Humour

Playtime jungle lessons

T A Balasubramanian on how the IT profession can turn a hardcore techie into a child

Bobo Jitter, the CIO of Bazooka Company, is back in the luxurious office of Dr Don Jong. Also called the “Oddfather,” Dr Jong comes up with startling solutions to those brazen enough to be caught up in the rough and tumble, or the maze of technology’s eccentric front-line.

With his usual flair for putting things into bizarre perspective, the good Dr Jong continues plumbing the bottomless and ever-curious mind of Bobo.

“There’s something I need to confess, Doc. It’s this strange feeling that being in the IT profession is turning me into a child.”

“And why is that, Bobo?”

“Let’s face the truth. I am in this glass-and-plastic asylum called IT because I get to play with new technology. All the gorgeous gizmos, and glitzy gadgets, each more shining than the previous version. Servers with stylish front panels full of designer labels like IBM embossed on them. Slick printers with hissing paper ejectors. Whining modems with blinking diodes. I could go on and on.”

“Go on. This is, evidently, good fun for you, I can see.”

“In a way, maybe yes. When I’m opening those boxes filled with plastic that goes pop I become like a child at a party. I get this silly smile, and experience the same childlike glee. Even the same gloating, as if I’m the first kid ever to be given the latest and greatest plaything.”

“Ah, and all these—shall we say adult toys—make you feel like a child?”

“Exactly. What I find perturbing, however, is the fact that Bazooka pays me big bucks to do this, and they let me buy the toys I like all the time.”

“And why is that—ah—perturbing, Bobo?”

“It’s not normal, is it, Doc? I mean, how can I actually be enjoying myself like a little child? I am 35 years old.”

“So? All this childlike behaviour is not necessarily a bad thing, even in a professional. You know, many years ago, when I was a consulting psychiatrist with a large mental clinic, I used to pose an unusual question when hiring staff for the computer section. I would ask applicants if they owned a PC. If the answer was no, they would not be considered right for the job.”

“That would be unfair, Doc.”

“Nothing is unfair in the world, Bobo, as long as it is discrimination with an important jungle rule behind it.”

“And what rule would that be?”

“Let me test your memory on the monkey rules. The first was?”

“The grease monkey drill? On climbing up with any foothold you can find? Long tails, strong vines?”

“That is correct. And the other two?”

“The ‘please monkey grill’ about ape and essence? And ‘tease monkey still’ or fighting atrocious definitions with other atrocious ones?”

“Very good, Bobo. So the next one is what I call the silly monkey test. The question I asked was a measure of someone’s passionate involvement with their toys. First, if you had any real, mad involvement in IT, you could afford some type of PC—maybe even a second-hand model. Secondly, if your curiosity could not compel you to spend your own money on your toys, sorry, I would not believe you could be a silly monkey with the passion to explore things you work with.”

“So you think I’m not being paranoid about being a child?”

“Of course not, Bobo. Playing with something, is how we learn how it works or does not work, what it can do and might not do. That is how children explore the world, and our potential is diminished when we put toys aside. Now look back to the first time you tried to use a particular technology. You start out by touching this, and twirling that. What does this do? How do I? What if I? Oops! I shouldn’t have done that! That did not work, let me try this! Why did that happen? Oh, a manual? I can get to that later. And so on.”

“I dislike manuals, Doc. They are the worst punishment that a vendor can inflict.”

“There, you see? Vendors like to have you be more like a child, so they make their manuals impossible to read. It sounds familiar, my boy?”

“Indeed it does, Doc.”

“Now you could, if your ego and pride have become hard over the years, refer to all the playing and fooling around as ‘research’, but what you’re doing by any reasonable definition, is still called ‘playing’. And silly playing makes you a happier child inside. That’s more than many people can say about their jobs.”

“That’s a relief, Doc. I feel lighter already.”

“Being a silly monkey is human nature. The next step in this process, even in childhood, is a ‘pilot’ project. So you think of something small enough to be thrown away, yet large enough to explore most of the fizz in the new technology. This may not look pretty, but even a messy exploration is fun. Children do this with great glee. A child with Lego blocks builds ‘pilot’ projects. Then breaks them apart and builds another one, and another one, until all fizz is used up and boredom sets in.”

“That’s true. We make these little models of our data centre with matchsticks and glue and thread and then we break it apart. Then we do it again.”

“Ah, but this is not the last stage, especially if we are adults being paid to play. Building a ‘pilot’ is fun, but the real fun is in building something bigger, something that will push the boundaries of fancy. It might even, if you are not careful, produce something useful.”

“I can see that, Doc. I have made up systems that run for years but nobody has a clue as to why they work so well. And frankly, I’m not bothered.”

“Well, Bobo, that’s the way to keep your world running—if it’s working, don’t fix it. But even as you play around, you must keep in mind the monkey watchers in the tree above.”

“Monkey watchers?”

“Yes, my boy. The people paying the bills at Bazooka are watching carefully. They will put up with the ‘playing’ provided you can really deliver a significant business improvement sooner or later. It’s not really an unreasonable position for them to take, after all that’s why they hired you.”