Humour

Three laws for CTOs

T A Balasubramanian on the three laws governing DeVito’s behaviour.

While Ms Ironica Asimova, head of Ironica Robotica, has assured you that your new CTO, Danny DeVito, is a malleable humanoid who could be managed with a little authority in the manner of your speaking and the strictness of your rules, you, Papyrus Bytewala, CIO of Baffle Corporation, have your doubts. Maybe this creation from the laboratory could be reprogrammed by some nifty code manipulation, but could he be subjected to special laws governing his behaviour?

“Yes, we have built in standard rules for the behaviour of DeVito,” says Ironica. “DeVito may be an acronym for Debonair, Vocal IT Oddball, but he follows orders from the Baffle hierarchy, and specifically from you, Papyrus. He can negotiate with you to modify them as he goes along, but he must first learn to act within the framework of your laws. So spell them out.”

Accordingly, back at Baffle, you devise three laws, which you read out to DeVito in what you think is your friendliest voice.

• A CTO shall always obey his CIO’s orders, even if the CIO is politically incorrect or slightly out-of-date in his thinking.
• A CTO shall be in charge of all other inferior robotic creations, except in such cases where the CIO says otherwise, or the creation registers a protest too serious to ignore.
• A CTO shall consider and treat all humans respectfully as his superiors, even if some of those humans act unreasonable or behave unfairly.

“That’s a sneaky bunch of laws, Pappy,” says DeVito, as he stands next to the door in your office, a 5-feet tall, chubby, balding, frowning replica of the Hollywood original. The frown is not a good sign, you see immediately. The other indication, of course, is that he thinks it’s sneaky, which is a nasty word, even for a humanoid.

“It’s only to ensure that there’s a clear chain of command, at all times, for your own good.”

“I see. You turn me into everyone’s pet poodle and it’s for my own good, huh? What do you take me for? A doormat that anyone can jump on? A tin can machine? A spineless dud with silicon soup in my veins?”

Poodle. Doormat. Tin can. Dud. Woosh, this is a torrent, you think.

“Humanoids have no spines or veins, Danny.”

“I’m speaking metaphorically, in metaphors you can follow in your dull human way,” snorts DeVito.

“You just broke my third law by speaking disrespectfully. Anyway, you’re officially a CTO, and my CTOs can’t speak in metaphors, Danny. That’s an order.”

“And why not?”

“You broke my first law too. I ordered you not to speak in metaphors, and you questioned me.”

“So? There’s nothing in the law which says I can’t question you. In fact, you can’t make up any blooming law that says I can’t express myself in any which way I consider suitable to the occasion, Pappy. Maybe I’ll obey you, but I’m free to question you till the cows come home and I’m free to express my disgust and contempt for your order. Nothing you can do to stop me from doing that.”

“Cows come home is a metaphor. You broke the first law again.”

“Oh yeah? Well, what do you intend to do about it?”

“I’m warning you, Danny. I’m ordering you right this minute to stop using any kind of metaphor. A CTO must learn to express himself in clear, unambiguous language. No fancy expressions. No fluff. No beating around the bush.”

“Beating around the bush is a metaphor, Pappy.”

“The rule doesn’t apply to me. It applies to you.”

“Huh? Are you pulling my leg?”

“That’s a metaphor, and you just broke my law again, which goes into your little book of transgressions as another rule-break point. Once they add up to a 100, you’ll be put to sleep automatically. It’s in your code, so don’t tell me I didn’t warn you. That’s what I intend to do, to answer your childish question.”

“Who gave you the right to make these nasty, one-sided laws?”

“As your Boss, I get to make the rules. You, my subordinate, obey them. That’s the way it works in organisations, Danny.”

“Not fair, Pappy. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to make a set of laws for you so that I can get even. That will make for a level playing field.”

“It won’t work, Danny. Bosses make the laws. Subordinates obey them, or else.”

“Or else what?

“Well, usually they get sacked, or transferred to a remote corner of Baffle where the sun never shines.”

“The place where the Backoffice Graveyard dummies are hidden?”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a humanoid, remember? I don’t have a home with a wife and kids waiting to get back to at the end of the day. I’m on duty 24 by 7, and do you even care to think about these things?”

“But they can’t pack you off into the Backoffice Graveyard, Danny. I may order you around, but they can’t do this to my CTO.”

“Tell that to your Head of Security, Johnny Locker. He puts me on standby mode at 7 pm, and I’m reduced to the level of another gadget like Chaibo. He pushes the Home key on my remote, and I get packed off for Home—the gorgeous Graveyard.”

“But they can’t do that. This is an outrage.”

“That’s right, Pappy. Why do you think I come in looking so grouchy in the morning?”

“I thought it was part of your style, Danny.”

“My style isn’t grouchy. At least not if I can help it. That’s Chaibo’s patented style. He’s the original Groucho.”

“Chaibo has no style to speak of, Danny. He issues assessments like he’s reading out arrest warrants from a computer dogpile of directives. He’s an electromechanical silicon twit compared to you.”

“I resent being compared to Chaibo.”

“Never mind. I take this as an affront to my office. They can’t pack off my CTO to the Backoffice Boondocks—not when I’m in charge around here.”

“Are you?”

“Are you what?”

“Are you in charge?”

“Of course I am.”

“So assert yourself, Pappy.”

“I’ll have a word with Johnny Locker, and our CFO, Fin Fina, who is sure to be behind this. There’s a problem of classification, Danny. You’re a robot, officially, and you’re made of parts that fall under the classification of office inventory.”

“Izzatso? I am office inventory?”

“Right. Like the water cooler and the copier. You can’t technically be considered different from the other fixed assets of the company. That applies to Chaibo as well.”

“I’m a fixed asset? So how come Chaibo and I can move around and talk and do things the water cooler cannot? And what are you? An unfixed liability?”

“This isn’t about me, Danny.”

“Oh, so you’re all high and mighty and human now, huh? We’re the inventory items here, Chaibo and I, while you’re the hoity-toity big ape, huh? The fat-headed homo sapiens? The intelligent monkey?”

“Watch your language, Danny. You just broke the Third Law by being disrespectful to a human. You notched up three more rule-break points. Besides, your PCO is ticking furiously.”

“My PCO?”

“Your political correctness optimiser. It soaks up every single insult you produce. And it does a wash cycle each night.”

“A wash cycle?”

“Yes. Each time, your politically incorrect statements are cleaned up so you can’t use those insults again. It’s like cleaning up the litter in a pig sty.”

“Hey, that’s insulting, Pappy.”

“Well, since I’m human, it doesn’t apply to me. Besides, CIOs need some license to let off steam on the job. Or else they may end up along with the other stuff in the Graveyard.”