So, you live in an organization for 10 years, and you acquire a certain rep. A reputation as a maverick, a guy who’s not too wrapped-up in procedure, kowtow’ing, and career. You’ve said some things in meetings that were career-limiting, but damn it, they were the RIGHT THINGS.
Sure, you broke into someones computer once to get their hard drive so you could deliver the code she REFUSED TO CHECK IN before going on vacation. Sure, you telnet’d in to a running test server to see if your hack worked and could save everyone working the weekend (it didn’t, you hosed the test run, and you worked round the clock that weekend). Sure, you’ve slapped your head at stupidity (both in others and your own), and welcome anyone who’ll do the same.
However, 10 years, several promotions, two kids, a mortgage, and a car payment tend to make you forget who you are. For one sparkling moment this morning, you remembered. You asked an innocent email question last night to a technical person that got escalated to the high-muckety-muck (three forwards, with increasing levels of incredulity each time), until you had this waiting in your inbox this morning:
Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?
And in that sparkling moment, you wanted to reply: “Trying to make your under-architected crock-of-shit work. Thanks for bitchslapping me back into my place, massah sir. My status henceforth will be ‘73% complete’.”
I’m tired, Tired, TIRED of trying to save something via a Byzantine process that would make 1980’s GM or IBM weep. My prediction for today: An “Office Space” style procession of people walking through my office asking if I got the memo from the higher-up guy.
Yay.