The Corporate Runs

An Inappropriate Response

According to Tripper, Simon wasn't doing his job. As Tripper's program manager, Simon's main responsibility was to run interference. But since the latest re-org had left Simon with a considerable amount of new power, he was relying more and more on Tripper for counseling. In one such case, Simon dashed into Tripper's room, closed the door behind him, and sat on the edge of the chair across from Tripper, who was completely entranced by the screen.

"Simon, the whole point of grooming your program manager is to keep the overall administrative overhead low. Whatever this is, are you sure you can't just handle it without involving me?"

Simon looked like he just came off the hiking trails. He was wearing the team's fleece vest with the project logo emblazoned on it, Timberland hiking shoes and sturdy khaki shorts. The bulge in his chest pocket just under the vest could have been a PDA or a cell phone, but those acquainted with Simon knew it was a rumpled pack of cigarettes - a habit he thought he had licked but lately revisited.

"Tripper, I forwarded e-mail from Norwood on the Fishbone project. Did you see it?"

"Yeah, sorry I haven't responded. I've been trying to get these features in before we lock down the beta. He's sniffing around. So what?"

Simon didn't know how to process that possibility. "So you think he's just looking for a job?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. Fishbone is his baby, and I haven't heard of any threats. It seems to be on track."

"Then what could he want?"

"Simon, is there something wrong with your fingers? Are you asking me to type an e-mail or dial the phone for you? Why don't you ask him what's on his mind?"

"Don't you think I should know what he's up to before I ask what he wants?"

At this, Tripper stopped typing and sat back in his chair, the tips of his knees peeking out from the tears in his jeans. The bridge of his nose disappeared in a tight wince. "Huh? Who cares? Maybe he wants to have your baby. Whatever it is, just make sure he ends up using our libraries. We need users."

"I know we need people to use our libraries," Simon explained. "But I don't want to seem too eager to sign clients on. They might think we are desperate. If we're seen as desperate, people will wonder whether something's wrong with the project. You were the one who told me that projects are doomed if they are perceived as doomed."

"We are desperate, because we are doomed if we don't get clients and some real-world stats on what we're doing."

"Exactly! Which is why I don't want to jump and respond too fast. On the other hand, if the Fishbone team is thinking about shipping their own version of our libraries, we could have a battle on our hands and I want to make sure we are prepared. What if they've already written their version?"

Tripper relaxed his face, closed his eyes, and sighed.

"Simon, you used to be a new, fresh face around here. You were full of well-reasoned ideas, hope, and vision. But in front of my eyes, this place is turning you into a typical, paranoid, weak-kneed, short-sighted, mid-management weasel. All I ask is that, before you complete the arc and become a bitter, unproductive sloth with nothing to offer society, you leave me alone and let me finish coding. Now, we need clients, and Fishbone seems like a good fit. I hereby empower you to find out what they want."

"A good fit? I totally agree, mate. Maybe too good! I know this Norwood guy. He's been known to roll his own and then make an end run to kill a competing project."

"Really, Simon? I thought that was your specialty," Tripper said quickly, then he sniffed the air near Simon. "Did you pick up smoking again? Man, you're falling apart! You've forgotten the easiest way to defend against political attacks is to just write good code."

"Yeah, you're right. As usual," Simon confessed as he hunched back into the chair and spread his knees far apart. "Okay, I'll leave you alone, and I'll handle Norwood." As he got up to leave, he reassuringly tapped the bulge in his breast pocket.

A few very productive days later, Tripper realized that Simon seemed to have taken his advice to heart and must be making decisions and calls on his own and leaving Tripper alone. After an especially harrowing check-in that affected more than 250 source files, Tripper slung his cricket bat over his shoulder and sauntered down the hall to tell Simon that he'd handed all the new code to testing. The next phase, Tripper stressed, was to get clients "banging away at the bits and start a user data feedback loop."

Simon seemed to understand, but he was uncomfortably vague about specifics.

"How about the Fishbone people? Are they signed up?" Tripper asked.

"Not exactly. I figured they could bugger off. Besides never finding out what they wanted, I didn't want to seem too eager."

Going against the best advice from his anger-management therapist, Tripper waved his bat in the air and shot back: "Well, there seems to be little danger of that happening!"

Recognizing the tone, Simon slowly started to move the sharp-edged objects away from the front of his desk. "It's what I thought you wanted. I mean, we discussed this a few days ago. You know, Tripper," he added, nodding slightly toward the bat as it hung above his head, "I would feel a whole lot more comfortable if you'd put the bat down."

"How could you possibly interpret what I told you a few days ago to mean shutting out a possible client without even knowing what they actually wanted? We need clients to use our code, Simon! If you suck all the air out of the room, you will suffocate!"

"What can I say? I didn't hear it that way."

"Did you respond to their inquiry e-mail at all?"

"The short answer is 'no'."

"What's the long answer?"

"Still 'no.' Listen, I'm going to have to step outside for a few minutes if we're going to continue this conversation."

"Have your smoke later. This is serious, Simon. I don't understand why you couldn't at least reply with something aloof or counter-testing. An inappropriate response ..."

"... is better than no response at all. I know, I know. Now can I go outside?" Simon pushed his chair back to get up.

"Hold on," Tripper blurted out, putting up the bat to block him. "You're not telling me something. Don't you have a history with Norwood?"

"I do have a small marker out to him."

"You owe him money? Do you mean that we don't have clients because you owe everybody in the company poker money?"

"No! Get serious, Tripper. Not everybody."

"Oh, really? Name one, Simon! Name one internal client you've lined up who is eager or even willing to try the new code."

Simon put his hands firmly on the table to ward off the beginnings of the shakes. "Well, George has shown a great deal of interest."

"George who?" Tripper asked warily.

"You know, George. Over at ... " Simon could feel his short-term memory suffering.

"You must be joking," Tripper said in a very somber tone. "You don't mean Slimmer! In Building 7?"

"Hey, Tripper, we're not exactly in a position to be choosy," Simon said with a shaky scold.

"And why is that, Simon? I wonder why we're reduced to picking the bones of the company?"

"Besides," Simon flapped on, "George showed me his team's latest prototype, and it shows promise."

"They're losers, Simon! You helped bury them, and now you're trying to justify working with them so you can avoid gambling debts?"

Simon tried to shush Tripper. "I would appreciate it if you lowered your voice. There's no reason the rest of the team has to hear this. I've told them we don't have clients because there are too many bugs in their code."

"How many bugs are there?"

"I don't have a clue. I just figured it was a safe bet, since we don't have any clients to test it out."

Tripper turned red, then slouched into Simon's guest chair. Simon patted his shoulder as he quick-stepped past him out the door, reaching for the box in his breast pocket.

Tripper dragged himself back to his office. Waiting in his Inbox was an invitation to a meeting with George Slimmer. The subject line said, "Beginning of Long Friendship." The mouse pointer hovered over the Decline button.