Fiction ISSUE 1

I.T. People – Doug M. Dawson

We enjoy our birthdays until they make us feel old, remind us of our mortality or portend something unpleasant. Jack Adams had his one month earlier. He had mixed feelings the day he turned 47. When he got home from work he had put on his ‘happy face’–what else can you do when your wife has made you a special dinner, bought you a beautiful, down-filled ski jacket that must have consumed half a week of her after-tax salary and the kids have strung up the house with banners saying “Happy Birthday Daddy” and all–squealing with delight at the very sight of you–come running to the door?

Jack wasn’t sure what his problem was. It wasn’t being tied down to a home and family, guilt over some extramarital affair or something bad he’d discovered about his own health or that of his loved ones. It wasn’t the mortgage, the car payments or having to buy new clothes every few months for his ever-growing brood. He thought it might have something to do with getting older and wondered if he could be getting ready to have a mid-life crisis.

After all, he’d always wanted to live in a McMansion and drive a sports car like the 1994 Toyota Supra Twin-Turbo he once saw in a showroom. Yet, there he was: rotting away in an ordinary, three-bedroom split-level and puttering around in a Toyota Camry.

After rethinking his finances, he believed that with one more salary increase he would be able to afford the bigger house or the new car, but not both. Not simultaneously. Pending mid-life crisis aside, what made his stomach grind at work and forced him to hide his discontentment at home was his job; some days he just didn’t enjoy it anymore and other days he simply hated it more. Lately, the latter have outnumbered the former.

Jack spent the day after his birthday putting out fires– taking calls from irate customers, walking them through solutions where possible, writing a report for each “trouble call” and digging into code to debug software problems. At the end of the day, he looked around at the clutter on his desk, then took out his cell phone and made a call.

A friend answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, buddy. It’s Jack. Want to hit the usual place after work?”

“Sounds like a plan. Come by in fifteen minutes?”

Jack cleaned up his desk, logged off his computer and as he walked away from his desk, he made another call. This time his wife answered.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. I’ve got to do some more stuff at the office; I’ll be late.”

“Ok, but not too late. Okay? Jennie wants you–not me–to help her with her homework and I want her to do it early. Later on, she’ll be too tired to do it.” 

“Okay, honey. Bye.”

He walked down a long corridor and into an office that was about four times the size of his. In it worked the mathematically-oriented “Brainiac” programmers of his company. Jack walked to his friend’s desk and stood behind him looking at the complex C Language code on the screen.

“I can feel someone creeping up on me,” said Al.

“Good thing it wasn’t a strangler, or you’d be dead by now.”

“Hey, I never said I was quick, just perceptive.”

“You still flatter yourself.”

Jack watched as Al consulted with a technical book full of equations. He recognized the integral signs from his calculus classes, but the sheer volume of mathematical symbols on the page was intimidating. “I don’t know how you do that stuff,” he said.

“All in a day’s work,” answered his friend. “I see it as a beautiful confluence of mathematical symbols, producing a shimmering pool of abstract thought.” There was a pause. “Did I say that? Gimme ten more minutes, okay?”

Jack stood silently as his friend studied the bewildering page for a minute then went back to work on his computer code. In less than ten minutes he was logging off his computer and locking his desk.

“Ready Freddie?”

“Girls say that to their boyfriends,” said Jack.

Al looked embarrassed. “Whoops! Glad I didn’t make that slip at a bar – they’d think I was…”

“Yeah, they might think that. Let’s went.”

“Let’s went? That’s from an old TV show.”

“Yeah, the Long Ranger.”

Al looked embarrassed for Jack. “That’s Lone Ranger, not Long Ranger and ‘Let’s went’ is from The Cisco Kid.”

“You and your old TV shows.”

Me? It’s you and your old TV shows.”

“Whatever.”

Fifteen minutes later both men took their places at a local bar and ordered beer. 

“How do you drink that Schlitz stuff,” asked Al. “That’s for old men.”

Jack said “That’s how I feel: old.”

A black SUV pulled up on the side of the bar. A woman got out and walked to the front door and opened it a crack, doing her best not to be seen. As soon as she got the phone call from her husband saying he’d be late she made a bee line to where he worked, just a few miles away.

Tailing him was easy, for she knew all his favorite haunts and had even joined him in several of them over the years. Peering in with one eye she spotted her husband sharing a beer with his friend. After watching for a few minutes, she drove back home, where a neighbor was watching the kids. This wasn’t the first such spying mission. Her husband has been “working late” one or two nights a week for several months.

At first, she suspected it was “another woman”, but several trips to this and other pubs proved he was only drinking with his pals. She didn’t approve of her husband idling away his time in bars and didn’t think much of his lying about it either, but, considering what he might have been up to, the offense seemed minor and forgivable. She decided then and there, this was to be her last such expedition and knew she’d have to talk things over with Jack face-to-face. When she got home, she helped two of the kids with their homework then made a late supper for the whole family, hoping Jack would be home in time to eat it.

Back at the bar with a few beers in him, Jack was starting to feel like his old self until the subject of his job came up.

“Hey – a job’s a job,” said Al, followed by “If you don’t like it, go out and find another one!” 

“Typical programmer,” thought Jack, who was used to dealing with young nerds who seemed to have the world by the balls. To his boss he’d described them as “no responsibilities, big salaries and incompetent at expressing feelings or dealing with anything but computer code and technical manuals.” He stopped and thought before responding to Al’s last remark, not wanting to blurt out an angry retort, but rather a reasoned answer, even though he was starting to fume.

Al felt no such compunction to wait and think before speaking: “Hey, buddy – earth to Jack! You still there? You drift off into space or something?”

“Excuse me, Al. I didn’t realize I was sitting next to a scholar of career choices and genius of compassion and empathy.”

Al sat up, obviously affronted.

“It’s not just this job, it’s this whole career. Used to think I had everything I wanted, good job, money, a loving wife, and good kids. What more could I expect? Swimming pools, Ferraris, a palatial estate? Then, I thought I must be suffering from some sort of condition from racking my brains all day and sitting there typing away at a terminal. I wondered how many others out there were just like me: fat, dumb, happy and discontented. Made me think about the computer biz and how it got this way.

Once upon a time only engineers and math types studied computers. I’ve watched programming go from “assembly” language stuff you write yourself to pre-written off-the-shelf packages – just plug-and-play. At the I.R.S. way back when we typed our assembly-language code onto IBM punch cards, handed ‘em in and had to wait for the computer operator to run ‘em through the card reader, run the program through the computer and we were lucky to get our listing the next day. Computer operator! We couldn’t do anything without him. I bet you never even heard that term.”

“So, you remember the good old days, eh?” asked Al, laughing “And today any kid can use a PC. Maybe you’ve lived too long, buddy.”

“Sounds like you’re getting ready to send me off to meet my maker, there, buddy-buddy. Maybe I’ve just been in this business too long.”

Yeah, maybe that’s it, chum – friend – pal-o’mine. Didn’t mean to come down on you about your career. Why don’t we call it a night?”

The two men shook hands, paid their bar bill and left. 

Back at work the next day, Jack felt he needed to unload his feelings about his career to the least likely person – his boss Jim Bakersfield, someone he knew well and trusted. Jim’s response came as a surprise.

“About ten years ago I felt the same way you do. I’d been programming since the ’70s’, loved it and thought I was hot stuff, but I finally got sick of the whole thing: always digging through code, taking classes, carrying manuals home at night, carrying a beeper twenty-four seven. I used to feel like Microsoft employees – you know them, their motto is ‘If I’m awake, I’m working.’ Know what saved me?”

Jack just looked at him.

“Being promoted! Guess I’d done well or maybe I was the only guy around old enough to look the part of the manager. Suddenly I didn’t have to write code, debug the same, take trouble calls in the middle of the night from irate customers telling me our software doesn’t work. Not that management’s easy, mind you, just different. Lots of meetings, trips, talks with customers, sales reps and management, but I deal more with people, which I like. Hope that helps.”

Jack thought for a minute before answering. “I think I need to make a more fundamental change.”

Jim looked at him sympathetically, gave him a mock punch on the shoulder then turned toward his desk, looked up a number in the company phone directory and handed it to Jack. “Here’s a number you should call,” he said.

“Who is it?”

“A psychologist.”

“Now, wait a minute, I’m not going to go postal on you.”

Jim laughed. “Tut tut. Nobody thinks you’re going off the deep end, but something’s really bothering you and I’m not qualified to help, so I’ll put you in touch with somebody who is. This guy’s paid by the company to listen to people’s problems and concerns and help them deal with them. Try him. I’ll give you an hour or two off every week off to see him. You won’t have to make up the time.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’ve been a good employee; you deserve it. Hey! I’ve seen him myself.”

“You?”

“Yeah, some personal stuff a while back. He had some good ideas–really helped me.”

Jack thought about it for a week then made the phone call. The psychologist told him he had a cancellation and could see him at 3:30 that afternoon. A little after 3:00 PM, Jack cleaned up his desk, logged off and got up to leave. He stopped by the desk of Timmy Bushell, who was only 23 years old and had been working there for six months. 

“Hey, Timmy! Could you do me a favor? I’ve got to leave and I haven’t had time to install the DBRX package. Could you do that for me? Take you, maybe, twenty minutes.”

Bushell gazed at him with a put-upon look on his face. Hey, man – I’ve got my own stuff to do, you know. DBRX is your baby, isn’t it? Maybe you should come back after you do your shopping and install it then.”

Jack muttered “thanks” under his breath and stopped by the desk of James Martin, who was his own age, quite serious and a great deal more mature than Tim Bushell. “How’s it going, James?”

James looked up for a second, “Okay,” then buried himself in his manuals and his typing again.

“Got a minute?”

“I’m really, really busy; got to get this interface done.”

Jack looked over James’ shoulder at the confusion of X-Windows code on the screen. “Still taking those X-Windows and Motif classes?”

“Yeah. Motif in-house on Wednesdays and X-Win stuff on my own time.”

“I got to do an errand but I need some software installed. Twenty-minute job, tops.”

James ignored him and kept typing.

Jack’s last stop for help was at the desk of one Joannie, who told him she’d be glad to help in the morning. Jack told her that was too late, but thanks anyway.

He glanced around the room for help but decided everyone else looked too busy to be bothered. He walked into his boss’s office. 

“Jim, I have to go out; I’m seeing the man we talked about last week.”

“Oh, are you? Good. Do what you have to do. Get that DBRX package working yet?”

“No, I’ve been too busy fixing problems from the field. I got three trouble calls this morning and then I had to work on the fixes.”

“Can’t somebody else do it? How about Bushell?”

“He can’t.”

“Can’t be bothered, you mean.”

“I’m not complaining – he’s …”

“You don’t have to say anything – he’s a brat, wouldn’t help his own brother if he was dying unless there was something in it for Tim.”

“He’s busy.”

“Not that busy. These kids today – to them it’s every man for himself. I had another career before this. When I started out, it wasn’t like that, people helped each other and they didn’t come right out of school and get a big salary either. That’s their problem; too much affluence…that, and their parents gave them everything.”

Jack gave a smile of recognition, as if that were something he’d never quite been able to put into words. “I’ll do it first thing in the morning, Jim.”

“That’s soon enough,” said his boss. “I told management we’d have it up and running this week. Will spending three or four days working with it be enough to make you comfortable with it?”

“Think so, except…”

“Except you have to have time to work with it and a full load of trouble calls won’t let you do it; you need somebody to handle your workload for a few days.”

“But…”

Jim’s voice went down to a whisper. “Don’t let this get around, but sometimes I really miss the technical stuff … I’ll take your trouble calls and help with the fixes. I just don’t want everybody around here knowing I can do their work for them if they get too busy, so I’ll have all your phone calls diverted to me. If it’s personal I’ll take the message. I’m making an exception for you ’cause you need and deserve the help. Let me know how it goes with the shrink, okay?” Jim winked at him.

“Will do. ‘night, Jim.” Jack walked out breathing a sigh of relief. He knew a good boss when he saw one.

All that was several weeks earlier. Since then, Jack had seen the psychologist and having someone to talk to about his problems made him feel better. A week ago he had his third appointment and he hadn’t expected any big revelations, just another chance to “let it all out,” but at the session he saw a look of recognition on the doctor’s face.

Finally, the psychologist said “I think I know what the problem is. I started to suspect it on your first visit but I wanted to get to know you and your situation a little before even suggesting anything I might call a diagnosis. I think you’re suffering from a condition that’s probably not in the medical books yet and may not even be recognized by many doctors, but it’s very real. I call it “I.T. burnout”.

A hint of a smile crossed Jack’s face. He finally had a name for his malady and, boy, did it fit the condition perfectly! He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it himself.

“Think of it this way. The human body and mind evolved over millennia around physical work and the need for human contact. In this machine age of ours, we’ve replaced both of them to a certain degree with mental stimulation. That’s fine up to a point, especially when it comes to entertainment like video games and television, but when it comes to sitting all day in front of a terminal, people adapt to it in different ways. As a psychologist, I don’t like to use words like ‘nerd’ but you know what I mean. Some people seem to never get tired of programming, debugging, hacking, manuals; they thrive on it. They love problem-solving, constant mental games, their minds always going at full tilt.”

Jack nodded with recognition at the description of his profession.

“Some of these so-called nerds escape their mental rat race by eventually moving up into management.”

Jack smiled again.

“But many people work very hard to get into this business, do it for years then find they can’t take the stress anymore. That sounds like what’s happened to you. A girl that worked here used to say ‘My mind’s always going at 90 miles per hour.’ She put her finger on the problem without realizing it. Not only was there not enough ‘people contact’ for her, the mental stress of having to fix computer problems all day wore her down.”

“What happened to her?”

“She now teaches at a college. She moved to Charlotte, North Carolina–I just heard from her last month. She’s doing very well.”

“So, changing careers fixed her problem?”

“That and moving to a less-crowded area. She said the traffic around this whole Washington metro area got to be too much. She told me she was moving to a less-crowded area to get away from it all.”

“Got any suggestions for me?”

“Yes, first I think you should take the Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator …”

“I’ve heard of that – isn’t it some sort of aptitude test?”

“Not exactly. It helps point out your personality type, which can give important clues about jobs or careers you’d fit well into. You can take it next time you come in. For now, I’m giving you a book, it’s What Color Is Your Parachute by Richard Bowles. I’d read it cover to cover if I were you. It’s been called ‘the career-changer’s Bible’.”

The following morning Jack felt different, like he’d finally faced his problem, instead of trying to blot it out with beer and bars. He walked into the office with two boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts under his arm. 

He stopped by Timmy Bushell’s desk, opened one of the boxes and held it out. “Want one of these?”

Bushell looked surprised. He grabbed a donut, looked up and said “What are you gonna do next, blow me?” He grinned as if he’d said something terribly clever.

Jack just stared at him.

“You’re supposed to thank people when they do something nice for you,” said Jim Bakersfield in a loud voice. He’d noticed Jack walking in with the doughnuts and came over to grab one.

Bushell briefly looked at Jim then turned back to his terminal, but Jim wouldn’t let him off the hook. “Hey, I’m talking to you, Bushell!”

“C’mon, I was just kidding – he knows that.”

“I couldn’t tell you were kidding and I’m standing right here,” said Jim.

Bushell typed away, pretending he couldn’t hear.

Jim leaned over his shoulder. “Next time you say something like that, we’re going to have a little talk in my office, capiche?”

Bushell had a smirk on his face like the whole thing was a big joke and he was too busy to be bothered by it.

Next, Jack stopped at James Martin’s desk.

“Hey man, want a doughnut?” asked Jack.

“Thanks!” said James, sounding surprised that anybody would do something for him, even something as small as giving him a doughnut.

Jack looked over his shoulder at the X-Windows reference manuals and the Motif textbooks piled up on his desk. “How long do you have to keep taking those classes, buddy?”

James turned around. “A while. Worked on X-Windows Calls last night.”

“Yeah? How’s it going with that?”

“Learn something new every time I go through the manual and the book.”

Jack looked back at Jim, who grinned as he walked away.

“Don’t mean to tell you what to do, but why do you go through all that?” asked Jack. “I mean that stuff takes forever to learn and now they’ve got kits and tools like Visual Basic to do all that graphical user interface stuff in a fraction of the time.”

James looked perplexed for a second or two and then a smile came over his face, like he was a college professor, about to lecture a naive student who couldn’t possibly grasp the subtlety and depth of what he was about to hear.

“My dear fellow – what you seem to be utterly unable to comprehend is the power of the X-Windows system. GUI builders are the poor man’s way to go about it. I’m aiming for mastery of user interfaces and you can do so much more at this level. You can …”

“You can do the exact same thing in two hours with Visual Basic that’d take you a week to do with that shit,” piped up Timmy Bushell, who’d obviously been eavesdropping. “It’s getting so that anybody creating a user interface is going to use a GUI builder with a WYSIWYG editor. Right? Anybody who does it the hard way is a dummy!”

The look on James Martin’s face would have stopped a clock. In fact, he never spoke to Bushell at all unless it was work-related. The problem between them started when Bushell was hired. James knew Tim from way back and James expected to receive a recruitment fee for any and all of his friends who came aboard. James would obtain their resumes, turn them in and collect said fees if they were hired.

Bushell had never anticipated coming to Kenmore Software Systems and had fortuitously run into Jim Bakersfield at a job fair, where he presented Jim with his resume. By the time he realized his colleague James Martin worked there it was too late to give Martin the resume and hence James received no recruitment fee. When it came to money Martin had a long memory and as long as Bushell worked there he’d never be forgiven.

Jack carried What Color Is Your Parachute under the boxes of doughnuts. He’d take a whack at it at lunch and then when he got home. The previous evening had been his “breakthrough day” and he’d had to celebrate. He even informed his wife of his intentions and she joined him at the bar.

His problem wasn’t solved, it was only identified. But, at least, he now had a goal; he would continue his talks with the company-provided psychologist, he’d take stress-relieving medication, if that was called for and he would devour every piece of information of career choices he came across, starting with the book he was carrying around.

He knew he had a long hill to climb and that it wouldn’t be easy to leave Information Technology and start a new career, but a clear direction uphill is a lot better than being stuck in the quicksand of ignorance and indecision regarding one’s plight and how to go about dealing with it. Jim Bakersfield had said something that struck a chord–something about working with people. Jack would focus on finding a career where he got to work with people, to help them–sounded like a plan.

Doug Dawson has written for the U.S. Defense Department and for car and trade magazines and has had his short stories published by Academy of the Heart & Mind, Ariel Chart, Aphelion Webzine, Literary Yard, Scars Publications, The Scarlet Leaf Review and many others and are included in the print anthologies “The Devil’s Doorknob II” and “Potato Soup Journal’s “Best Stories of 2022.” His book “Route 66 – the TV Series, the Highway and the Corvette” will be published by BearManor Media in 2024.

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