kind. Company policy."
My friend took the hit and rolled with it. "Sorry guys," he told the customers, "I just can't do it. My hands are tied, but hang in there." And because he's just a hell of a nice guy, most of his clientele said, "We understand," and went along with it.
Continuing to do well was a thorn in Bossman's side. "I'm reassigning districts," he said. "There's too much overlap." Out from under my friend went most of his client base. Park Place and Boardwalk went to Bossman Jr. and a Mister Toadying Crony, both of whom had clearly earned it. He got a dog-eared Baltic, and in a generous move, half of St. Charles Place. One performance review later, and the bar had been lowered--on my friend's head. "Why aren't you making your quotas anymore? These numbers aren't anything like what they were when I came on board!"
What would you do? Well, if "Stand up to the guy," is your answer, you might want to go ahead and draw those savings out of the bank right now, because you're gonna need 'em while you're looking for a new job. Still--at this point my friend had to know that the writing was on the wall. Like any good worker, he asked his co-workers how they dealt with the problem.
Turns out they didn't have his problem. Discounts cancelled? No--who told you that? He did? Oh! That explains why every other co-worker has been laughing at you for the past year! Sam Slytherin over in the Marvin Gardens division kept telling me you were just incompetent, like Bossman says. Or was that impotent? I forget, it might have been both...
He's unemployed now--turns out he had really horrible performance. And low numbers. Oddly enough, I forsee his old stomping grounds changing its name, once all the good people are gone: BastardCo might be open.
I'm not talking about the Peters Principle--that incompetence rises to its own level. I'm talking instead about people who, regardless of how good or bad they are at their job, are simply snake-mean. And manage to get promoted, again and again.
A man I very much admire has an excellent reputation for sales. He had a superior hired into the company after him--let's just call him "Joe Bossman"--who very much resented him for it. Like the aging athlete who sees only his own legacy, the man simply resented the fact that he was no longer in sales, and his underling was somehow better at it than he had ever been.
"New policy," Bossman said one day. "The higher-ups have said we're discounting too much. So...until further notice, there are to be no more discounts of any kind. Company policy."
My friend took the hit and rolled with it. "Sorry guys," he told the customers, "I just can't do it. My hands are tied, but hang in there." And because he's just a hell of a nice guy, most of his clientele said, "We understand," and went along with it.
Continuing to do well was a thorn in Bossman's side. "I'm reassigning districts," he said. "There's too much overlap." Out from under my friend went most of his client base. Park Place and Boardwalk went to Bossman Jr. and a Mister Toadying Crony, both of whom had clearly earned it. He got a dog-eared Baltic, and in a generous move, half of St. Charles Place. One performance review later, and the bar had been lowered--on my friend's head. "Why aren't you making your quotas anymore? These numbers aren't anything like what they were when I came on board!"
What would you do? Well, if "Stand up to the guy," is your answer, you might want to go ahead and draw those savings out of the bank right now, because you're gonna need 'em while you're looking for a new job. Still--at this point my friend had to know that the writing was on the wall. Like any good worker, he asked his co-workers how they dealt with the problem.
Turns out they didn't have his problem. Discounts cancelled? No--who told you that? He did? Oh! That explains why every other co-worker has been laughing at you for the past year! Sam Slytherin over in the Marvin Gardens division kept telling me you were just incompetent, like Bossman says. Or was that impotent? I forget, it might have been both...
He's unemployed now--turns out he had really horrible performance. And low numbers. Oddly enough, I forsee his old stomping grounds changing its name, once all the good people are gone: BastardCo might be open.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Games People Shouldn't Play
Here are some un-fun games that you should avoid playing with your co-workers at all costs:
- The Blame Game (of course; this hot-potato will always circle back to you before it gets put down)
- Who's Screaming This Week? (or, "Trouble: the Game of Constant Crisis")
- Scapegoat - with Ball-Busting Action! (chances are, anyone seeing you do this will be thinking, "Hey, that could be me getting thrown under the bus one day.")
- Bridge-Burner: (also known as "Slow Solitaire")
- Crazy-Time: the game where Everything's Personal! "If you can't leave your problems at the door, it's time to Get Ca-rayyyzy!"
- Mouse Trap: the game where He Who Squeaks the Loudest is summarily squished
- The Dating Game: oh, it gets quite ugly at the end. Expect at least one meeting to be a tennis match between She Who Leaves the Toothpaste Uncapped and He Who Never Puts Down the Toilet Seat.
The Two-Way Street leaves little safety in the middle
I'd mentioned earlier that the developer-as-manager can be a hazardous thing: sometimes these folks are promoted to management simply by their tenure and seniority with the company; other times their superiors simply assume, "If she can work wonders with code, she must be great with coders!"
Unfortunately, not everyone realizes that some programmers are excellent at what they do because that's all they want to do. I've seen a good programmer become the most miserable manager on earth, slogging through meetings and longing for the good old days of making the machines do magic. I've seen people quit out of fear that they might be promoted.
The other side of this street is that sometimes developers don't understand the value of management: if they're competent, your project managers are there because they get you the information you need. They're not just people who tell you what to do; they're the ones keeping an eye on the goals, watching the calendar to keep the cart behind the horse, and dealing with every last little want, need, hope or complaint of the client. Meetings may seem meaningless to the person who shapes code all day, but there are actually projects where the simple act of spending a bit of time with the client goes a long way. I'll have more to say on this another time, I'm sure; for now, the important point is not whether a particular role is more or less important. It's whether the person doing the role can do it well.
Unfortunately, not everyone realizes that some programmers are excellent at what they do because that's all they want to do. I've seen a good programmer become the most miserable manager on earth, slogging through meetings and longing for the good old days of making the machines do magic. I've seen people quit out of fear that they might be promoted.
The other side of this street is that sometimes developers don't understand the value of management: if they're competent, your project managers are there because they get you the information you need. They're not just people who tell you what to do; they're the ones keeping an eye on the goals, watching the calendar to keep the cart behind the horse, and dealing with every last little want, need, hope or complaint of the client. Meetings may seem meaningless to the person who shapes code all day, but there are actually projects where the simple act of spending a bit of time with the client goes a long way. I'll have more to say on this another time, I'm sure; for now, the important point is not whether a particular role is more or less important. It's whether the person doing the role can do it well.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Zen and the Art of a Good Exit Strategy
I had a job once that seemed absolutely perfect...until I walked in the door.
I'm sure I'm not the only one to have this happen; in fact, I'm betting each and every one of you has had a Day One that turned into an 8-hour "Oh, shit!" moment.
It didn't seem like a big deal to have no computer, until several weeks later there still wasn't one. It wasn't all that bad to have to continually ask for software until I was told that I needed to sign up for a credit card. "Oh, is this a company card?" I ask, figuring they have some sort of expense-account for their executives. "No, this is an arrangement we've made with American Express to allow you to sign up for your own card." In other words, get an Amex in your name and we get a kickback. You'll still need to pay for all of your own stuff...and we'll pay you back. Using the same process that's holding up your computer. Well, to be fair, it wasn't quite the same process: anything I needed to be "paid back for" would go on a Travel Reimbursement Request Form.
I was determined to make this work. And I was resourceful: as it happened, I had my own powerful laptop, loaded with the software I'd need to work. I started using it pretty early on, but didn't tell anyone it was capable enough for me to do my job--otherwise, I imagined our staff wouldn't exactly be motivated to get me a machine.
I did everything I could at the time, but the truth is, I just wasn't up to the Machiavellian politics yet. I really didn't know how to handle the situation, and I handled it badly. A point in my favor though, was my clear understanding of the situation: I knew my problems began and ended with my direct superior. Once I realized that all points flowed through them, I realized that there was no way this situation could be salvaged, and I started planning my exit strategy.
It wasn't a graceful one, but I understood very quickly that the same system that allowed people to be cruel and petty in the name of "professionalism", also shielded me from any direct confrontation. Always being cooperative, helpful, and friendly meant that anyone who lost their cool and blew up at me would look like an ass to everyone else. Ignoring humiliation tactics (I was moved to a receptionist's desk because "I needed watching") meant the people trying to feel like they'd gotten to me were denied the pleasure. And best of all, pulling the plug meant that the people who were documenting my downfall had wasted their time--they simply had nothing to work with.
I was plenty upset, with an extra helping of frustrated, for quite a while after that: I viewed it as a failure and kept replaying events in my head to see if I could have stopped the avalanche. I got over it when I realized that I couldn't: this was nothing personal. The position I was hired into was created by a client who wanted control over their relationship with their vendor. The vendor got to pick, interview, and hire me, and the client signed my paychecks. Whoever occupied that hot-seat was meant to fail: failure meant the client would have to admit defeat and the vendor could take over the product because clearly they were the IT partner of choice.
When you serve two masters, be aware that you will be used, in one direction or another. It is inevitable that you will become the lever to jack up one side or another of the relationship. And when you're in an unwinnable situation, don't waste your time: bail. There will be plenty of other opportunities out there, and the less you have to put on a resume about the disaster, the better.
I'm sure I'm not the only one to have this happen; in fact, I'm betting each and every one of you has had a Day One that turned into an 8-hour "Oh, shit!" moment.
It didn't seem like a big deal to have no computer, until several weeks later there still wasn't one. It wasn't all that bad to have to continually ask for software until I was told that I needed to sign up for a credit card. "Oh, is this a company card?" I ask, figuring they have some sort of expense-account for their executives. "No, this is an arrangement we've made with American Express to allow you to sign up for your own card." In other words, get an Amex in your name and we get a kickback. You'll still need to pay for all of your own stuff...and we'll pay you back. Using the same process that's holding up your computer. Well, to be fair, it wasn't quite the same process: anything I needed to be "paid back for" would go on a Travel Reimbursement Request Form.
I was determined to make this work. And I was resourceful: as it happened, I had my own powerful laptop, loaded with the software I'd need to work. I started using it pretty early on, but didn't tell anyone it was capable enough for me to do my job--otherwise, I imagined our staff wouldn't exactly be motivated to get me a machine.
I did everything I could at the time, but the truth is, I just wasn't up to the Machiavellian politics yet. I really didn't know how to handle the situation, and I handled it badly. A point in my favor though, was my clear understanding of the situation: I knew my problems began and ended with my direct superior. Once I realized that all points flowed through them, I realized that there was no way this situation could be salvaged, and I started planning my exit strategy.
It wasn't a graceful one, but I understood very quickly that the same system that allowed people to be cruel and petty in the name of "professionalism", also shielded me from any direct confrontation. Always being cooperative, helpful, and friendly meant that anyone who lost their cool and blew up at me would look like an ass to everyone else. Ignoring humiliation tactics (I was moved to a receptionist's desk because "I needed watching") meant the people trying to feel like they'd gotten to me were denied the pleasure. And best of all, pulling the plug meant that the people who were documenting my downfall had wasted their time--they simply had nothing to work with.
I was plenty upset, with an extra helping of frustrated, for quite a while after that: I viewed it as a failure and kept replaying events in my head to see if I could have stopped the avalanche. I got over it when I realized that I couldn't: this was nothing personal. The position I was hired into was created by a client who wanted control over their relationship with their vendor. The vendor got to pick, interview, and hire me, and the client signed my paychecks. Whoever occupied that hot-seat was meant to fail: failure meant the client would have to admit defeat and the vendor could take over the product because clearly they were the IT partner of choice.
When you serve two masters, be aware that you will be used, in one direction or another. It is inevitable that you will become the lever to jack up one side or another of the relationship. And when you're in an unwinnable situation, don't waste your time: bail. There will be plenty of other opportunities out there, and the less you have to put on a resume about the disaster, the better.
Leading Edge Versus Bleeding Edge
A massive tech facility was constructed in my city. It's an amazing place of brand-new and contemporary offices. Technically, it's not even finished yet, but already eager tenants have moved in: massive corporations, seed ventures, and academic think-tanks all busy buiding the World of Tomorrow. When you look at the gleaming mothership architecture, sprawling lawns, and blinding glare of mirrored windows, you can't help but think "Caution: Futurists Crossing"
Unfortunately, all is not well in the EPCOT of the New Millenium. In the race to inhabit the hippest place for 50 miles around, a little bit of forethought goes a long way:
None of them has Internet access.
Well, let me put that a better way: the grounds are not equipped for Internet access. The first companies through the gate probably spent a good portion of 2007 desperately scrambling for whatever they could cobble together: Satellite broadband? Cellular wireless? Get us whatever you can--we've got a future to plan here!
Teh Notworkz has since been brought...well, into the ballpark. One particular tenant was told to run their pipe to the box at the corner of their property--that's where the data firehose began. Contractors were called, machines rolled in, and as quick as you can say, "Wow! Look at all the dirt!", a ditch was dug.
To the wrong corner.
I can't imagine which player in this comedy of errors was the first one to figure out what went wrong: was it the Construction Contractor, who at the end of his long dig, found himself staring at an empty box? Maybe it was the Service Tech, who rolled out a spool of fiber, only to find nothing to connect it to? Or the builder, eyeing the new ditch and pondering how soon he might get someone out there to finish the job?
Whatever the case, take it as a cautionary tale: when the aliens land and we're all invited back to AlienWorld for a big party, maybe you should ask a question or two before you hop aboard the giant Space Ark.
Unfortunately, all is not well in the EPCOT of the New Millenium. In the race to inhabit the hippest place for 50 miles around, a little bit of forethought goes a long way:
None of them has Internet access.
Well, let me put that a better way: the grounds are not equipped for Internet access. The first companies through the gate probably spent a good portion of 2007 desperately scrambling for whatever they could cobble together: Satellite broadband? Cellular wireless? Get us whatever you can--we've got a future to plan here!
Teh Notworkz has since been brought...well, into the ballpark. One particular tenant was told to run their pipe to the box at the corner of their property--that's where the data firehose began. Contractors were called, machines rolled in, and as quick as you can say, "Wow! Look at all the dirt!", a ditch was dug.
To the wrong corner.
I can't imagine which player in this comedy of errors was the first one to figure out what went wrong: was it the Construction Contractor, who at the end of his long dig, found himself staring at an empty box? Maybe it was the Service Tech, who rolled out a spool of fiber, only to find nothing to connect it to? Or the builder, eyeing the new ditch and pondering how soon he might get someone out there to finish the job?
Whatever the case, take it as a cautionary tale: when the aliens land and we're all invited back to AlienWorld for a big party, maybe you should ask a question or two before you hop aboard the giant Space Ark.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Mensa Never Had it This Good
A friend of mine sent me this message the other day:
Folks, wanna know something fun?
I just had a phone interview with a Major Company in the Netherlands.
A long interview.I didn't get the job, I'm sure, but the questions I was asked were.. hmm.. odd. Half hour spent on tech stuff ( e.g. "what's the difference between Debug.Write and Trace.Write?" and "how would you implement a deep copy interface?" ).
One and a half hour spent on ..err.. three questions.. err.. (the following text is abridged)
Interviewer (with thick dutch accent): "Why are manhole covers round?"
G: "Come again?"
I: "Why are manhole covers round? You know the things you use to cover the holes in the ground on the streets."
G: "Err.. because the hole in the floor is round?"
I: "No other reason? Why not making them square? Or rectangular?"
G: "Err.. well, why would them make manhole covers square when the hole is round?"
I: "Is the hole always round?" (and here I started wondering if this was a joke or something, or if the guy was a lil fruity)
G: "Hmm.. a manhole cover covers a hole made so that a man has to go through it, and the cross section of a man is roundish, plus, if I recall correctly, the best shape to withstand the pressure would be a sphere, in the case of a vessel like a batisphere, or a cilinder, in the case when you need more space, like a sub, and in the case of a long tunnel, to withstand the pressure from the ground, a cilinder would do the job, so I'd say that manhole covers are always round."
I: "Ok, thanks."
Interviewer #2: "Hi, this is."
G: "Howdy Fronk."
I2: "So, let's say you're in front of a door.. this door is closed, and there is a switchplate. On this plate there are three switches, each switch is attached to a light bulb inside the room. You need to check which switch controls which bulb, but you can't open the door but one time. How would you do it?"
G (who is starting to catch the drift and gettin a lil testy): "Why can't I open the door?"
I2: "Because the switches lock the moment you open the door, and closing the door again won't help."
G: "You've been asked this before, huh?"
I2: "Yes, we heard them all."
G: "Well.. hmmm.. in this case.."
I2: "Yes?"
G: "I'd ask whomever wired up the place. He should have the drawings."
I2: "Heheh. He's not around, this place is old and noone remembers what happened and who built what."
G: "Then I would turn off all the switches, remove the switchplate, rip the first cable, short the second, and leave the third be. Then put the plate up, turn everything on, and open the door. The first one will control the light that's off, the second one the light that's blown, and the third will be on."
I2: "..err.. ok.. that's a way.. but what if you want all the lights to be on?"
G: "Then I'm out of luck, the door's open by now."
I: "Yes yes, good. Listen, there're four jars, all equal, all containing the same exact number of pills, each pill is equal to the other, in color, shape, taste, etc, except that in one jar the pills are bad and they weigh the regular pill's weight plus 1. You can make only one measurement, how would you find out which jar contains the bad pills?"
G (hungry and slightly annoyed at this point): "The pills are bad?"
I:" Yes, bad."
G: "Like they taste bad, or are they poisonous? Because if they just taste bad.."
I: "No no, they taste good but they are poisonous, you can't eat them or you die."
G: "And in everything else, bar the weight, they are the same as the others?"
I: "Yes."
G: "So I read the label."
I: "Too easy. The evil mastermind made all the labels the same."
G: "Hmmm.."
I: "Go on.."
G: "How long does the poison take to kill me?"
I: "It's immediate, you don't have time to go to the ER."
G: "Do you have a dog?"
I: "Why?"
G: "Simple, I give one of each pills to the dog and see what happens."
I: "You can't do that!"
G: "You don't have a dog?"
I: "The dog doesn't want the pills!"
G: "I force feed it."
I: "That's inhumane!"
G : "I didn't say I force feed you, I said I force feed your dog."
I: "You can't kill the dog! There are no dogs, you can only weight them."
G: "How about a cat? Even a stray would do."
I: "No killing animals!"
G: "Ok, then I force feed the evil mastermind."
I: "No!"
G: "Why not? He tried to trick me, he put the wrong labels, and he won't tell me which one is the bad one, and even if he would tell me, how could I trust him?"
I: "You can't do that! You can't find the guy!"
G: "Then I take his family. At the very least, he has a mother."
I: "You can't kill anyone!!"
G: "Not even his pets?"
I: "NO!"
G: "Then I toss the pills and forget about it."
I: "You can't, you want the pills."
G: "No I don't. You want the pills, but you don't give me any way to find out. Using only the weight is not enough, because depending on the number of pills the difference could be very minimal, besides I don't see much space for error, let alone human error. Besides if the evil mastermind has changed the labels, what prevented him from adding extra weight to the other jars, or change the weight of the jar cap, or anything else that would give me a false positive? Clearly this is not a scientific lab I'm working in, otherwise I would just do some test on the pills themselves and I would be able to try more than one measurement, therefore in extreme cases, one has to rely on extreme acts." (and here I resisted from yelling "and now gimme your mutt!!", but I so wanted..)
I: "..yes.."
I2 (who had been laughing in the background since the dog question above): "Thank you, do you have any questions for us?"
And from here it was the usual pleasantries "don't call us, we'll call you" and that was it.
If I do get the job, I don't think it will be in development.
Folks, wanna know something fun?
I just had a phone interview with a Major Company in the Netherlands.
A long interview.I didn't get the job, I'm sure, but the questions I was asked were.. hmm.. odd. Half hour spent on tech stuff ( e.g. "what's the difference between Debug.Write and Trace.Write?" and "how would you implement a deep copy interface?" ).
One and a half hour spent on ..err.. three questions.. err.. (the following text is abridged)
Interviewer (with thick dutch accent): "Why are manhole covers round?"
G: "Come again?"
I: "Why are manhole covers round? You know the things you use to cover the holes in the ground on the streets."
G: "Err.. because the hole in the floor is round?"
I: "No other reason? Why not making them square? Or rectangular?"
G: "Err.. well, why would them make manhole covers square when the hole is round?"
I: "Is the hole always round?" (and here I started wondering if this was a joke or something, or if the guy was a lil fruity)
G: "Hmm.. a manhole cover covers a hole made so that a man has to go through it, and the cross section of a man is roundish, plus, if I recall correctly, the best shape to withstand the pressure would be a sphere, in the case of a vessel like a batisphere, or a cilinder, in the case when you need more space, like a sub, and in the case of a long tunnel, to withstand the pressure from the ground, a cilinder would do the job, so I'd say that manhole covers are always round."
I: "Ok, thanks."
Interviewer #2: "Hi, this is
G: "Howdy Fronk."
I2: "So, let's say you're in front of a door.. this door is closed, and there is a switchplate. On this plate there are three switches, each switch is attached to a light bulb inside the room. You need to check which switch controls which bulb, but you can't open the door but one time. How would you do it?"
G (who is starting to catch the drift and gettin a lil testy): "Why can't I open the door?"
I2: "Because the switches lock the moment you open the door, and closing the door again won't help."
G: "You've been asked this before, huh?"
I2: "Yes, we heard them all."
G: "Well.. hmmm.. in this case.."
I2: "Yes?"
G: "I'd ask whomever wired up the place. He should have the drawings."
I2: "Heheh. He's not around, this place is old and noone remembers what happened and who built what."
G: "Then I would turn off all the switches, remove the switchplate, rip the first cable, short the second, and leave the third be. Then put the plate up, turn everything on, and open the door. The first one will control the light that's off, the second one the light that's blown, and the third will be on."
I2: "..err.. ok.. that's a way.. but what if you want all the lights to be on?"
G: "Then I'm out of luck, the door's open by now."
I: "Yes yes, good. Listen, there're four jars, all equal, all containing the same exact number of pills, each pill is equal to the other, in color, shape, taste, etc, except that in one jar the pills are bad and they weigh the regular pill's weight plus 1. You can make only one measurement, how would you find out which jar contains the bad pills?"
G (hungry and slightly annoyed at this point): "The pills are bad?"
I:" Yes, bad."
G: "Like they taste bad, or are they poisonous? Because if they just taste bad.."
I: "No no, they taste good but they are poisonous, you can't eat them or you die."
G: "And in everything else, bar the weight, they are the same as the others?"
I: "Yes."
G: "So I read the label."
I: "Too easy. The evil mastermind made all the labels the same."
G: "Hmmm.."
I: "Go on.."
G: "How long does the poison take to kill me?"
I: "It's immediate, you don't have time to go to the ER."
G: "Do you have a dog?"
I: "Why?"
G: "Simple, I give one of each pills to the dog and see what happens."
I: "You can't do that!"
G: "You don't have a dog?"
I: "The dog doesn't want the pills!"
G: "I force feed it."
I: "That's inhumane!"
G : "I didn't say I force feed you, I said I force feed your dog."
I: "You can't kill the dog! There are no dogs, you can only weight them."
G: "How about a cat? Even a stray would do."
I: "No killing animals!"
G: "Ok, then I force feed the evil mastermind."
I: "No!"
G: "Why not? He tried to trick me, he put the wrong labels, and he won't tell me which one is the bad one, and even if he would tell me, how could I trust him?"
I: "You can't do that! You can't find the guy!"
G: "Then I take his family. At the very least, he has a mother."
I: "You can't kill anyone!!"
G: "Not even his pets?"
I: "NO!"
G: "Then I toss the pills and forget about it."
I: "You can't, you want the pills."
G: "No I don't. You want the pills, but you don't give me any way to find out. Using only the weight is not enough, because depending on the number of pills the difference could be very minimal, besides I don't see much space for error, let alone human error. Besides if the evil mastermind has changed the labels, what prevented him from adding extra weight to the other jars, or change the weight of the jar cap, or anything else that would give me a false positive? Clearly this is not a scientific lab I'm working in, otherwise I would just do some test on the pills themselves and I would be able to try more than one measurement, therefore in extreme cases, one has to rely on extreme acts." (and here I resisted from yelling "and now gimme your mutt!!", but I so wanted..)
I: "..yes.."
I2 (who had been laughing in the background since the dog question above): "Thank you, do you have any questions for us?"
And from here it was the usual pleasantries "don't call us, we'll call you" and that was it.
If I do get the job, I don't think it will be in development.
It's not all in the Pointy Hair
On IT and Management:
The right type of manager for IT is one who says, "I know enough to know that I don't know." These enlightened individuals realize that what the developer is doing is as close to magic as we'll get in the real world, and that as such, sometimes it needs special consideration.
Unfortunately, for the good of the world, this type of IT manager is typically whisked away to where they can do the most good: say, at NASA, a missile silo, or a nuclear reactor.
The worst type of IT manager is Conan: a brutal barbarian with an ingrained hatred of magic. He doesn't understand what programmers do, so every aspect of it to him is unpredictable and riddled with chaos. Since the developer is so (relatively) calm about working the magic, he hates them for it.
For the record, the second worst type of IT manager is a veteran programmer. There are veteran programmers who prove the exception to the rule, but mostly you'll get one of two types:
The right type of manager for IT is one who says, "I know enough to know that I don't know." These enlightened individuals realize that what the developer is doing is as close to magic as we'll get in the real world, and that as such, sometimes it needs special consideration.
Unfortunately, for the good of the world, this type of IT manager is typically whisked away to where they can do the most good: say, at NASA, a missile silo, or a nuclear reactor.
The worst type of IT manager is Conan: a brutal barbarian with an ingrained hatred of magic. He doesn't understand what programmers do, so every aspect of it to him is unpredictable and riddled with chaos. Since the developer is so (relatively) calm about working the magic, he hates them for it.
For the record, the second worst type of IT manager is a veteran programmer. There are veteran programmers who prove the exception to the rule, but mostly you'll get one of two types:
- an idiot who was never that great of a programmer, but he gets by with a little help from his friends; or
- someone who maybe knows a language that's mythologized in academic halls (but is otherwise dead), and loves to talk about the old days of COBOL pointers and punchcards.
When they're not promoted to management for their keen insight and people skills, the hazard of the programmer-as-manager comes if he or she feels that, "I've so been there--so anything coming from my people that I don't agree with is bullshit, because I know what's what."
A close friend of mine has been afflicted with Conan the General: enough time spent in the trenches to take both First and Second place in the Upper-Class Twit of the Year competition. With any luck, he'll accidentally run himself over in the parking lot.
Another friend of mine just has Conan.
In both cases, management goes by what it sees: if the page doesn't load in the browser, it must be the programmer's fault. Never mind bad databases, ill-fitting business logic, overzealous firewalls, or the Spyware that's clogging the machine: it all begins and ends with the developer.
Interesting how like the upper echelons of the business world, the low-level IT world can be: when the leader drives the good people away, bad (but agreeable) people fill the void. They all say "yes" to bad direction and gleefully sink the ship. Smart people get harassed, because who needs an old smarty spoiling our yacht party with news of a leak?
To further flog the metaphor, the short-sighted see the tiny ice-cap on the surface and ignore the glacier underneath: the problem must be those programmers--it couldn't be our infrastructure, practices, gaps in communication, nepotistic favoritism, politics, culture, or group myopia! It's those guys out on point covering our asses--our asses are getting bigger and they're not covering enough!
The Great American Swindle
Worst Job Ever:
They moved us all into a small room with no ventilation. They installed ductwork that recycled the same air at 80db, 24-7. We had an exposed ceiling of steel girders, coated with flame-retardant chemical foam. It had been coated with flat black paint. Both substances flaked off the walls and got in our lungs, on our clothes, and made us all very sick--a typical day would involve 12-15 of 54 people being unable to come in, and the coughing was nonstop.
We were under the bathrooms. The pipes leaked. At times someone might get toilet-water dripped on them when you heard a flush. Alarms malfunctioned and went off at random, right over our heads. They could run for half an hour or more, and were much louder than the ductwork.
We were under a cafeteria. The gas pipes for the stove leaked when they fired things up for breakfast or lunchtime, and would cause headaches. The kitchen waste pipes were leaky, and dripped "kitchen waste", sometimes rupturing and gushing all over the floor, the walls, or in one case someone's computer. There was a water leak from the cafeteria's ice machine, and there were flying insects that lived in the salad bar and would swarm down the holes in the floor.
Needless to say, you never ate at the cafeteria, you always left at lunch to get some air, and you always kept any food covered or wrapped as you were eating it.
Here's the punchline: know where I worked?
Public Health.
They moved us all into a small room with no ventilation. They installed ductwork that recycled the same air at 80db, 24-7. We had an exposed ceiling of steel girders, coated with flame-retardant chemical foam. It had been coated with flat black paint. Both substances flaked off the walls and got in our lungs, on our clothes, and made us all very sick--a typical day would involve 12-15 of 54 people being unable to come in, and the coughing was nonstop.
We were under the bathrooms. The pipes leaked. At times someone might get toilet-water dripped on them when you heard a flush. Alarms malfunctioned and went off at random, right over our heads. They could run for half an hour or more, and were much louder than the ductwork.
We were under a cafeteria. The gas pipes for the stove leaked when they fired things up for breakfast or lunchtime, and would cause headaches. The kitchen waste pipes were leaky, and dripped "kitchen waste", sometimes rupturing and gushing all over the floor, the walls, or in one case someone's computer. There was a water leak from the cafeteria's ice machine, and there were flying insects that lived in the salad bar and would swarm down the holes in the floor.
Needless to say, you never ate at the cafeteria, you always left at lunch to get some air, and you always kept any food covered or wrapped as you were eating it.
Here's the punchline: know where I worked?
Public Health.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Chapter One: A Statement of Purpose
"What the heck is this? 'Chapter Eight: I Am Born'...ah, god, we're in for a long ride...
-- My modern-day thoughts on long exposition
To borrow from Mike Rowe: "Get ready to get nerdy"
I've seen some pretty bizarre things in the technology biz--most of us have. This is my place to share the strangest and funniest things that I've seen or experienced.
Whetting the Appetite for Destruction
It truly pained me to see that Guns 'n' Roses' debut album Appetite for Destruction is actually 20 years old now. It reminded me of a moment when I worked in software retail. It was 1992, and we were all excited that we had a CD player in the store, and some killer speakers with which to crank.
I was playing Van Halen's 1984 when someone not much younger than me walked in, cocked his head, and said, "Man, that's some OLD Van Halen!"
Yikes. Embarrassed, I hastily shoved their first album under the counter, hoping maybe he'd think I'd brought in my older brother's music.
I was playing Van Halen's 1984 when someone not much younger than me walked in, cocked his head, and said, "Man, that's some OLD Van Halen!"
Yikes. Embarrassed, I hastily shoved their first album under the counter, hoping maybe he'd think I'd brought in my older brother's music.
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