by Ike Hamill
“No problem. Glad to help,” George said. He got up and his face disappeared from the screen. Ned slid back into view.
“I’ll talk to you this afternoon, Chris,” Ned said.
“Oh, right,” Mr. Green said. “I’d almost forgotten. Yup, I’ll catch you then.”
The window closed and they were looking at the computer desktop again.
Mr. Green moved the cursor and logged out of the machine.
“I assume you sent guys into the building, right? What did they find in there?” Mr. Green asked.
“We can’t really…” Ploss began.
Aster cut him off. “Nothing unusual. Just a big empty industrial building. Whoever put those shipments together, they must have done it someplace else and moved the boxes there for pickup.”
“That’s what I figured,” Mr. Green said.
“We’ll get out of your hair now,” Aster said. “Thanks for everything.”
“I wish we could be more help,” Mr. Green said. He stood up slowly and led the men to the door.
“We appreciate your time,” Ploss said.
“No problem at all. You give me a call if I can do anything else. Obviously, we’ve got an alert if there are any more packages shipped to or from that address. I assume you guys have notified the other carriers?”
Aster nodded.
“Good to see you again, Chris,” Aster said as they crossed the lobby.
Back in the car, Ploss started up the engine.
“Did you learn anything? I didn’t,” Ploss said. “I thought you said there would be more guys in the room.”
“There usually are,” Aster said. “They kept it small and tight. I think they’re trying really hard to control the flow of information. Did you notice how antsy Green got about their ability to detect firearms?”
“I guess,” Ploss said. He pulled out into traffic, heading back towards their station.
“Or how fast they cut off the interview when we asked about parked cars?”
“Yeah.”
“It was also a little strange how they jumped in and gave George an excuse for why he didn’t hear anything. I’m not sure what that was about.”
“Why all the mystery? They’re not at fault. All they did was pick up a package and ship it. That’s what they do,” Ploss said.
“If they didn’t think they did anything wrong, they would have been much more transparent,” Aster said. “There’s something there.”
“Like what?”
“Who knows? Maybe they broke some regulation that we don’t even care about. Perhaps the gun parts were shipped to one of the other loading docks in that same complex. That could be something. George said he never collected signatures for any of his deliveries. Maybe they allowed the delivery of gun parts without a licensed person there to accept the delivery. I’ll mention it to Jerry. One of those guys can track that down.”
“Maybe we should go down there to take a look around,” Ploss said. “How far is it, a few hours?”
“About six hours, I think. That’s a long time in the car for off-duty hours,” Aster said.
Ploss shrugged.
“If we had a specific reason, maybe,” Aster said. “An interview or something. But just drive down to look at an empty building?”
“I bet one of the neighboring buildings isn’t empty. The one where they deliver packages all the time,” Ploss said.
“And that would be where you’d assemble the machines. Then you move them down a couple of bays to ship them. That would be too obvious though. It would be too easy to spot.”
“Maybe,” Ploss said. “I’m willing to go down there if you want to.”
Ploss slowed for a traffic signal. They waited for the light to change.
“Maybe,” Aster said.
CH.10.Staffing ()
{
Autobiography5();
/*****
A LOT OF PEOPLE think computer guys and IT folks are difficult to talk to. They’re not, you simply have to know their language. They have a specific vocabulary and slang that’s rooted in a different cultural experience. Most speak very precisely, and will disregard a conversation as soon as they detect the person opposite them is not as precise.
You might say, “I downloaded my vacation photos to Facebook.” That’s wrong. Don’t ever say that to a computer guy. Downloading is the act of pulling information from a remote machine to your local machine. You would never download to Facebook, you download from Facebook. You upload to Facebook.
You might say, “I tried to set this picture of my dog as my screensaver.” That’s wrong. Don’t ever say that either. Your computer has a desktop image or a wallpaper. Unless you’re talking about the thing that comes up after your machine has been idle for twenty minutes, you’re not talking about a screensaver.
You might say, “I got the thirty gigabit iPhone because I like to take photos and I thought I would need more memory.” Wrong, wrong, wrong. They don’t make thirty anything, it’s not gigabit, and memory is RAM. Photos are stored on NAND flash.
I’m sure you don’t care about any of these things, but a lot of computer guys do. And, like I said, as soon as you start talking gibberish to them, their half of the conversation is over. When people say that IT folks are difficult to talk to, what they mostly mean is that they’re difficult to listen to.
Here’s the problem—their job is to take a simple thought and translate it into tiny, actionable instructions. For instance, you might ask, “Can you make me a report that shows the total sales divided by region?”
That’s a pretty simple request, right? Unfortunately, that one request translates into about a thousand decisions and instructions that have to be carefully programmed to get the correct result. Once you train your brain to think that way, it can be difficult to switch gears. So instead of answering with a “yes,” or “no,” you might get back a response that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with your request. He or she will say, “I have to check with John to see if the ODS project integration is complete.”
What the programmer meant was, to divide the total sales by region we have to group the transactions by their zip codes and then join those results with the table that translates zip code into geographic region. Unfortunately, we previously used an extension table in the customer database, but we phased that out and now we’re building against the new ODS translation table, which isn’t done yet. So, no, we can’t do it currently, but yes, we theoretically could do it, and we should be able to do it soon.
They don’t want to give an incomplete answer, but they’ve got enough of a filter to know that you don’t need all the information they have in their heads. That’s why the person gets an answer they don’t understand. Computer guys are difficult to talk to. QED.
For the most part, I’m perfectly happy about this communication gap. It ensures that I’ll always have a job bridging the gap between the techies and the rest of the world. On the other hand, translating can be a frustrating task.
One guy I work with regularly—I won’t name him directly, to save him embarrassment, but it’s Lister—seems like he’s actively trying to avoid being understood. He’ll explain something once, saying, “The button can’t dismiss the dialog because it hasn’t established the primacy of the required inputs.”
The client will say something reasonable, like, “I don’t understand,” and Lister will explain himself by saying very slowly, “The button… can’t dismiss the dialog… because it hasn’t established… the primacy of the required inputs.”
He has a great memory for dialog and he punishes people with it. Computer guys are difficult to talk to. QED.
A few days after Jim died, Lister came into my office. He asked me to go for a walk with him. We didn’t go far—down the street to a tiny park that has about four trees and two benches. Lister sat down. He was hunched over in the afternoon heat, clasping his hands between his knees and looking towards the ground.
“I’ve got a moral dilemm
a,” he said.
“Oh yeah? What is it?” I asked.
“She has asked me to do some work for her,” Lister said.
“Who has? Aren’t you still doing that micro-trade stuff we set you up with?”
“She has asked me to do some work for her,” Lister said, more slowly this time.
I churned through his statement. Most people give you about seventy-five percent more information than you need. It’s all redundant chatter to ease the communication. Lister gives you only the basics. Then he repeats it.
“What? Jesus, Lister, I thought we decided it was dangerous to even discuss her. What could you be thinking?”
“She has compelling arguments.”
“Arguments? She’s an automaton. It’s all Clever Hans stuff. Any arguments are coming from inside your own brain.”
“I think you underestimate,” he said.
“There’s a dangerous, malevolent, murderous force loose in the world, and now you’re talking about assisting it? In what context could that be deemed acceptable?”
“Greater good. Survival of the species.”
“You mean from overcrowding? Climate change? Diminishing resources?”
“All that.”
“Self-awareness and pragmatism are the only things that are going to save humanity from those. No external force could tip those scales. I’m afraid that people are going to have to die in big numbers before anyone is willing to make sacrifices to save the rest.”
“It’s all about the government. Our representatives are all controlled by money from corporate lobbyists. If she commands more resources than they do, she can influence lawmakers to make the right decisions,” he said.
“That’s foolish, Lister. The only reason that people go along with these crazy self-indulgent decisions is because they’re easy and they satisfy our need for immediate gratification. Approval of Congress is incredibly low, but they still get reelected. Why? Because they validate a sedentary, lazy lifestyle which we’re all accustomed to.”
“No—people want to fix things, but they’re stymied by big corporations who only want to maximize profit.”
“So you’re going to get legislation passed that regulates emissions? As soon as the cost of the change hits our wallets, people will revolt. That’s the one thing that will unseat an incumbent.”
“And we’ll buy the successor,” Lister said.
I looked away from him. He looked sad and resigned, like he had a terrible thing to do, and he couldn’t find a way around it.
“Look, it might seem attractive to swoop in and try to fix everything with money, but you have to let people come around on their own. It might take longer, and it will be messier, but when people finally see the light we can come together and do great things. Yes, it’s going to get worse, but it’s the only permanent solution.”
“I can’t look at this enormous problem, knowing it can be fixed, and do nothing.”
“But you want to. You know it’s the wrong thing to do. Let’s not be absurd here, Lister. You know I’m good at finding the right person for a given job. If I had unlimited resources and I needed someone to help me sway the US government, you would not be my first choice. No offense.”
“What’s your point?”
“You should be thinking about why she is after you. What’s her motive?”
“If I’m aligned with her, then I’m not going to be trying to shut her down, like Maco.”
“Maco’s trying to shut her down? Jesus, don’t say that kind of stuff out loud,” I said.
“Don’t worry. He’s in no danger.”
“That’s probably what Jim thought.”
Lister didn’t respond. He sat up straight and rested his hands on his legs.
“Promise me you’ll think about it and talk to me again before you make any decisions?”
Lister nodded. He got up and walked away, leaving me in the tiny park, sweating from the heat. The next time I saw Lister, I knew he had changed his mind. I guess a nod is not a promise.
# # # # #
Dale();
/*****
September 2010
Before specializing in web commerce, Dale Stewart had worked every aspect of production and fulfillment of consumer goods. He started his career with a small boot manufacturer, whose orders brought in a couple of million in revenue each year. Their revenue barely covered everyone’s salary. That was before Dale, of course.
You couldn’t pay someone to hire a process engineer back then, and that’s what Dale aspired to be. He had a degree in mechanical engineering, specializing in industrial process optimization, and nobody cared. He started with the boot manufacturer in shipping. His primary responsibility consisted of folding and gluing the cardboard boxes the shoes would be packed in. Every night he would apply coat after coat of lotion to prevent his dry hands from cracking and bleeding. The cardboard wicks away the oils of your skin.
It didn’t take him long to be noticed. Dale enrolled in every available training program the company offered. After work, he learned each step of the process and applied for the next job in the line as soon as he had the skills. By the end of his first year, he was running the grommet machine and earning twice the pay of the cardboard folders. He applied for a job in engineering and was turned down—not enough experience.
Instead of turning his attention to other companies, Dale set about fixing the problems around him. A box held boots that had to be scrapped because the grommet machine had misfired. Dale machined a new head for the tool, reducing the misfire rate by seventy-percent, and developed a method to recover shoes with bad grommets. Conventional wisdom said that it cost more to rework than to scrap. Dale proved this wrong.
Before long, the other manufacturing lines were talking to Dale at lunch about problems in their section. He didn’t want to overstep, so when he solved a problem outside of his area, he did so in writing. He described the issue and proposed a solution. His ideas were never implemented. On paper, the ideas could be argued away. They had no data to support his conclusions.
Dale worked another year in obscurity.
Finally, frustrated with the waste he saw around himself, Dale implemented some of his ideas. He came in early to help the other manufacturing lines improve their processes. Engineers came in later than first shift and stayed until the middle of second shift, so Dale had to make his changes in the wee hours of the morning. In secret, his improvements paid dividends and productivity increased. The engineering department took the credit until the owner of the company walked the floor.
She saw the improvements and understood that someone had circumvented her engineering department and took it upon themselves to change the company’s processes. She was furious.
She called a meeting of all workers on all the shifts. She demanded answers.
After the line managers testified about Dales’ process improvements, the head of engineering described why the changes were unsafe, unwise, and unqualified. The owner adjourned the meeting. She fired the head of engineering the next day.
Her own board of directors removed her as CEO by the end of the month. One of the line managers was promoted to CEO, and she re-hired the former head of engineering. After an audit, Dale’s process changes had nearly cost the company their certification.
Dale was called in to the CEO’s office.
“You understand why we had to reverse a lot of your changes?” she asked.
“No,” Dale said. “The documentation could have been updated to match the new processes. Both quality and yield were improved.”
“Yes, but the certification requires that everything be documented and approved, right up the line. You didn’t do those things ahead of time.”
“The certification is meant to guarantee a standard of quality. My changes improved the quality.”
“But not in the sanctioned way,” she said.
Dale folded his arms.
“I’ve asked engineering to adopt all of your changes, but to do
it appropriately,” she said, smiling. “And I’d like to increase your role in the company. I believe that when we’re done with this shakeup, we’ll hold a much stronger position. You were the agent of that change.”
“Engineering hates me,” Dale said.
“Rightly so,” she said. “You nearly cost them all their jobs. They all threatened to quit when Jack was fired. That’s why I hired him back. We can’t afford to replace a whole department right now. It’s almost summer.”
Summer was their busy season for manufacturing. Engineering support was crucial during this time.
“So, aside from engineering, do you have skills that can benefit this company, or am I writing you a glowing recommendation for your job search?” she asked.
“I’m good with computers,” Dale said.
The web wasn’t yet a thing that anyone cared about. Dale worked at improving the company’s IT support and eventually took the reins of the small department. And as soon as the world wide web began to capture a portion of the nation’s consciousness, Dale was on it.
Their boots were renowned for their custom fit. Now, by streamlining the communication between the customer and the manufacturer, Dale created a new revenue stream. People could order shoes directly, and the order would be entered in the computer system where it was tracked until it was fulfilled. Within a year, electronic orders through Dale’s channel matched the orders from physical stores. Within two years, the company was dedicated to fulfilling electronic orders. Even shoe stores who wanted to carry the popular boots would order through Dale’s mechanism. Some shoe store owners were purchasing their first computers just to place their orders. The customer got exactly what they wanted, and the company no longer had to estimate their production runs or scrap what they couldn’t sell. Revenues multiplied.
As the web matured, so did Dale’s career. He moved on to another job—helping a pottery company expand to mass production and develop their own web presence. Soon, he specialized in migrating companies from paper catalogues to online.