by Gene Kim
I can’t believe it. Chris has always been confident, even arrogant, seeming to really love doing what he does. “What kind of change? You thinking about opening a mai tai bar in Florida or something like that?”
Chris shrugs. When he looks down, I can see the huge bags underneath his eyes and the fatigue in his face. “I used to love this work, but it’s gotten so much more difficult over the last ten years. Technology keeps changing faster and faster, and it’s nearly impossible to keep up anymore.”
The waitress comes back with our drinks. Part of me feels guilty about drinking during lunch on company time, but I figure I’ve earned it, having given enough of my personal time to the company over the last two weeks. Chris takes a long swig, and so do I.
He continues, “It’s crazy what programmers, and even managers like me, have to learn every couple of years. Sometimes it’s a totally new database technology, a new programming or project management method, or a new technology delivery model, like cloud computing.
“Just how many times can you throw out everything you know to keep up with the latest new-fangled trend? I look in the mirror every once in awhile, asking myself, ‘Will this be the year that I give up? Will I spend the rest of my career doing cobol maintenance or become just another has-been middle manager?’”
I laugh sympathetically. I chose to be in the technology backwaters. I was happy there. That is, until Steve threw me back into the big, shark-infested pool.
Shaking his head, he continues, “It’s harder than ever to convince the business to do the right thing. They’re like kids in a candy store. They read in an airline magazine that they can manage their whole supply chain in the cloud for $499 per year, and suddenly that’s the main company initiative. When we tell them it’s not actually that easy, and show them what it takes to do it right, they disappear. Where did they go? They’re talking to their Cousin Vinnie or some outsourcing sales guy who promises they can do it in a tenth of the time and cost.”
I laugh. “A couple of years ago, someone in Marketing asked my group to support a database reporting tool that one of their summer interns wrote. It was actually pretty brilliant, given that she only had a couple of months to work on it, and then it started being used in daily operations. How in the hell do you support and secure something that’s written in Microsoft Access? When the auditors found out that we couldn’t secure access to all the data, we spent weeks cobbling together something that satisfied them.
“It’s like the free puppy,” I continue. “It’s not the upfront capital that kills you, it’s the operations and maintenance on the back end.”
Chris cracks up. “Yes, exactly! They’ll say, ‘The puppy can’t quite do everything we need. Can you train it to fly airplanes? It’s just a simple matter of coding, right?’”
After we order food, I tell him about how reluctant I was to accept my new role and my inability to get my arms around all the work that my group has committed to.
“Interesting,” Chris says. “You know, we’re struggling, too. We’ve never had so many problems hitting our ship dates. My engineers keep getting pulled off of feature development to handle escalations when things break. And deployments keep taking longer and longer. What used to take ten minutes to deploy starts taking an hour. Then a full day, then an entire weekend, then four days. I’ve even got some deployments that are now taking over a week to complete. Like Phoenix.”
He continues, “What use is it having all these offshore developers building features if we aren’t getting to market any faster? We keep lengthening the deployment intervals, so that we can get more features deployed in each batch.”
He laughs. “I was in a meeting last week where the feature backlog was so long, the product managers were arguing about which features will get worked on three years from now! We can’t even plan effectively for one year, let alone three years! What’s the use?”
I listen intently. What’s happening with Phoenix is a combination of the need to deliver needed features to market, forcing us to take shortcuts, which are causing ever-worsening deployments. He’s put his finger on a very important downward spiral we need to break out of.
“Listen, Bill, I know it’s a little late to say this, but better late than never. I’m really sorry about my part in this Phoenix fiasco. Sarah came to me a week before Kirsten’s project management meeting, asking me all sorts of questions. She asked when would be the soonest that we could be code-complete. I had no idea she was going to interpret that as the go-live date, especially with Steve in the room. William predicted that it was going to be a disaster, and I should have listened to him, too. That was bad judgment on my part.”
I look into his eyes for a couple of moments. I finally decide to believe him. I nod and say, “Thanks. Don’t worry about it.”
I add, “But don’t do it again. If you do, I’ll break both of your legs, and then I’ll have Wes attend every one of your staff meetings. I’m not sure which is more motivating.”
Chris smiles, raising his glass. “Here’s to never letting this happen again, eh?”
A good thought. I smile and clink my glass against his.
I finish my second beer. “I’m really worried that Sarah is going to try to blame this whole thing on us, you know?”
Chris looks up from his glass and says, “She’s like Teflon. Nothing sticks to her. We’ve got to stick together. I’ve got your back, and I’ll give you a heads-up if I see her trying some weird political crap again.”
“Likewise,” I say emphatically.
I look at my watch. It’s 1:20 p.m. It’s time to head back, so I signal our waitress for the check. “This has been great. We need to do this more often. How about we meet once a week and figure out what we need to do to head off this boneheaded idea to outsource all of it?”
“Absolutely,” he says. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to roll over on this. I’m going down swinging.”
With that, we shake hands.
Even after eating some food, I feel buzzed. I wonder where I can find some breath mints so I won’t smell like I spent the morning in a distillery.
I look at my schedule on my phone, and move all my meetings to later in the week. At 4 p.m., I’m still in my office when I get an e-mail from Chris.
From: Chris Allers
To: Bill Palmer
Date: September 16, 4:07 PM
Subject: Throwing a little post-Phoenix party
Hey, Bill…
It was good meeting for lunch—I had a great time.
We’re throwing a little impromptu party to celebrate the completion of Phoenix. It’s nothing elaborate, but I’ve ordered a beer keg, some wine and food, and we’re congregating right now in the Bldg 7 lunchroom.
We’d love to have your folks join us. In my mind, it was one of the best team efforts I’ve seen in this company. I ordered enough booze for everyone on your team, too. :-)
See you there,
Chris
I genuinely appreciate Chris’ gesture, and I think my team will, too. Especially Wes. I forward the e-mail to Wes and Patty, telling them to encourage everyone to make an appearance. They deserve it.
A couple of moments later my phone vibrates. I look down and read a reply from Wes:
From: Wes Davis
To: Bill Palmer, Patty McKee
Date: September 16, 4:09 PM
Subject: Re: Fwd: Throwing a little post-Phoenix party
What a jackass. Most of my guys won’t be able to make it. We’re still busy fixing all the bad transaction data that their shitty code generated.
Must be nice to have the luxury of celebrating. “Mission Accomplished” and all that, right?
W
I groan. Although the crisis might be over for Chris’ guys on the upper floors, the people like us in the basement are still bailing water.
Still, I think it’s important that we get our guys to drop by the party. In order to succeed, we need to create these relationships with Chris�
� team. Even if it’s only for a half hour.
I grit my teeth and call Wes. As Spock once said, “Only Nixon could go to China.” And I guess I’m Nixon.
CHAPTER 15
• Wednesday, September 17
Even though I can’t take the entire day off, I take Paige out for breakfast. She’s been holding things down on the home front single-handedly while I have spent every waking hour at work.
We’re at Mother’s, one of our favorite breakfast restaurants. We were here on their opening day almost eight years ago. The owner has since hit the big time. Not only has her restaurant become a local favorite, but she’s written a cookbook, and we saw her all over tv during her book tour.
We are so happy to see her success. And I know Paige loves it when the owner recognizes us, even when it’s crowded.
I look in Paige’s eyes as she sits across from me at the table. The restaurant is surprisingly crowded on a Wednesday morning. People having business meetings and local hipsters doing—well, whatever local hipsters do in the mornings. Working? Playing? I genuinely have no idea.
She says, holding the mimosa in her hands, “Thanks for taking some time off—are you sure you can’t spend the rest of the day with me?”
At first, I almost didn’t order one for myself, because I didn’t want to have anything alcoholic on a workday. But, for the second day in a row, I find myself saying, “Screw it.”
Drinking my orange juice and champagne, I smile sadly, shaking my head. “I really wish I could, honey. If we were in Development, I’d give the entire team the day off like Chris did. But, in Operations, we’re still finishing cleaning up from the Phoenix fiasco. I have no idea when life will be normal again.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I can’t believe that this is only your third week. You’ve changed. I’m not complaining, but I haven’t seen you this stressed out since…”
She looks up for a moment, reviewing her memories. She looks back at me and says, “Ever! Half the time we’re driving in the car, you have this distant look on your face. The rest of the time you’re clenching your jaw, like you’re reenacting some terrible meeting in your head. You never hear what I’m saying, because you’re so preoccupied by work.”
I start to apologize, but she cuts me off. “I’m not complaining. I don’t want to wreck this nice moment while we’re enjoying some time away from work and the kids. But, when I think about how happy you were before you accepted this role, I wonder why you’re doing it.”
I purse my lips together. Even with all the trauma in the past couple of weeks, I feel like the organization has been better off as a result of my contribution. And even with the imminent threat of being outsourced, I’m glad that I’m one of the people trying to fend them off.
And yet, for over five years, I was one of the very few people able to maintain any amount of work-life balance. And now that balance is completely gone.
A fellow nco in the Marines once told me that his priorities were the following: provider, parent, spouse, and change agent. In that order.
I think about that. First and foremost, my most important responsibility is to be the provider for my family. My pay raise will help us get our debt paid down, and we can start saving money again for our children’s college education like we always wanted to. It’d be difficult to give that up and go back to feeling like we’re just treading water.
We both suspect that our house is now worth less than we paid for it. We tried to sell it a couple of years ago so we could move across town to be closer to her parents. But after nine months, we took it off the market.
With my promotion, we can pay off our second mortgage sooner. And maybe, just maybe, if things go well, in a few years Paige might be able to stop working.
But is it worth having to deal with Steve’s raving demands for the impossible, day in and day out?
Even worse: having to deal with that nutcase, Sarah.
“See? You’re doing it again. Let me guess,” Paige says, interrupting my thoughts. “You’re thinking about some meeting that you’ve had with Steve, and how he’s turned into a total asshole that no one can reason with. Except for that nutcase, Sarah.”
I laugh. “How did you know?”
She smiles. “It’s so easy. You start looking off somewhere, and then your shoulders and jaw tense up, and your lips press together.”
I laugh again.
Paige’s expression turns sad. “I keep wishing that they picked someone else for this job. Steve knew exactly how to get you to say yes. He just made it sound like it was your duty to save his job and the company.”
I nod slowly. “But, honey, now it’s really true—if they outsource all of it, almost two hundred people in my group could be out of a job or working for some faceless outsourcing firm. And another two hundred people in Chris’ organization. I really feel like I can keep that from happening.”
She looks dubious, saying, “You really think you and Chris can stop them? Based on what you’ve said, it sure sounds like they’ve already made up their mind.”
After I drop off a subdued Paige at home, I take a moment in the driveway to look at my phone before driving into work.
I’m surprised when I see an upbeat e-mail from Wes.
From: Wes Davis
To: Bill Palmer, Patty McKee
Date: September 19, 9:45 AM
Subject: FW: Whew! A change management close call!
Check this out, guys. One of the DBAs sent this out to all the other engineers this morning.
>>> Begin forwarded message:
Guys, the new change process saved our bacon this morning.
Today, we had two groups simultaneously making changes to the materials management database and application servers. Neither group knew about the other.
Rajiv spotted the potential collision on the change wall. We decided that my changes would go in first, and I’d call him when we were done.
We could have totally made a mess of things.
Keep those change cards coming, guys! It saved our butts today!
Thanks to Rajiv, Tom, Shelly, and Brent —
Robert
At last, some good news. One of the problems of prevention is that you rarely know about the disasters you averted.
But here we did. Nice.
And even better yet, it came from one of the engineers, not a manager.
When I get to my desk, I see the Post-it note on my docking station and smile. I carefully power on my laptop, wait patiently for two minutes for the login screen to come up before plugging it into the docking station.
No screaming alarm. Exactly as documented. Nice.
Someone knocks on my door.
It’s Patty. “I’m glad I caught you. Do you have a minute? I think we have another problem.”
“Sure,” I say. “What’s on your mind? Let me guess—more people complaining about change management?”
Patty shakes her head, looking grim. “A little more serious than that. Let’s go to the Change Coordination Room?”
I groan. Every time Patty’s summons me there, it’s because of some new intractable problem. But problems, like dog poop left in the rain, rarely get better just by ignoring them.
I stand up and say, “Lead on.”
When we get to the conference room, I look at the change board. Something looks very different. “Uh-oh,” I say.
Patty looks at the board with me and says, “Uh-huh. Obvious, and yet, still kind of unexpected, right?”
I can only grunt in response.
On the board, up until last Thursday, it’s pretty much as I remember it. On each day, there are somewhere between forty and fifty changes, each marked completed. But on the days following, there are barely any changes posted at all. It’s like someone just wiped all the cards clean off the board.
“Where did they go?”
She points at another board on the side of the room that she’s labeled, “Changes To Be Rescheduled.” There’s a basket underneath,
overflowing with piles and piles of index cards.
Presumably, six hundred of them.
Understanding starting to dawn on me, I ask, “And the reason none of the changes got completed is…”
Patty rolls her eyes. “Phoenix happened, that’s what. All scheduled work went out the window. We mobilized almost anyone who could type to help. And only now are they being released back to their normal duties. You can see on the board that today’s the first day that scheduled changes are starting to happen as planned again.”
This seems important for some reason.
And then it hits me.
I had called Erik briefly to tell him that I had discovered three of the four categories of work: business projects, internal projects, and changes. He merely said that there was one more type of work, maybe the most important type, because it’s so destructive.
And in a searing moment of insight, I think I know what the fourth category of work is.
And then suddenly, I don’t. My tenuous understanding flickers briefly, and then goes out entirely.
I say, “Damn!”
Patty looks at me questioningly, but I ignore her while I try to recapture that fleeting moment of clarity.
I look at the portion of the change board with no cards on it. It really is like some giant hand swept all those change cards aside that we had so meticulously scheduled and arranged on the board. And we know what swept it aside: It was Phoenix blowing up.
But Phoenix isn’t the fourth category of work.
Maybe what I’m looking for is like dark matter. You can only see it by what it displaces or how it interacts with other matter that we can see.
Patty called it firefighting. That’s work, too, I suppose. It certainly kept everyone up at all hours of the night. And it displaced all the planned changes.
I turn back to Patty and say slowly, “Let me guess. Brent didn’t get any of his non-Phoenix change work completed either, right?”
“Of course not! You were there, right?” she says, looking at me like I had grown eight heads. “Brent was working around-the-clock on the recovery efforts, building all the new tooling to keep all the systems and data up. Everything else was put on the back-burner.”
