Fool me thrice, feed me broken glass
Well, that was worthwhile.
Issues with our proprietary rendering engine consumed two of my allotted six hours of dev time. I managed to implement about half my features before I ran out of time. The bugs I uncovered, along with the lack of time for an adequate code review, gave my manager sufficient cause to push back our deadline while shifting the blame to another team. I suppose, in retrospect, I could have grabbed more than five hours of sleep.
On the tail of that absence of resolution, I find myself seated in a telesuite staring at a wall of projection screens on which engineers in Mountain View, California watch me eating a ham and asparagus sandwich. It is a somewhat surreal experience, like living in a giant fishbowl. Were it not for the seam slicing him in half, I would be tempted to hurl something at the eight foot tall man stroking his chin in the foreground. Who knew Goliath used a wireless mouse.
They call this "a code kitchen," which is to say that we are expected to work during this presentation. In four hours, I am supposed to integrate the latest version of our authentication service in my project. Except, of course, for the fact that the Baptist insists on doing so himself. Oh, and he is on vacation at the moment, hence my presence. I suppose I am, as a result, merely here to learn, except that the presenting architect just made me raise my hand to indicate I was ready for integration.
How do I explain that my own architect doesn't trust me?
Better yet, how do I keep my eyes open during his scintillating presentation?
Issues with our proprietary rendering engine consumed two of my allotted six hours of dev time. I managed to implement about half my features before I ran out of time. The bugs I uncovered, along with the lack of time for an adequate code review, gave my manager sufficient cause to push back our deadline while shifting the blame to another team. I suppose, in retrospect, I could have grabbed more than five hours of sleep.
On the tail of that absence of resolution, I find myself seated in a telesuite staring at a wall of projection screens on which engineers in Mountain View, California watch me eating a ham and asparagus sandwich. It is a somewhat surreal experience, like living in a giant fishbowl. Were it not for the seam slicing him in half, I would be tempted to hurl something at the eight foot tall man stroking his chin in the foreground. Who knew Goliath used a wireless mouse.
They call this "a code kitchen," which is to say that we are expected to work during this presentation. In four hours, I am supposed to integrate the latest version of our authentication service in my project. Except, of course, for the fact that the Baptist insists on doing so himself. Oh, and he is on vacation at the moment, hence my presence. I suppose I am, as a result, merely here to learn, except that the presenting architect just made me raise my hand to indicate I was ready for integration.
How do I explain that my own architect doesn't trust me?
Better yet, how do I keep my eyes open during his scintillating presentation?