Agile in All Caps

I'm a few days into the new gig, and I've already reverted to CorpMode.

Item one: the parking ramp. Headlights on ("For safety!") and then I'm crumping my way up the levels to find my slot. As ever, the nearest slots are reserved for people who are never there. Then there's a host of open slots I could park in, but are clearly poor choices because the early crowd passed them over.

It's all about proximity to the building, and with the ground floor reserved or taken - the sweet spot for all other levels becomes anything next to the main stairwell. Which is completely socked in by the early crowd. I'm in the second wave, so my choices will always be far corner or go up a level. None of which is a big deal - it's just funny how ubiquitous the parking logic is. If there's a ramp - this is how it is.

Funnier still, is how fast I've started forgetting where I parked. Which I'm sure isn't helped by age - but my current theory is based on Minority Report. In a typical day, I add 2 car parking memories:

Arrive in the morning AM 1.
Arrive after lunch/errands PM 2.

Two nearly identical memories layered onto my brain. Each day. 

1 - in the morning:

Drive into ramp. AM

Park car. AM

Get gear. AM

Walk to stairwell. AM

Enter building. AM

Done. AM

and 2 - returning from lunch:

Drive into ramp. PM

Park car. PM

Get gear. PM

Walk to stairwell. PM

Enter building. PM

Done. PM

Neither is particularly exciting. Commute = BORING. So the part of my brain that is responsible for tracking things for later use starts phoning it in. Which means at the end of the day, I ask my brain "where's the car?" and it coughs up:

Drive into ramp. PM

Park car. AM

Get gear. PM

Walk to stairwell. AM

Enter building. PM

Done. PM

-which results in me heading down the ramp to where my car was in the morning - and about midway down the ramp and not seeing my car I start looking around like a lost sheep.

And on the half visible level that is ramping up away from mine - I make out my license plates on a car that looks exactly like mine.

The number of times this happened back at CorpWorld was... well, humiliating. I spent serious time looking for a car only to realize I was in the wrong parking ramp. CorpWorld had two and if I was running late I would sometimes park in the A ramp - creating an A ramp memory that was utterly drowned out by thousands of B ramp parking memories. 

Where the F$#* is my car???

And you know it's your brain letting you down - not even a desperate thief would steal my car - but asking for today's parking memory just returns a "Drive into ramp B" highlight reel.

Thanks, brain. Way to go.

And here I am doing that again.

Only this time it's at my new Corporate gig - a place I'll call NerdHaven.

I should call it HighCeilings - because - well, DAMN they have some stupid high ceilings in this place. I mean, I'm not a terrifically tall person, but I'm used to being able to touch the ceiling if I try.

At NerdHaven? Not a chance. If I stood on a chair, maybe - but I'd probably have to jump. I'm thinking if all the floors in this building were made normal, they'd have room for at least two more floors without changing the height of the building.

And the doors are massive, too. Part of the school of design that says "OUR SH!T IS BIGGER THAN YOURS, FEAR US."

Oh, they'd never write that in the building's MLS, - but that's totally what they mean.

HEAVY doorknobs.
SOLID framing.
Carpet that says, Yeah, we could have bought cheap and durable - but then we thought 'Nah, blow another thirty grand. Why not? Who wants some sushi?

CorpWorld was a marvel - but NerdHaven has all the bling, plus style and attitude. These guys know they are cool. New guys wear khakis, the veterans wear jeans and tee shirts - with logos on them. I'm not sure the rank and file can get away with that yet, and there's more than a little of the "Yeah? I know this is borderline - but who's gonna get big about it, you? Yeah, I *thought* so."

 The first day was a trip. I buzz in and get some random soul who lets me in on my say so. "I'm starting work here today." Bzzzz! And in.

I meet a random staffer who immediately hands me over to tech support.

Mental note: NerdHaven does not have reception. You cannot call the operator, because there isn't one. You either know the extension you need - or you don't get anyone.

Tech support is ably represented by OneLetter - a football jersey wearing, easygoing breath of fresh air who is also in charge of making sure your slice of NerdHaven tech is up and running.

OneLetter gives me the nickel tour, points out the break room where coffee, tea, juice and soda are all complimentary.

They have a pizza oven.

While my brain is digesting that fact, One Letter scans me through a door into yet another massively tall hallway, another secure door and into my future project room.

It is immediately clear that Agile is the name of the game here.

*     *     *

At CorpWorld, we used to do Agile software development. As anyone in tech knows, there are many, many flavors of Agile.

CorpWorld's flavor went something like this: Someone in management heard that the there was this newnewthing called Agile (that had been around since the 90s) and we should probably have some of that.

Years later, project teams were formed to capitalize on this "emerging" trend - and my last big project was created to pilot its use at CorpWorld. We would do heavyweight waterfall development, but we would sit near each other and stand up for a half an hour each morning to "scrum."

In the eyes of the higher ups, this made us Agile.

I did straight waterfall projects for years before this and I never saw more documentation than when CorpWorld shifted to Agile. We did version-controlled user stories in Excel spreadsheets - stored on Sharepoint. I did mockups in Axure, took screenshots of them and then pasted them into Excel.

It was horrible, but eventually it became normal. I switched to Visio - which I thought made it less terrible, but thinking back - it was a giant bundle of insane. We should have abandoned the spreadsheets after the first sprint and done something, anything else - but the CorpWorld train was all about soldiering on, cost and reason be damned.

There were advances from the typical CorpWorld approach - it must be said. Their "Agile" approach had two genuine improvements - co-location and the scrums.

Co-location was the slow burn win for CorpWorld. A company that large is always going to have communication issues - but departmental fault lines had become so pervasive that any cross department effort was virtually hamstrung from the outset.

Departments grew insular - Why are you bothering us? was the typical first response, followed almost immediately by We like things they way they are.

Even with funding and the support of management, getting cooperation was frequently a nightmare. A unit might request endless meetings to discuss and revise baselined requirements. Or they might just be so slow to respond you'd give up and move on to someone else.

Or initial cooperation would turn into obstinacy when management wasn't around. Name a disfunction, CorpWorld had it.

But with co-location - all (well, most of) the resources your project needed were allocated full time. You weren't pleading with a group of developers in some other wing of the building, you were pleading with a group of developers right next to your desk.

My last project, we had analysts, testers, devs, and managers all in one big huddle of desks. You worked right next to them. There was none of this "I'm too busy right now to get to that, I'll get it to you in two weeks" crap. Whoever was asking for something could look over at you and see damn well you were screwing around on YouTube and give you grief about it.

Co-location was a big shift in how CorpWorld worked.

So were the scrums.

I know a lot of the people on my team hated the scrums. I did - off and on - but they did something that Atul Gawande's Checklist Manifesto crystalized for me. The book described a pre-surgery checklist with an item that seemed laughably basic: "the surgical team should learn each other's names before beginning the procedure."

Gawande points out that a surgical team frequently won't know each other's name - and this mental distance will make them less likely to contribute to the team. If I don't know anyone - I will speak less, I will ask for help less and - crucially - I will be less likely to intervene when I see a colleague do something questionable.

Our scrums forced our team to talk to one another. With zero practice or guidance, we were terrible. Most of us would blather on about this or that or make small talk or jokes until it was somebody else's turn. I can recall spending a good amount of time trying to come up with something to say that sounded useful - even if the truth was I hadn't done a whole hell of a lot.

This was defeating the larger purpose of the scrums - make yourself accountable to the team, make useful connections, and commit to units of work. Our managers used to stand in and listen in the beginning, but they were soon bored and stopped coming.

But there was another win there all the same. I learned who my teammates were. What they worked on - what kind of a person they were. In prior projects, people were resources- representatives of a given discipline like architecture - and they were the go between for a slew of people you'd never meet. "I have a question about this integration, who do I meet with?" Your architect rep wouldn't know, but they'd look into it. And another week would go by.

With scrums, you knew who to go to.
I have an integration problem - I go to Zero.
Anything with the proxy? - it's Lion.
System design? Rico Suave.
Main code base? Alpha, or more likely, Ace.
Main requirements? The Builder, Spock, or The Machine.

And so on.

At CorpWorld, this was a very new thing. Yeah, you had a contact list like that for other projects, but you didn't know those people - and they sure as hell didn't know you.

After months of the scrums - nobody was afraid to talk to anyone in the group. Well, plenty of people were afraid to talk to Alpha, but that's why everyone went to Ace.

We worked together. It was slow, it was awkward - and it sure as hell wasn't Agile, but we managed to release a solid app into the wild.

Because, in the end, we were a team.

*     *     *

NerdHaven does Agile. The full blown affair - and while there are definite risks to the Agile approach, watching someone actually do all the things my CorpWorld team missed out on...

Well, its a hell of a thing to see.

We are all in a single project room. Co-located cheek by jowl in the way that says "if you're screwing around, everyone will know." So, you don't screw around, at least, not without the group buying in.

There are team rules. You don't talk on the phone in the project room - unless it's a conference call for the team. Any time somebody needs quiet, there's a STFU indicator on the wall they can set so that everyone knows that loud time is over. No shout downs, no calling management - just a mutual understanding that anyone has the right to muzzle the room if they need it.

Respect.

That's what this depends on. Done badly, this could be a bunch of rules enforced by some managerial type - which would suck. But in this team environment - we're pretty much our own law so long as the velocity is good.

Build it on time - and you get to rule your own room without interference.

And the group looks to be pretty solid. By unspoken assent, the leader of the group is BigDog - an immensely capable coder who has passed that point where they need to scrap for respect. You listen to the BigDog, because the BigDog knows things. And they're not a jerk about it. I listened to the BigDog read out the prime directive of our team - a really mature statement of "we are all doing the best we can with what we know at the time" - and I really think this is how they see it.  Be up front, and expect your team members to be the same.

If you get to a point where you suspect your team members of malicious intent then you're part of the problem. You should be calling them out with direct questions and learning what is up - not holding back and inventing malicious intent to fill in the resulting gap. Don't wonder - ASK.

Today I watched the retrospective and planning session and there were a lot of familiar moments that were just done better than we'd ever done at CorpWorld.

The team share out was a case in point - a quick icebreaker with the stated purpose of "once you've spoken to the group, you're more likely to contribute later. So speak now, even if it's something stupid. There is value in this."

And there was. I barely know my group, but a few minutes in and we're picking a team nickname and poking fun of each other's choice of animal totems. And later, when it comes time to share work info - everyone is involved. Method to the madness - realized.

I can see lots of macro mistakes to Agile - chunking everything into tiny bits can allow for a lot of big picture goofs - and (as I am now seeing) a ton of inconsistent UI - but this is part of why they brought me here. To work on that. The team needed something, so they asked for it. And management made it happen.

Seeing stuff like that happen in such a short span of time is disorienting for a veteran of CorpWorld. I'm sure there will be a massive amount of adjusting on my part.

But, honestly?

Kinda looking forward to it.

And free coffee definitely helps.

Last One Out, Close the Door

Back when I was in CorpWorld, Ruby called a meeting.

Ruby was about to be let go, but was good with it. They'd had an opportunity come up that they could take only if CorpWorld would let them go.

Almost on cue, Smiler lowered the boom on them. I'd have loved to be inside Ruby's head when they got the news they were free.

I'd imagine some kind of dramatic scene, but these things were handled remotely - by staffing companies.

Ruby probably did a victory lap anyway, and then settled down to be a pro. They wound down all their project work and - since they were part of a now extinct wing of the UX group - they handed over the keys to all the testing and legacy UX files.

Which was what the meeting was about.

Stimpy and I were given access to a raft of directories containing the blood, sweat and grief of a bunch of people who'd been canned - or were about to be.

Ruby guided us through what the files had been - but basically threw up their hands. "There's no one to keep these files anymore." 

The UX group had websites - detailing standards and design patterns - that were seriously good. These used to be maintained by at least four people. Ruby had been the lone caretaker.

Now the files were passing to Stimpy and I, and the fact that neither of us had the dev skills to maintain them was the small issue. The real problem was neither of us could get buckets - nobody would pay us to do the work. 

The three of us were sitting there in the room realizing that the bulk of the UX group's work product was sitting idle and aging into irrelevance. None of us had any illusions that this handoff of files would change their fate. These files were going to get archived - then deleted. We were just changing their "notify next of kin" data.

After the meeting, I spent some time poring over the files. I tried to remove the clearly unneeded files - maybe a smaller overall file size would help save the archive - but there was just a staggering amount of subdirectories. I moved around a few things - and then I renamed the parent directory.

I called it 

/Last one out close the door/ 

And I was.

And I did.

*     *     *

Today was a strange sort of encore, although for very different reasons.

Last time, I was leaving CorpWorld. 

This time, I was going back.

And while I truly feel I've made the right choice, I can't say there aren't a host of regrets.

My colleagues at this gig are an odd bunch. 

BigMac is my favorite. A veteran engineer - loud and unabashed about everything. Days when BigMac was out were the loneliest days at this job.

BankVet was great, too - but they were all the way at the end of the hall and didn't seek out a lot of conversation. If you had a reason to chat with them - the chatting was good - but there were days I'd come to the office - do my stuff and never see another soul.

Which is why I was on Twitter so damn much. I've come to realize that a certain amount of social behavior is required to keep my mood up. At CorpWorld there was no escaping other people. It could be isolating, true. But you would always be dragged in front of your peers. My requirement meetings would always devolve into a good amount of shooting the bull.

Getting to yuk it up with the group doesn't seem important until you find yourself truly isolated.

At the MacShop, the IS group is based in a secured wing of the basement. Each team member has their own office - with doors that lock. Most of the doors sit open - but nobody other than BigMac ever comes out. 

SilentOne spends the entire workday in their office with the lights off. Standing. You can just see their eyes over their monitor. They are nice enough, but the overall appearance is not welcoming.

BankVet's office is lit, but they are either in it or off at a remote site. 

The Prospector's door is always closed. No one knows what they are up to. When I asked BankVet what Prospector does, they replied "Hopefully... nothing."

Morlock's office is outside of the secured wing, owing partly to a desire for a larger office - but no doubt because there is a lot of bad blood between Morlock and the rest of IS.

Morlock comes in after lunch and works well into the night. Communication with Morlock is on their terms and can obliterate your schedule once it starts. 

Morlock. 

Cannot.

Summarize.

Truth? If I had a lot to do, I tried to avoid them. A simple "Hello" could turn into a three hour encounter.

And then there was the Boss. I like the Boss. A lot. But they are almost never around and there is no way that I've found to track their schedule. They show up like weather. Which led to some odd dynamics - the IS group would swarm on them with every deferred need they'd stored up over the past week. And then - poof! - they'd be gone again.

All of this added up to a lot of alone time. Time I should have used to do development work. The Boss asked me to do a single development project during my tenure. And while I'd been assured that nobody would push me to get it done in a hurry - I surely was behind schedule.

Getting the new Corporate gig forced me into the deep end. I couldn't let the Boss down on this. So I would try to learn a host of things I knew very little about.

Like Unix.

The Boss had asked me to do a relatively simple thing like automate some file transfers between a brace of servers. But to a UX guy, this is like asking me to build a bridge. I'd taken exactly the wrong approach - which was to be SERIOUS.

I would buy books and learn about Perl. I would buy a book about shell scripting. I would read them methodically so that I would understand the subject before I just waded in and did something stupid.

From the outside, Unix is a sick beast. A cryptic landscape of /bin/ and grep and awk. 

Read the man page!

Seriously, anytime I see that on a 'nix help forum I want to kick somebody's teeth in. Save your smug RTFM BS for your wargaming buddies, kay?

Man pages are crap. As in 

Here is every possible option for this command explained as tersely as possible. You will never need 95% of these options, but read them all anyway and try to guess which 5% are worth knowing.

Let's begin. 

Command [filename] [option1] [flags] [location] [underlined text] [pointless elipses]

And so on.

YES. Once you know what you need from a command or why the hell you would use it over some other command, then the man pages are invaluable. Does the flag get set by default? And was it Capital R or lowercase r?  These are things man pages help you with.

How will I parse out my log file? is not something a man page can help you with. Man pages are not for people starting from zero.

Me? zero - rather:

ZERO.

But I'd tried to grok the whole of these kinds of things before starting. Read an entire chapter about grep before having the slightest idea what I would be grepping. This was worse than man pages. These were man CHAPTERS - and knowing exactly nothing about what I needed - getting hooked up to the how-to firehose was paralyzing me.

With three weeks before I left the job, I was forced to plunge in and start scripting.

Which is what I should have done in the first place. Once you have some bits that do something, it becomes easier (at least for me) to see what other bits I should reach for next.

And I had spend a bunch of time defining the problem - requirements analysis was my thang. Now, I just had to search for the commands and syntax that would make those things happen.

If I were cooking - this would be getting my ingredients together. What I had been doing before was like trying to make tonight's steak dinner by reading books about animal husbandry.

I'd stupidly tried Perl first - which is a fine choice, but required a lot more rampup - and had the added danger of being Morlock's language of preference. If Morlock would bend your ear for two hours about how you should be doing a home improvement project you'd mentioned in passing, they would be positively omnipresent when they found out about your perl script.

Shell scripting seemed more approachable and - as it turned out - a hell of a lot of fun. Yeah, it's not true programming, but you can do a truly SICK amount of things with shell scripts.

Next thing I know, I'm grepping like a total dork and getting jazzed on making a multipart email work with an MD5 boundary. Oh yeah, I'm on this... Which I'm sure is hilarious to true unix/linux types. But really-the first time you see your tiny blob of text turn into a perfectly formatted email that arrives in your inbox, you feel like a sorcerer.

But this is Unix, so there is always hidden lore lurking in the wild to make you humble. No two servers are alike - so after I get things working on one machine, I find the other machines turn their noses up at my noble little script. I spend days trying to figure out what kinds of permissions I need to do what, and where this key should be stored and howInGodsName I can get sudo on a remote box when I'm coming over as admin without a password?

CHRIST.

But eventually I wrangle together something that does what I've been asked to do. And none too soon. I'm literally getting the first scheduled use of the update two days before I leave. 

And it works - mostly. So I spend the next day cleaning it up and polishing it.

Which leaves today. My last day.

I'm writing up the instructions so that other people can use this thing. I've had several successful tests, but one thing that MacShop is truly bad at is documenting procedure. Information does not flow freely and each worker is an island.

I want this script of mine to be something people understand and can use. So I spend a stupid amount of time illustrating exactly what people need to do to make it work. Then I have BigMac test it out. Then I revise it because there are all kinds of mistakes.

I'm four hours away from being done with this job, and I need to wrap up everything with a bow. The scripts are done, the documentation is done - I need to get my files cleaned up.

I chuck all my digital cruft. Move all my spreadsheets into common locations so they can be used by the IS group. I zip archives of my scripts (we SO need git) and then I'm doing all the follow up work for the database scripts I ran in the past week. BigMac pops over to say goodbye. They leave in the middle of the afternoon, and their day is done. 

I wish them well. I'll miss them. And not just because they throw chocolate at my head on a daily basis.

Back to the file cleanup. Running low on time. The Boss was going to be back at 3 but they never show up when they say they will. I need to give them my keys and badge. 

I start a checklist.

Timesheet! I need to get my timesheet sent in. I'd managed to get it signed, but forgot to send it in.

Boom, done.

I start the ssh-keygen process for the next stage of this process. Stuff I'll never get to do, but stuff that will help the Boss when they take the next logical step.

And Morlock walks by. I make a point of speaking to them. Yesterday was my goodbye lunch and - naturally - the IS group neglected to invite them. As Morlock is utterly paranoid, this is not only hurtful - but is guaranteed to figure in their next round of calculations about who is out to get them. This was a willful omission by IS - and I should have thought to ask them to come. 

I have failed Morlock. And they are verbose, blunt and hard to deal with - but they deserved better.

I chat them up and soon we are half an hour into a discussion about database record locking. Morlock urges me to put my keys and badge in the Boss's office, and I do. Morlock abruptly wanders off in mid-sentence like they always do. At least I got to shake their hand. 

I'm still thinking about that when I realize SilentOne's door is closed. They went home. BankVet didn't come in today. I guess I made my goodbyes with them at lunch. The Boss sends me a text to tell me they won't be back until after I go home.

Which is sad, but leaves me with a more immediate problem: with my keys and badge locked in the Boss's office - I'm now a prisoner of the secure wing. Every door is now a one-way door.

Packing up is now first priority. I bin all the printouts I'd pointlessly made and kept. All my gear goes into my bag. Coat, scarf, hat - all on the bag. Everything in one place. 

Simplified.

I scour the office three times. Anything I leave behind I won't get back. Just like a hotel. There's always something obvious you forget...

Mostly satisfied, I begin drafting the epic send off email - Here's where I left things. Here's where all my files are. Here's all the things that are done. Here's the one thing that isn't. Here's how that should be handled. It was great working with you.

And it was. The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of learning and doing. Sh!t got done and I made it happen. I'm about as on top of things as I have ever felt at a job. 

Wrapped up in a bow.

I send the email and look up. It's 5:01.

My phone bongs with a text from my Boss. They are great. They thank me for my work and apologize for being absent on my last day. They say a lot of nice things.

It's after quitting time, so the place would be barren anyway - but it's a Friday. So there's double-nobody here. Add to that, the schools are closed - so anybody who was fool enough to think of being here killed that thought weeks ago.

It's dead quiet. I close all my applications, shut down my ginormous iMac monitor, and get my things.

By chance, I notice my name plate - the one I've lugged through three jobs - is still sitting on my shelf. That nagging part of my brain relaxes and I put the name plate in my bag.

Coat, scarf, hat, bag. That's the essential four. The notepad and pens they can have.

I leave the secure wing.

Morlock went out to get food - so the MacShop is quiet as a tomb. The lights are off and I stand there for a while, thinking about the life I could have had at the MacShop. The Boss could surely use the help. 

But idle thoughts aren't doing anything for me. I've done everything they asked me to do here and next week I'll start full time UX work. Rusty or not, here I come. I put in the earbuds and click. 

Leave your past at
   the front door
      and run away like
         you did before...

Blood Red Shoes. Go figure. It's got a good riff, anyway.

I'm standing there, looking at the way out of MacShop - thinking the obvious thing.

And I was.

So I did.

Free Lunch

On Wednesday, April 20th of 2005 my wife and I drove across town to so that a former college football player could tell us how best to manage our money.

Because he brought me lunch.

That was about the extent of our my thought process when it came to money back then.
Anything is better than what I'm currently doing - which is nothing.

E was sweating our finances at the time and had repeatedly made noises about getting a financial professional to have a go at our cash flow and see where we could stop the bleeding.

Aside from wanting to hire a professional who would not be paid on commission ("My advice is to buy all the crap that I sell!"), I had very little idea of what would make for a good choice.

Which is why I ended up picking a football player.

A designer I worked with at the time offered the entire department a free lunch if we listened to a 1 minute spiel about financial planning.

It sounded dumb, but free food is free food. The financial planning guy would pick up food from wherever we wanted and deliver it to us.

I know. Score, right?

Footballer walks in with a stack of food containers. He passes them out along with a single sheet of paper that shows the effect of compounding interest on various amounts of money invested over varying periods of time.

He didn't seem terribly polished, but he was true to his word. He spoke for one minute, told us the fairly obvious fact that investing early and consistently really pays off over the long haul - and then he was gone.

We ate lunch, and afterwords I picked up one of the man's business cards. Perfect timing, right? I mean I'm looking for a financial advisor and one shows up to give me lunch. I called him up and we set up a preliminary meeting.

I got Footballer to lay out the terms of the deal, we'd pay him a flat rate and he'd provide a full review of our finances along with a plan for managing our money going forward. We told him we weren't interested in crazy investment schemes - we're just looking to get a grade on where we were at and look for areas where we should improve our use of what we had.

Footballer said he was totally on board with that, but he had the annoying habit of using pat phrases that seemed laughably simplistic.

As in

Footballer: Would you like to make a lot of money with your retirement investments - or would you like to [store your money in a mattress/get 1% return on your savings/be poked in the eye with a sharp stick]? 

Us: Uh... the 'make a lot of money' one?

We signed a contract and Footballer told us that we could pay when we received our financial plan - and that there was a satisfaction guarantee. "If you don't like the service you receive, let us know and we'll waive the charges."

Which seemed odd. Also, Footballer wanted to take us out to dinner for a "client appreciation night." We could invite other friends, and their meal would also be paid for.

Which also seemed odd.

But again, I figured this was a pretty transparent attempt to get other people to meet with Footballer so that he could sell more financial advice.

Because he was in the business of selling advice. That's why we were paying him.

I should point out at this point that Footballer worked for American Express Financial Advisers Inc.,  currently called Ameriprise.

As in, Yeah, this guy's a football player who brought me free lunch, but he works for American Express - so it must be okay.

With a choice thus justified, we'd dropped off a copy of pretty much all of our personal financial data with him and made the April 20th appointment to get our plan.

Huzzah! A plan! We're buying a financial plan!

We'd arrived at the nondescript office ready to hear the news, good or bad.

After checking in with reception we were greeted by Footballer who looked deathly ill and informed us that we would be meeting with a colleague of his, as he needed to go home and lie down.

I know what you're thinking, but I believed him. He had the look of a man who has just returned from throwing up in the bathroom. We did not shake his hands and let him go.

The meeting we ended up having had only a few memorable bits:

1. The person we were meeting with had almost no people skills
2. Our financial plan said we were in pretty good shape financially, but that we needed to buy more insurance.

The bulk of the rest of the meeting (at least, in my memory) was NoPeopleSkills getting us to fill out an application for Variable Universal Life Insurance.

We were not interested in buying any life insurance that didn't begin with the word "term." Because UVL is a terrible investment for just about everyone. NoPeopleSkills seemed to be on rails and E and I just let him roll along until it was time for the meeting to end.

At some point - I can't remember when - Ameriprise suggested that we refinance our home. I know this because while cleaning out the basement the other day I came across the binder they gave us with our "Financial Plan." 

Written on one of the pages are the words "refi, 3-5 yr. ARM."

Understand - this was in 2005.

We were trying to buy financial advice from a professional. 

We had given them all our private financial data.

-and the sum of their advice was "Buy universal variable life insurance (from us) and refinance your home into an Adjustable Rate Mortgage."

There was never any chance that E and I were going to go for an ARM, we both sort of nodded our head at this suggestion like "no way in hell" - but it's striking at how shameless that Footballer and NoPeopleSkills were.

E's reminding me that at one point they told us that our home equity line of credit was "like having a savings account."

Mind you, these were people who represented themselves as financial experts. These were people whose expertise we were on contract to pay for.

"Yes, NoPeopleSkills, now that you mention it - I suppose that borrowing money against our home is just like earning interest on money in the bank. Yes. I see that now."

I'll quote Tim Minchin: Oh wait, my mistake [that's] absolute bullsh!t.

E and I left that meeting with an unspoken agreement that Footballer, NoPeopleSkills and American Express/Ameriprise/whoeverTheyWere were full of crap.

We never went back. We've never received a bill, either - not that we'd pay it.

Which only serves to illustrate that Footballer and Ameriprise were never selling advice, they were selling their investment products. So much so, that they couldn't be bothered to even ask for the money we'd agreed to pay them. 

I'm throwing all their crap out of our house (along with - it must be said - a lot of other things) but I wanted to write this down so I can remember how utterly terrible Ameriprise was.

Think back to 2008.

All those people who lost their homes in the wake of the meltdown.

People who saved their shekels in the hopes of buying a home - who then had the misfortune to run into some slick "advisor" who sold them financial ruin.

Makes me ill.

I looked Footballer up on LinkedIn - they left Ameriprise in 2006 and went to work for JPMorgan Chase.

And left JPMorgan in 2008 - right about the time Wall Street was imploding.

They ended up working back at a nonprofit wing of my alma mater - doing youth outreach and promoting academic achievement and healthy living.

*     *     *

Footballer?  

If you were to somehow read this - I'd like to say I genuinely hope you've turned your life around. I see that you went back into banking. 

I hope you've changed your ways. That you give sensible advice and treat your clients honestly. I suppose that's possible. 

But mostly, I'd like you to know we never took any of your advice. That the only reason I kept your financial plan this long was because I wanted a souvenir of my own foolishness. 

But with this blog post, I can have my souvenir and still give your advice what it deserves 

- a long, long overdue trip to the recycle bin. 

FTE Tuesday

With the drama done, I'm focused on getting myself brought on full time at the new gig. The new gig was contract-to-hire and - originally - I was supposed to have been a full time employee after two to three months.

Not that the contracting part of the new gig has been bad. In contrast to the other staffing company I worked for (and all of the ones I've heard colleagues talk about), my current staffing company has been good. Really good.

As in, they are beating on the doors to get me hired as a FTE. Which is the total opposite of my previous company - who let me sit as a contractor for well over five years and seemed perfectly content to let me stay that way.

Being a contractor has some upsides, but I've always wanted to be part of the team.

The new staffing company was keen to get me situated - it was just my current client is slow to move on just about anything.

Thinking back to how they agreed to hire me on contract - it was a month of zero communication from them before they suddenly asked me to come aboard. That's not terribly normal anywhere else but here - apparently.

In their defense, my understanding of the situation is that they'd signed a contract to provide a contract worker for X amount of hours. My predecessor, Anjin-san, had worked through some of those hours - but a not insignificant amount of hours remained on the contract.

And my client was obligated to pay for those hours whether or not a contractor was working them or not. Were they to hire me before they'd burned through those hours, they would be doling out twice the money for the same labor. Once for FTE me, and once again to pay out the contract.

Not that I'd get paid twice - and not that they'd get twice the labor out of me.

So - my hire date wouldn't arrive until I'd burned through the hours. I'd check with my account rep and they gave me an estimate of mid-August.

Now, the discriminating reader will note that I am writing this in the latter half of October.

Yes. This is true.

And I'd asked about this. My Boss is a great person - but they are literally the eye of the storm in this place. Constantly getting calls or texts or rushing from meeting to meeting at a breakneck pace. They are incredibly smart - and grasp very complicated things in one pass - all the while maintaining several other incredibly complicated things in their head at the same time.

I literally do not know how they do this.

And I hate to add to their burdens. But eventually, questions about holiday plans emerge and re-emerge often enough to signify there are going to be problems ahead if I don't get a handle on when my FTE status will begin.

Because once it does - the magic of five weeks of vacation can begin. There are some restrictions, but you literally can start using them as soon as you come on board. It's ri-DONK-ulous - and I want it. Mom's planning a family vacation down south and gosh darn it, we're going to do that. And I want me a holiday, too.

It's been almost eight years since I was paid for the day after Thanksgiving. Staffing companies don't do that sort of thing. My last staffing company had a few set holidays - but the add ons didn't make the cut. If you wanted that day, you paid in PTO.

My current company doesn't even do that. If my client isn't open for business - as of right now - I don't get paid. I don't even have the option to come in, because the place is closed.

Which - how do you say? - SuuuuUuuuuuuuucks.

To counteract this, my staffing company called me out of the blue before Labor Day and told me they had a nice surprise for me. I'm thinking They're going to pay me for Labor Day! Which seemed like a good guess. Only I didn't manage to get a hold of them until after the holiday.

I'm thinking they're going to send me a gift card or something. Meh.

No. Instead, they're giving me a 15% raise on my salary. Which, by the way, is the largest raise (percentage or absolute dollars) I have ever received.

I was so dumbfounded by this move, that I don't think I adequately thanked my account rep. I just was like "uh, can I get a paper copy that details this?" I literally thought my rep had misspoken. There's no WAY they meant that much...

But they did. And they made the raise retroactive to the last pay period.

!!!

So the following Friday, I get a paycheck that is better than any that preceded it. I immediately made plans to get E and I out of the house for some celebrating. But it got delayed, and then - well, you know what happened.

I still owe her a night out, by the way.

Anyway, I'm hesitant to bother the boss about bringing me on as FTE and now I'm 15% less inclined to do so. After all, there is no way my client is going to agree to be on the hook for this new pay rate.

One of the things that genuinely shocks me about my interview with my current Boss is how blunt I was about money. Well, that - and the fact that I showed up in blue jeans. But mostly the money thing.  I laid out a slightly inflated version of my compensation at CorpWorld and then proceeded to spell out my expectation to continue getting paid at least that as a FTE.

Contract work often is higher than FTE rate - at least in my experience - and I was very clear about not wanting to contract for rate X - and then go FTE at X minus anything. Which is pretty blunt coming from the likes of me. I'm truly terrible at the deal - always have been - and getting all ultimatum-ish with a prospective employer was well outside of my norm.

But I did it, and my Boss indicated this would not be a problem. Score!

So, I'd coasted past labor day - happy to soak up my temporary rate of X +15% until I went FTE at just plan X.

No hurry, man... just take your time...

But like I said, the PTO situation would ultimately be an issue. Knowing the speed of things, I didn't want machinery to start right before Thanksgiving, because odds are it wouldn't stop until right before Christmas. And I did not want that.

Which is why I was bugging the boss about bringing me on right around the time I was talking with that Corporate Recruiter. This needs to stop. I need to settle down.

In my heart of hearts, I'd imagined a scenario where I'd tell my Boss I had this other offer and that I was willing to stay but only at X +15%. The Gordon Gekko approach.

No doubt there are some worlds where that is the norm, but that really wasn't how I wanted to do this. I'd only spoken to the Recruiter so I had a plan B in the event there was some foul up and I couldn't go FTE. And it really struck me as a total jerkwad move.

I'd spoken to Morlock, the sole developer at the new gig and they assured me that my hire was a sure thing. "You just gotta get after the Boss. It'll happen. No question."

Morlock said something else, though. Something about my classification as an FTE: "You're probably going to be classified at Level 1, which means your salary will be set at the lowest level coming on."

Now, aside from the Prince of Darkness, I don't know anyone more pessimistic about things than Morlock. Morlock has been convinced that they've been about to be fired for fourteen years.
You don't talk to Morlock when you're looking for sunshine.

But Morlock is big on the details, so it would be foolish not to address this issue. If there is no salary negotiation when I come on board, my Client might mistakenly give me the wrong agreement.

This is the one thing that could go wrong. And it's my future salary. So, on the same day that I'm telling the Recruiter that I won't take the gig - I'm sitting down with the Boss making sure there are no misunderstandings about what my rate will be going forward.

Without batting an eye, the Boss says "X -11%"

My initial reaction was stunned silence. Then I talked about my expectation that there would not be so much of a fall off when I went to FTE.

See what I did there? - As I said, I SUCK at the deal.

My Boss thought for a moment, then said "You want me to put words in your mouth?"

And I said "Yes."

Totally. SUCK. At the deal.

And my Boss said "You want us to try to meet you halfway?"

And I said "That'd be great."

Understand, this would amount to hoping for "X - 5.5%" Yeah, that would be greeeEEeeeeat.

With that, I go to lunch. Leaving things in the Boss's hands is reflex at this point. The Boss has half a dozen impossible things to do before the end of the day and always manages to get them done. This is just another one.

Also, I'm just not up for some kind of staredown. I know I should be, but I'm not.

After lunch, I come back to find an email from HR entitled "Letter of Hire."

I open it to find a form letter attachment congratulating me on my new status as a Full Time Employee -

-At the going rate of "X - 11%"

They've scheduled me for a two hour meeting with HR at 9am on Monday to finalize the paperwork.

The wrong paperwork.

I immediately head into my Boss's office. "Did you see that email from HR?" I'm trying not to get too worked up, but in the back of my head I'm doing the math. Going from "X + 15%" to "X - 11%" is a hell of a lot of awful.

My Boss's response is immediate. "We'll fix this. I need to speak to the CFO."

The CFO is a whirlwind of stress that buzzes around my Boss wherever they go. Awhile ago the Boss and I were grinding out some manual work at 11pm and the CFO called - they felt their monitor was too dim and could my Boss "run up with a new one?" 

Seriously.

But this is the person who needs to sign off on correcting my wages. My Boss has their ear - and this is just another impossible deed they will accomplish before 9am on Monday.

My Boss is a good person. I believe they will do this thing. I email them the specific number we talked about and thank them for their time.

The number is "X - 5.5%"

And I go forth and I write the Recruiter and tell them "Thank You For Considering Me."

*     *     *

Now, in that very email - I'd left open only a sliver of hope that the recruiter would hold on until I'd gotten my salary situation sorted out. I'd studiously left out any mention of other jobs in my salary discussions - because (and I'm seriously doubting this right now) I thought that was the honorable thing to do.

If the only thing I used the Corporate gig for was as leverage against my current employer - well, it sure felt like I wasted a whole bunch of smart people's time. I didn't want to do that. 

This is stupid thinking. I realize this now. But it was what I was thinking at the time. Don't hit the Boss over the head with this. There is a stack of red tape that needs to be sorted out - and they don't need to feel you're threatening them. It's not a good way to forge a working alliance.

Over the weekend, I was too busy to do much thinking about work. We had our annual gathering of college friends and their families at my house and it was wall to wall socializing.

And great. Being jacked up about the work situation gave me a subject to unload about - but as there was no resolution it was just venting stored up stress. 

What's funny, is when I think about how I described the salary snafu, I'd unconsciously made an edit to where my salary stood. Yes, I told my friends, my job is offering less money than we agreed to, but my Boss is going to make it right.

Make it right.

"Making it right," would be getting me back to X. But that's not what was in the works. My Boss had offered to get me from "X - 11%" up to "X - 5.5%" 

I like my Boss a lot. Maybe that's why I wanted to paper over what was happening. I cannot believe they would do that to me. Not the Boss.

After a whirlwind weekend filled with old friends - and nowhere near enough catching up - everyone goes home.

And I go back to work.

*     *     *

Monday

I'm supposed to meet with HR at 9am. I generally get into the office around 8:30 or so - this job is incredibly flexible about home obligations. Last week - I got to walk with my kids to school every day. Gave me an entirely new perspective on mornings. I love that flexibility. 

Quality of life, man.

But this morning - I'm dropping off the kids by car because I need time to check in with the Boss and see if HR is up to speed on some new arrangement for my salary.

-and I forgot my passport.

I was supposed to bring my social security card to the HR meeting, but I could use a passport for most of it. My SS card is in the safety deposit box and between 12:40pm on Friday and Monday morning - I hadn't managed to get it out of the bank.

And this morning, I'd forgotten my passport. So, back home I go. I sprint upstairs and get the damn thing - then manage to make it to work at 8:45. HR is in a separate building about ten minutes away.

I need to check in to see if my Boss is there - or if there's an email.

They're not. And there isn't.

I'm going to meet HR blind.

I head over - resolving in my head not to sign anything that shows a salary figure of "X -11%." I'm not going down that road. 

But if it's "X -5.5%" You takin' that? Huh?

I'm rewinding back to Friday. Back when I told the Recruiter no. I'd been thinking about quality of life, flexible hours - lots of PTO. But the Recruiter's offer was long on one thing in particular: money.

Gone now.

I dash into the HR building and fumble my way into a cluster of office cubes. There are a brace of staffers there clearly waiting for me. An incredibly poised woman announces that while they could start my meeting - they had late information that something about my salary was still in flux.

She then pointed out that this business does not negotiate on salary. For my classification - there is one rate - the rate they offered. She mentioned there was some possibility of a re-classification - but that would be something that should have been settled before I met with HR. 

"We were not told of this until now."

I sympathize. They are in an awkward position. They expected a pro forma form processing session - and there is something to negotiate. And they are not allowed to negotiate. 

Those sorts of things take place before things reach HR. And HR was not happy about being left with someone else's mess.

My mess.

I told them we should reschedule and I went back to my office. 

Back at the office - I'd gotten another email from the Recruiter. They said they would wait until I met with the people I needed to before accepting my withdrawal as a candidate.

That was incredibly generous of them. I have a moment's flash of jumping at their offer - but I remember CorpWorld. I remember years of not getting a raise followed by years of dread - thinking I'd be laid off.

And less vacation. I hadn't gotten my golden handcuffs, but I wanted them.

*     *     *

When the Boss finally did show up - they had no news for me. They'd been unable to reach the usually omnipresent CFO. Naturally, the CFO was taking a day of vacation and were unreachable. 

I'd entertained thoughts of keeping the Recruiter's offer in my back pocket when and if salary negotiations began - but it didn't look like they'd begin anytime soon. Meantime, the Recruiter's offer was about to turn into a pumpkin while I sat waiting for the goddamn CFO.

I knew I would get to see the CFO on Tuesday, though. My group was scheduled to meet with him so he could give a presentation on our financial situation.

At first, this sounded ominous - but the Boss assured me this was just one of those regular speeches to the troops right around the time that budgets and financial indicators were in flux. "Nothing to worry about."

Nothing at all. And the Boss will handle your salary thing. Bank on it.

Before the end of the afternoon, I contacted the Recruiter to thank them for waiting on me, but that I had been unable to contact the people I needed today. 

They didn't respond.

Pumpkin.

No closer to FTE-hood and feeling ill, I called it a day.

*     *     * 

Tuesday

It started out like a sitcom. I'd been asked by YoungPM to put together some process documents on the work I was doing. They'd asked for a sample document to review by the end of the week, and then 17 more in about two weeks.

The day after they'd asked for a sample document - two days before they said they wanted it done - they asked if it was done.

Process documents are a piece of cake, so it was done. I sent it along within 12 minutes. Here.

No 'thank you.' No 'Sorry about needing it earlier." No response at all. You're welcome.

That was YoungPM last week. This week, Tuesday, they're asking for all 17 process documents by Thursday. That'd be more than a week earlier than what they'd originally asked for. 

YoungPM would like to schedule a marathon meeting with me to crank out the documents - YoungPM and Me working together, in my office.

1) Process documents are a piece of cake

2) I do virtually every part of the 17 processes I need to document; and 

3) WTF would having another person in the room help me with?

All this adds up to a PM who doesn't know what they are doing.

I tell YoungPM I'll make the documents and send them along to review. Once YoungPM has had a look at them, we can meet to discuss edits and cleanup. That's something that might need two people.

I'm looking at process docs from other units and they have dates on them like July. I'm asked to get mine last week, and do them in five days.

This is the PM I will work for the bulk of my UX work.

I grind out docs until it's time to go to the CFO's presentation.

It's for all the admin and IS staff - and it's Goddawful. It begins with the CEO talking in pulseless tones about our 'vision' and strategic goal of becoming a 'center for excellence.' At more than one point the CFO cues the CEO into which group he is speaking to - so the CEO can insert the name of one of our groups into his canned lines.

Meh.

Next up is the CFO. They are a much more dynamic and engaging speaker - but their material has me slackjawed almost immediately. The CFO puts up a chart of our primary funding source over the past decade - it is an absolute flatline. No new money is coming in - and the CFO makes it clear that this picture - at least from this funding source - is not going to change.

The CFO then launches into a whiz-bang discussion of the various strategies that will be employed to gain new funding sources. The most notable among them is borrowing the equivalent of 10% of our current gross income as 'seed money' to fund 'new initiatives.'

I want to barf. I went five years without a raise at my last job. I know for a fact that no one at this gig has gotten a raise in the last five years. 

At this point, the CFO - I'm not making this up - begins to tear up as they thank the staff for their sacrifices over the past several years.

I start to feel that familiar haunting feeling again, right in between my shoulder blades.

I have faced flatlined COLA and downsizing before, and I don't ever want to do that again.

This is a roomful of people who have experienced everything short of layoffs - and their CFO is telling them they are about to go into debt to spend their way out of their problems.

I'm starting to freak out. The spectre of professional death.

This is silly.

But that's just what it feels like. The instant the presentation is over, I go over to my Boss and ask if he has any news. 

The Boss looks up, "I literally just walked into the room before the presentation started. The CFO hasn't responded to my messages."

I can't spontaneously interrupt the CFO and CEO for my problems right now - but I need them to sort me out. If I can get at least signed up at a decent rate, I could hang on for a few years and soak up some good PTO. Get some vacay with the fam....

I'm car-pooling back with the SilentOne - a co-worker of mine who (as you might expect) doesn't talk much. Post meeting they are more chatty, though. They think the CFO's tears are rehearsed - and they tell me they've never seen a meeting like that one before.

I blow into my office and check to see if the Recruiter has gotten back to me - nothing.

Pumpkin. You blew it.

Morlock shows up to complete the day. Morlock is, without a doubt, somewhere on the Aspberger's spectrum. They are obsessed with dates - are incapable of summarizing anything - and are bruisingly blunt about everything. 

Molock is mad because of something I've screwed up. Morlock is capable of keeping a truly insane amount of detail in their RAM at all times. Conversations with Morlock begin with a muttered "Last month I showed you this line of code - do you remember?"

I never remember. With Morlock - I write everything down. Morlock believes nothing you say unless you  can point to a primary source. "How do you know this? What is it based on? Okay. Fair enough."

I can't remember what Morlock was mad about that afternoon as I was barely listening to them. If you ask Morlock what time it is, they will tell you how to build a watch. They will then explain the intricate ways in which time is recorded and calculated according to an episode of Nova that they watched a few years ago.

If you interrupt, Morlock will get angry. If you try to change the subject, Morlock will get angrier still. They. Are. Not. Finished. Yet.

I have sat through innumerable sessions with Morlock spouting gouts of information in a steady stream. It's like listening to an audiobook of the final chapters of Kafka's 'The Castle' cranked up to double speed. 

At first you listen, then your brain requests a time out. Then you fidget nervously as you realize you haven't followed a single word for the past ten minutes. Morlock is bound to ask you a question and you won't be able to answer. Morlock will know you haven't been listening - and that will make everything worse.  

You invent a reason to leave. I need to move my car, I need to go to the bathroom, I need to go throw up for a few hours. Anything. You just need to get clear - get some air - something.

Morlock tells me we have to have a meeting later in the week to review some things. They are incredulous that I don't just know these things. "Don't you remember? We talked about this in June"

Whatever excuse I make, I get out and spend the next few minutes stalking around the building desperately replaying the past day.

I will be paid significantly less than I'd signed on for.

I will get lots of time off.

It will be years before I will get my next raise.

I will work hand in glove with Morlock.

I will perform my UX work in service to YoungPM.

But I keep going back to the first item. I'd made a deal to be paid X. And it wasn't going to happen. I'd botched the follow up negotiations, but really - this is not something I should have been discovering this late in the game. If there were issues with my salary requirements - or questions - they could have asked me. I'd said to the Recruiter that the one thing that would make me bolt from my job was them welching on my salary. 

And here they were welching. And what was I doing about it?

And what was keeping me from taking the Corporate gig all this time? Sensei had already greenlighted the work. They'd been there long enough to know their crew was solid.

Their PTO was only 4 weeks first year, but with 12 paid holidays, that was closer to decent.

I'd had the Corporate gig's VP on the phone and asked about flexible time - they'd said they support flexible schedules.

Why the Hell had I let that one go??

My current gig was noble work. Lord knows the Boss could use some help digging out of the mud - and I'd envisioned a long, hard slog that led ultimately to me helping land a collossus of a new system with the grace of a butterfly.

But nothing in the culture that I'd seen in seven months suggested this gig was anywhere near putting my skills to work. I would slog along in the basement and if any system did land - it would not be something I could point to at the end and say "See, I helped make that."

Years of underpaid slog that would appear on my resume as "treading water."

And the corporate gig was formal UX - with a dev team ready in the slips. They are making stuff for a national product. This would have been work you'd refer to on a resume - bank on it.

And you told them to go away.

Twice.

And there's nothing in my inbox.

*     *     *

Bong!

I'm outside the building, heading towards the coffee place across the street. My phone informs me I have an email from the Recruiter. It's about four hours old.

I'd had WiFi off by mistake - and cellular data in the basement just doesn't happen. Now that I'm back in the surface world my phone is again bathed in 4G.

I open the email - it's one line.

"Let's connect today, Okay?"

I mash the screen like a meth addict. "Sounds like a plan."

Still nothing for sure, but more than I'd had all day. They may just want to formally tell me to buzz off, but after this day, I'll take anything.

It's almost 1pm and I wait a whole three hours for my Boss to come by and say something about the status of my becoming an FTE. Or if they've spoken to the CFO. 

But nothing happens. I go outside and call the recruiter. They don't answer and I leave a message on their mobile.

I go back down in the basement and finish my shift. No word, not even an email about my salary situation - from anyone.

5pm comes and goes, I'm checking in with E to see if she'd be okay with the corporate gig. Of course, that's a terribly loaded question - and E is of course awesome. She's good with whatever I think is the right move.

And - more than any other thing I know at that moment - I know I cannot let this Corporate gig get away from me. I need to have this. 

The Recruiter calls me back just as the family is piling into the car to go get our flu shots. 

Recruiter is cordial. "Good to hear back from you."

I try to be calm and direct. "Do you still need an Interaction Designer?"

Recruiter laughs. "Does this mean you're taking the job?"

I'm seeing flashbacks of Juno's note on the wall. If you're still in...

"I am if you still need one."

Recruiter laughs again. "You know we do! The UX director will be so excited to hear this!"

The kids are pounding on things and I'm supposedly backing out of the driveway when all this is happening - but honestly - it's all a blur.

I got it. Days after selling my professional future down the river - I finally realized what I was doing. I was taking the safe, in-hand thing because it was less immediate risk. 

And I remembered CorpWorld, but good.

But not all of them are the same - and regardless, you should never march backward on pay - not while you have a choice. I was letting my foot off the gas because I didn't want to offend my Boss. 

But I remember how totally jazzed I was after meeting the Corporate gig folks. I felt strong, competent, useful. 

And contrasting that with how I've felt at my current job - there was no choice to make.

I'm going Corporate again. This time, as a FTE.

And I'm good with it. 

Happy even.

Funny thing? If I'd have been made an FTE at the Nonprofit on the original three month schedule?

I'd have never even taken that Recruiter's call.

You just never know.

Golden Handcuffs

One of the key perks of my current gig is the vacation plan. You get five weeks paid vacation your first year of work. In your second year you get six weeks.

I know.

Take a moment to let that work into your system.

Yeah. That's a life altering amount of vacation for a new job.

It's what I was thinking when I wrote this:

Dear [Recruiter], 

I wasn't able to speak to all the powers that be [at my current job]. Friday is a low staff day I'm afraid. 

I have a meeting scheduled for Monday at 9am to sort everything out on what my status is going forward. 

I must tell you the signs point towards my remaining at [my current job]. 

If you need an answer from me this evening - then rather than drag this out I would withdraw as a candidate for your position. 

Your offer was more than generous, and your UX team is very impressive. What was beyond the reach of any offer at this point was my family's need for professional stability. [My current job] is offering me a fluid schedule and an almost alarming amount of PTO. 

With my wife's PTO situation in flux we need one of us to be ready to do the kid pickup and drop off. My wife has done the lion's share of that duty while I was at [CorpWorld] -  now it's her turn to go for the brass ring. Where we're at now - this just seems like the best option. 

Please extend my regrets to [your UX] team. It was exhilarating talking with them. 

Thank you for considering me.

That was Friday.

Shiny Shiny

About two weeks after I accepted my current job - I paid a visit to a magical place.

I do corporate UX work, and while I've been in some fairly rarified environments - my clients have been truly mundane flavors of the craft. Design this form so people scan it and throw it away. This web page needs a bunch more fields added to it - make them fit without additional expense.

This place I visited - two weeks before I left CorpWorld - was altogether different.

This place was UX Candy Land.

On literally every level, beginning with the invite. I get pinged on LinkedIn by a guy I've never heard of. That's pretty typical of LinkedIn - but usually it's some parasitical recruiter "Hi, I've got an exciting opportunity for a seasoned UXer in Portland."

This came from the president of a design firm.

Dude. Okay, I'll look into this.

His company was local. Practically across the street from CorpWorld - and I'd never heard of it.
I scanned their website and one thing became clear.

This man was the President of a Design Firm.

As in, this place was a serious deal. Design and construction for big ticket clients. My experience is in web interface - the ephemeral bits we use to manipulate our digital marionettes.

Candy Land? They made Things.

Medical devices that they fashioned in their very own machine shop. They gave me a tour and showed me a place that looked like M5.

Open concept working spaces.
Conference rooms packed with spiffy gear and youthful pros.
A hall filled with their award winning creations - medical devices that saved lives.
This wasn't a business - it was a cause.

It.
Was.
AWESOME.

They were looking for UX contacts in the area, because all their custom devices would have screens and would need UI.

Oh, and they sold things all over the world. International travel might be involved.

The President took me out to lunch and picked my brain about UX. I had him rolling in the aisle.

I know, Right??

But you've read my blog before, so you know this wasn't my springboard to UX demigod.

I was upfront. I told the President that I'd literally just taken a new job and couldn't in good faith bail out on my new employers.

This wasn't as hard as it might sound - I mean, this was a shop where most of the design team had PhDs. There is a big difference between making the President laugh and winning a slot on a team like that.

But mostly, I couldn't stomach the visual of my transformation from charming UX professional to unprincipled toady. Yes, I know I said I had a job already, but I'd ditch that for you. Won't you hire me?

Better to enjoy being briefly well thought of than forever pigeonholed as a synchophant. I offered to pass on the contact info for any UXers I knew in the area. And that was that.

As it turned out, all the UX folks I knew were gainfully and happily employed. I referred Stimpy to him, but I think Stimpy was stabilizing and not looking to jump again.

For the President - it was probably a noon hour shot to hell, but for me - it was amazing. I felt validated as a professional. He called me.

Plus - free lunch!

*     *     *

I have thought about that afternoon a lot in the past few weeks.

Where I work, there is no open concept anything.

I work in a basement. I scrounge for cast off bits of office furniture in unattended storage closets.

I used to sit in a Herman Miller Aeron - now I have a battered hand-me-down with gum stains.

Every time I grapple with its battered adjustment knobs, I think You chose Nonprofit, pal.

I miss my Aeron.

*     *     *

Which is not to say the new gig is bad. It is a welcome shift in culture. There is virtually no administrative crap. Schedules are amazingly flexible. The quality of life changes are seriously tangible. Before the kids started school, I was biking to work.

Biking to work!

And the vacation time is quite a thing.

In CorpWorld the PTO barely qualified as terrible. Even after five years, I was getting only 20 days - and one unplanned hospital stay put me in negative PTO for the better part of a year. Which meant no family vacations and E pulling all the kid events and sick days. Which is its own kind of drain on the family. Head down, grinding out time for that future month when you'd get to take a long weekend.

The new gig is flush with PTO.

Or... it would be. If they would actually hire me.

I'm on a contract to hire gig - and the initial hire timeline has more than slipped. What was to be two to three months has become seven. And while my boss was upfront that I would be doing some pretty dreary back end stuff starting out - eventually I was supposed to get back to UX.

Except, I haven't.

I spend most days wishing I knew more about Unix. I babysit a slew of scripts and do sysadmin stuff that - while fascinating in its own way - it is definitely not UX.

I like to think I am a patient person - so I've hung in there.

In my dark little office - on my gum-stained chair.

*     *     *

So, a few weeks ago - I get another one of those recruiter emails.

"Hi, I work for X and I wanted to reach out to you..."

'Reach out to.' This is the current buzz phrase for the cold call contact.  Prior to the reflex delete, I can see this one is from a local company that Sensei used to work for. A place I'd applied for during my freefall out of CorpWorld.

I remember I gave this place a resume - and never got so much as an email back.

Six months too late to save the desperate me, they contacted the Nonprofit version of me.

And I wasn't all that sure what the Nonprofit me was thinking about things.

This place was Corporate. Not Fortune 500, but it definitely had a capital C. And in the back of my mind there was this gnawing feeling that my hire at the Nonprofit might be less certain than I'd thought.

It wouldn't hurt to have a plan B.

Old anxieties die hard. I emailed the recruiter.

Step 1 was a phone interview with the UX director. They have a UX director.

I set it up over lunch and took the call on my earbuds while I walked around the lake near work. I felt like an IT commercial.

Um, yes. This is he. What's that sound? Oh, I just thought I'd, you know, walk and talk.

I'm one of those people who are loudly engaged in business discussions in public places. I'm annoying nearby fishermen. This makes me even happier.

The UX Director sounds like he's made his bones in software many times over. He asks me about my design philosophy.

Red Flag? Meet Bull.

Having a job that is not actively hurling me out the door takes a lot of the pressure off an interview. I was free to unload my frustrations and aspirations about the business of making user interface. It didn't hurt to have a blog full of war stories to draw on, either.

I was en feugo. Parables and anecdotes and years worth of pent up ideas on what should happen as opposed to what did happen.

What do I believe...? Hold onto your hat, bud.

I pontificated, I gesticulated, I conquered. Passersby were suitably irritated with me.

But, it felt so good to be asked. I was jubilant.

And then I went back to my office in the basement.

*     *     *

The following week, I pressed my boss on the status of my being brought on full time. They looked a bit chagrined and said they'd give the process another nudge. Soooo, we're not very far along at all, are we?

The following day, I filled out an online application for the Corporate gig. I figured I might as well see what they are like.

The online app was - I don't think I'm exaggerating here - one of the worst online forms I had seen in years. The gist of it was "Remember that resume you gave us last week? Well, type that same information into the world's crappiest form."

The form was hosted at a company that was different than the Corporate gig, so I felt this was a third party recruiting site. And it stunk on all levels. By the end of the form I wrote a mini screed about how terrible it was. This is what I wrote:

I believe that UX design requires user feedback. 

And I would offer some to you: 

I want you to  know that this application form is among the worst pieces of software I've interacted with in quite a long time. 

This web application is like something out of the 90s, and I suspect it is costing you applicants - as well as increasing the likelihood that applicants are submitting erroneous or incomplete information. 

It is poorly laid out, excessively long, and requires duplicate entry of required fields.  

There are no defaults. 

Several fields show a required indicator, when the form area they are contained in is marked optional. 

The button to progress through the form is not highlighted and begins its label with "Save." 

I could go on, but that is not the purpose of this application.

SoooOooo, not so much with the diplomacy. I was feeling a bit too free to express myself. But that's what I wrote. It was a truly crappy form. And it was just the recruiter's website, right?

Shortly after submitting the form - I noticed that the different name was in fact the parent company of the Corporate gig I'd just applied for.

Oh. Well, that was...rash.

But I got the impression that the form was pro forma. Data go in here. Box is checked, then. Proceed to interview.

And a few days later, I found myself following the Google Maps voice over to the west side of town for an in person interview. I had a list of instructions on how to enter the building as well as a detailed check in procedure.

Corporate with a capital C.

There were so many ambient things that screamed CorpWorld! on the way in I doubt I can accurately itemize them. But here's the short list:

The sterile parking garage.
The security cameras.
The neutral corporate art.
The immaculately clean lobby restrooms (Yes, you should always hit the restroom before an interview).
The badge-access security doors.
The "aren't we impressive?" lobby furniture.
And the dizzying array of expensive office gear.

Aeron? Please. We use the Steelcase Leap.

I'm to interview with the entire development team.
Later, we'll video conference with their office on the west coast. I note it's a city that Shadowrun introduced me to, back in the day.

And then they're throwing softballs at me. Four ironclad dev types and one UX guy. I like the developers immediately. They're clearly trying to suss out if I'm one of those design prima donnas. I demonstrate quite convincingly I'm not. I blow through a few war stories that illustrate my get-it-done pragmatism and I try to show a certain amount of humility in design. "We aren't the user - no matter how much we think we are." I share stories of failure, lessons learned and spell out aspirations for what a good design can do for a process.

I make light of my trashing their application form - just in case. They know it's terrible and agree it should be fixed. Score.

The west coast office asks a few questions that amount to "have you done battle with the business over a design."

Um. YES.

I crush that question. I see a lot of nodding heads and shared pain. These are veterans, too. These are good people.

The only low point of the interview is - sadly - the UX guy. He is a design prima donna. One given to using big words to sound special when clear words are all that is needed.

He actually used the phrase "Cognitive Bandages," which - if UX was the VMAs - would be the equivalent of sticking your tongue out and twerking.

You are trying WAY too hard, dude. Seriously.

I believe I struck a good balance between appearing respectful and punking this guy. I felt a few cringes from the dev guys as the UX dude was talking so I suspect this netted me some checks in the plus column.

Veni, vidi, vici, baby.

And then it was handshakes and 'Thank Yous' and I was back outside.

Just sitting in my car - in a Corporate parking garage-

...wondering what the hell I'm doing.

*     *     *

I remember good things about CorpWorld, I do. Good people. Lots of them. Some skunks, too. But mostly good, smart people doing their best in trying circumstances.

Mostly, though - I remember the fear.

Coming to work on Monday with an all-encompassing dread that this would be the week you got bounced out. Or hearing your home phone ring at night on a Friday and thinking your staffing company was calling to let you go.

I used to tell the FTE's who would get on me about being a consultant: "Y'know when you scan your badge at the door and the door doesn't open? You think the sensor is messed up. I think I've been fired."

Not that CorpWorld canned folks like that, you'd get a call first - but that story says a lot about my state of mind.

You felt privileged, but you were constantly aware it could go away at any time.

*     *     *

So, I got out. Went Nonprofit. And yet I'm zipping off to the edge of town for another shot to get on the corporate freight train.

Driving back to work after the interview, I was energized. I kept reciting my answers and offering up new ones to imaginary questions all the way back to my current gig.

I slunk back into work like a thief. "An appointment" was what I'd called it. My co-workers asked about the Boy, assuming it was some doctor thing. They're good folks, which makes you feel worse.

About the time the Recruiter sets me up with a phone interview with one of the VPs of the Company, my current Boss starts the machinery rolling to bring me on full time.

I get scheduled for a meeting to go over process and task analysis.

Right on cue.

I nail the phone interview with the VP - they're mostly asking about corporate culture and if I had additional questions. Again, I'm outside walking around when they call. It just seems to work better when I can move around.

Over the next few days, the gears start to grind - slowly - towards what I was promised at the Nonprofit. At a smaller shop, I'll supposedly have more influence on the process. There's less bureaucracy to wade through. But it will never make the papers.

It's a silly thing to be proud of, but every now and then I'll go to the web app I spent so much time on, view the source and call up the CSS file. My name is in the comments. That always makes me smile. My name's not first - nor does it deserve to be - but it's there.

I helped make something. And it works.

At a Nonprofit - that will not happen. The work will be internally focused and there will be no travel, no conferences and no tuition reimbursement. It will be comfortable, flexible, casual even - but it may very well be professional obscurity. Is that a good bargain in the long run? Yeah, kinda.

Corporate gig will be the polar opposite. I won't be a jet setter, but it could very well make a national product and some very real bona fides in UX. Do I want that? Kinda, yeah.

And life is just settling down. E and I are in a good place. The Long Lean Season is over. I'm not sweating getting our taxes paid anymore. I'd looked into the Corporate gig as a backup plan. It was never really supposed to amount to anything.

And on the way home - tonight - the Recruiter calls me. The Corporate gig wants to make me an offer. Tomorrow.

And I am literally lost for an answer.