Humour

To each his own banana

T A Balasubramanian on a CIO’s banana game.

Offering his peculiar variety of sage wisdom and nutty advice, Dr Don Jong is on the track once again, running circles around the curious mind of Bobo Jitter, the CIO of Bazooka Company.

Named, not surprisingly, the ‘Oddfather’ because of the unusual fixes he offers, Dr Jong, as we know already, has a penchant for dealing with technology’s knotty areas with a breezy confidence that few can hope to match. Not that anybody ever tries to.

“Sometimes I wonder: what is that users really want from their IT people, Doc. Do they expect relentless attention? Are they conditioned to believe that we CIOs, like computers, are tireless robotic slaves?”

“And why do you feel this way, Bobo?”

“Well, I have been a CIO with Bazooka for a decade. The only thing users ever tell me is that they want their new PCs on their desks, or reports arranged in some peculiar way, or that their mouse does not point. It is an endless litany of woes. But never a word of appreciation for all the odd hours we work, or the troubles we take to fix their petty and ponderous problems with the same degree of serious attention.”

“Ah, so you feel unappreciated, eh?”

“You could say so, Doc. The obvious effect of chasing these users away from my desk by offering them their daily go-away bananas, as you would say, is that there is constant tension within Bazooka, which is reflected in the IT-user relationship. As a CIO, I cannot keep drawing upon an infinite reservoir of patience, and these users seem to think I am like a genie in the bottle—always ready to pop out and grant their wishes, even in the middle of the night.”

“Ah, so what you say is that you fear that you may fail, or be seen as less than perfect. Failings, even imperfections, are neither welcome nor tolerated by users, yes?”

“Correct, Doc. As such, communication between me or my staff and these users is frequently strained, guarded and incomplete. The problem, however, is that the users know increasingly more about computers—often more than me and my department.”

“I see the source of the fear, now, my boy. You must understand new technologies before your users ask you intimate questions about it. Because if the user knows more about the technology than you do, that user may lose all respect for you and go find someone more educated or up-to-date?”

“Exactly, Doc. But there is an even more acutely embarrassing problem I have. The users who know more than me are at least 8 to 10 years younger than me.”

“Ah, I see. So you are not only less knowing, you are also less youthful, and there is nothing as humbling as a youngster who knows more than you, eh? This is quite a fascinating study for me, in the deep disturbing side of the technology literacy divide.”

“Well, it’s not just humbling, it’s downright humiliating, Doc. I meet these very sharp and smart young users who come in with college degrees and they know all about WiFi, Podcasting and blogging, and they look at me strangely if I blink and shake my head when they use jargon that floats over me.”

“You have my sympathies, Bobo. But if you notice, it is always the old guard that prefers a rigid corporate approach to any change, while the younger crowd typically shows an edgy and radical mentality that is perhaps more agile and responsive to business needs?”

“Oh, I notice. And it drives me crazy. Forget the situation at Bazooka, my experience of the generation gap is even worse when I go home. I always find that I am about two thoughts behind in any ‘chat session’ I have with my 14-year-old son, who is still in school. You know, the under 30-somethings are more computer-facile these days than their fathers ever were.”

“Ah, so too, is my experience, Bobo. I do not even have the simple skill of rapidly pointing and clicking with the mouse—not even of typing on a keyboard. Which is why I still write in these little books with my trusted pencil.”

“You see? It’s universal, Doc. What do I do about it?”

“You recollect we talked about giving the persistent user, the big monkey, a little go-away banana? To make him depart temporarily?”

“Ah, yes. The key to survival, you said.”

“Precisely, my boy. Now, if your user is not a big monkey, but a small one, even smaller than you, even more nimble and adept at swinging from vines than you are, it’s still a good strategy to offer a little banana. But this time, the idea is to attract his attention, not chase him away. A come-here banana.”

“And how does it help me?”

“You see, the best way to get to be a friend to your son might be to offer him some inducement so that he does not mind spending time with you, maybe to help you improve your chattering skills? Maybe your son likes strawberry ice-cream, so you buy him a few of these and you share them together.”

“Chatting skills, you mean. Oh, I see what you are getting at. Maybe I have to find something like an ice-cream for each of the upstarts who know more than me.”

“Precisely. The go-away banana is for the dastardly users you can’t control—the ones who treat you like you like a faucet—twist the top and get their drink. The come-here banana, on the other hand, is for benign users who don’t mind teaching you what they know, even if they call you ‘uncle’ sometimes.”

“Ah, that’s a small price to pay. I swallow my pride, and they get their banana treat. That’s a fair deal, Doc.”

“Merveilleux! As I always say, when the pressure of the grand monkey game can overwhelm you, a little side-play is good for survival. When you are forced to, how shall I put it, bend the banana in order to keep your game alive, you may as well bend it with happiness.”