Just like those guys that built the
cathedrals of Europe; I realize now in looking back that I was part of something that was bigger then myself. But as this story shows, bigger isn’t always better.
After college I got a programming job in which I was instructed by my always smiling project manager, Paul Wagner, to write some very
complex software. The specifications he provided were complex too, all written in terminology that I didn’t understand; full of company jargon. Since it was my first real assignment in this company, I wanted to do my very best work, so I studied the specifications carefully and I soon started coming back to Paul with question after question.
My first questions were superficial, such as, “Paul what’s an IVR?” And Paul would patiently explain. Occasionally he would impart wisdom, “The only dumb questions are those you don’t ask.” Then my questions became more software related, “I noticed in th
e requirements that the date is printed similarly in many different reports, I would like write a subroutine to handle that printing.” Paul would reply in his usual cheery manner, “Sure, sounds like a great idea.”
As I wrote the software I noticed subtle nuances and I started asking questions Paul could not answer. I am dating myself because this was pre-spreadsheet days, and it was the first time I saw the spreadsheet concept. There were rows of names and column headers every 15 minutes; and little cells representing what the names did in that time period. So went back to Paul to ask “What goes inside the little cells?” And to my surprise, Paul didn’t have the answer. He just said, “It isn’t defined in the specification and so we don’t really need to know.” Then he assured me I was doing a great job and I walked away feeling good.
But a few days later my curiosity came back. So I pressed him again for an answer, “Paul what goes inside those little cells?” Paul responded, “I don’t know, you would have to ask the business people, is it important?” “Yes,” I insisted, “I really need to know.” So he gave me contact information.
When I finally contacted the business person, she responded that inside the little cells go codes that represent what each person did in that time period. Somewhat confused by her answer I responded, “The times are in 15 minute intervals, do mean you track these people down to 15 minutes?” She replied, “Oh yes, at the call center time is money, every minute equals $17.50.” As I realized what she was saying I was horrified, I stared at for what seemed like $17.50, then thanked her for the information and made my exit.
Upon return to the office I approached Paul, “Do you realize that we are creating the software that allows these bastards to track people’s time down to 15 minute intervals?” Paul lamented, “This is a phone company.” “Paul,” I pleaded my case, “this is inhumane, they have a special code for going to the bathroom, and if you go too frequently, an indicator is set. Then I could see the compassion growing in his eyes, “That is pretty bad,” he said, “I never thought of it that way.” “You and I will have plenty of time to think about it,” I replied, “as the creators of this software we will surely burn in hell for eternity.”
I wonder if the ancient stone masons of Europe knew in advance what it was they were creating. Or were they more like me and Paul, blinded by the details of the job to see the big picture. Paul later went on to become a
teacher; I became the
architect and built 35 more call centers.
Copyright Dave Nocera 2007
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