December 18th, 2010

krazy koati

If I had the guts to say what?

I must preface this by warning that I am not looking for courses of action. I understand that suggesting things I might do is one of the ways people express their sympathy, and I appreciate that expression and that sympathy. But I do not want particular courses of action; in fact, my natural contrariness means that someone suggesting even a good action is likely to make me shun it for that trivial reason. I am writing because I must work what I feel for myself.

So. My job. I don't like the commute. I don't like the hours. I don't like the boss's recent calling me in for a fifth day per week to hurry up the project. Mind, the project might have been done two years ago had I gotten the right software to start with, but I only actually got what I needed in mid-October. I don't like the boss giving me vague directions such as that it should work like this other site, and that it has to ``pop''. I don't like that when I've stated what I need in hardware or Internet service to get the job done I haven't been believed the first times through.

And I really, really resent an e-mail bomb from the boss speaking of the project --- whose performance he thought great on Tuesday --- as showing utterly unacceptable performance. Not responsive enough, he says. Because the server is on the brink of crashing, and the server isn't anything I can do more than nag the tech guys about. And even when it isn't on the brink of crashing it doesn't work like the manual says it should. But he asks if I were a customer, would I pay for the job I'd been doing? Given that I've made all of his actually articulated goals happen in two months of real development I think that's a pretty good bit of work, particularly since I started over on a completely new tack on Tuesday when he changed the objectives yet again.

So. I e-mailed back pointing out what parts of this were out of my control; how I've built two acceptable versions of the whole project including one that got done in three workdays; and that his management is based on vaguely stated, ever-changing goals inducing a steady anxiety interrupted with bombast. If I'd thought about it I might have pointed out his last e-mail with supposed complaints were entirely objections which were untrue or which I had warned him were not yet functional, many of which were by the time he came in the next workday anyway.

He hasn't e-mailed back; it's possible he wrote back five minutes after the close of business; it's possible he'll write back at 4 am; it's possible he'll never respond to my mail. I may very well have quit. I'm at peace with that. He may be able to manage some people successfully but he cannot manage me.

Trivia: Before the first World War, there were at least four million bicycles owned in France, roughly one for every ten people. The tax rolls recorded 3,552,000. Source: The Discovery Of France: A Historical Geography, Graham Robb.

Currently Reading: The Illustrated History Of Canada, Editor Craig Brown.