vlbrown-mzydt

I started a new contract on Monday, June 12. I’ve been asked how the job is going.

It’s got its ups and downs. I like the people a whole lot. I can’t say I much like the commute – 75 minutes one way, morning and evening. 15 minutes of that is by car, the rest by public transit. If public transit wasn’t an option, I couldn’t have accepted. By the time I get home in the evenings, sometimes all I want to do is sit and pet the cats. I’m afraid my weblogs, which I enjoy writing, have suffered.

Then there’s the job itself, which is pretty much the kind of thing I like to do. And then there’s the tool set, which is not the kind of thing I like to use and, frankly, not what I expected to be using when I said “yes”.

There’s a joke that Rich and I like. A man is telling his friend about a recent golf game.

Man: I was playing a round of golf on Saturday with Fred. Fred keeled over on the 13th hole!

Friend: That’s terrible! What happened?

Man: Well, I still shot two under par. But it was awful. For the next five holes, it was “Hit the ball, drag Fred.”

Although there are Mac OS X systems in the company, several people in the group use Mac OS X, and I did request a Mac OS X system before starting the job, I have a Windows machine on my desk.

I can use Windows; I’ve done so before (for two previous contracts and a total of 7 months). I don’t enjoy it. But this is more than a question of personal taste.

My productivity suffers as my frustration mounts. Every day is 8 hours of “Hit the ball, drag Fred.” And, worst of all, around me I see happily productive co-workers, typing and mousing in MacOS X. Aaargh!

The only good part is, I’m getting paid for this. I would think, however, that the Company would prefer to pay me to do the work as productively as possible, in a system with which I am proficient (I could even say, expert).

Ken Thompson has been quoted as once having said, “Programming in TSO is like kicking a dead whale down the beach”. I’ve programmed in TSO; Windows isn’t quite that bad. 🙂 Perhaps it’s more akin to kicking a pile of seaweed down the beach. It’s twisty and unpredictable, it smells fishy, and when you least expect it, something wraps around your ankle.

At least I’m being paid by the hour.

Hit the ball, drag Fred.

Portions of this essay previously published in Slightly Off Kilter.