…it hardly feels like work.

Yup, I’m back at it again, this time with Corus Entertainment. These are the people responsible for Q107, AM640, 102.1 “The Edge”, HBO Canada, Nickelodeon Canada, Teletoon, YTV, and a bunch of other media outlets I don’t get with my basic (i.e. free), cable package.

The Corus building sits beside Sugar Beach so the views are pretty terrific in every which direction, but the wind at this time of year can get pretty dastardly in that area. It’s close to St. Lawrence Market so lunchtime promises to be promising, but it’s closed on Mondays, a fact that slapped me in the face like so many icy gusts today. Basically, and despite sounding like the conclusion to a grade 8 essay, it’s a neighbourhood of contrasts.

I’ll be flexing my somewhat atrophied Adobe Flash muscle to produce games that I’ll be bragging about incessantly as soon as they’re online, but in the meantime I’m keen on surreptitiously capturing the square footage of the Corus Building. I mean, I thought I’d worked in some pretty frickin’ cool offices before but this building just blew me away. I spent ten minutes staring at the ceiling in the lobby as I was leaving today — and I wasn’t even high! It’s that far out.

As added benefits, the office is close to home, and I pass by lots of interesting places that necessarily make the twenty-minute commute much longer.

I’m a little disappointed that I had to put aside freelancing for this gig but I noticed that bills tend not to pay themselves. However, so far I’m not getting that vibe of pure, unadulterated evil that I’d experienced in the past. Also, there are plenty of other Toronto jobs available out there for the keen of heart and / or brown of nose, a mild bit of comfort on an otherwise eerie deja vu of a birthday.

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Just as well – Ollie probably wouldn’t have taken well to it.

I finally managed to convince one of the agencies I work with that the term “independent contractor” isn’t merely a figure of speech (that and the liberal use of the term “employee” – why do I keep running into this?!), so I was looking forward to doing some work from home and mixing in healthy doses of blogging. But fate, being the filthy whore she is, pulled another steamy week out of her ass.

That window fan I’ve had going non-stop for about three months now has simply been circulating oven-like heat throughout my living room, over the exposed chassis of my computer and two surprisingly warm monitors (programming with just one monitor is a sort of punishment), and right back at my puffy, bloated face. Oh yeah, and it’s allergy season again.

Anyhow, I finally ran out of excuses tonight and took it to the streets.

Not that it’s significantly cooler, mind you. You know what they say, it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity. I mean, they say a lot of stuff that’s asinine, but in this case it’s true. The only reason it’s slightly cooler is because the sun’s gone down; we’re all pretty much still swimming.

But it’s kinda nice to be outside at night. Lotsa stuff happens that I probably wouldn’t ever get to experience during the day. To begin with, there’s all that night-time work that takes place so that when we wake up, parts of the city have magically changed.

That and trash collection from all the public bins. Maybe it’s the lack of surly morning people (having just lugged their reeking receptacles to the curb), but the garbage men (no offense, ladies, but I haven’t seen any females on the job), all seem to be a lot more casual and chatty. One of them happily took me through the steps of unlocking and emptying one of those newer, gray, pedestal jobs with the foot-pedal-operated flaps. I don’t care what anybody says, I find that kinda stuff fascinating. I always hope that, one day, this knowledge will be put to the test in some sort of high-stakes trivia contest.

Not everything that happens at night is that thought-provoking, though.

While passing my locally renowned strip joint (seedy hotel and reputation attached), I was accosted by a tall ruddy-faced man with a thick moustache, tiny feather-adorned hat, and protruding belly, pronouncing, “Ya! Ich bin Randolph!” I was the only one beneath the marquee with him so I thought he was addressing me, but almost immediately he turned away and gazed at the entrance to the peeler bar. And remained that way.

Huh.

Shortly after this I stopped by George’s for a bit of rotisserie chicken.

George’s is another well-known local spot (the original of a few others scattered around town). For a fair price you get enough chicken to feed a small family, their dog, and a few relatives overseas, and there’s always an entertaining crackhead or prostitute in there to distract you while you wait for your bird. Tonight it was a trio of bike cops, one of whom was especially vocal and all “buddy” this and “yeah, eh?” that.

Once the tall verbose black officer and his cadre exited, George leaned over the counter and asked, “You know who that was?”

“Nope.”

“You know that officer that had the bubbles blown at him by that girl?”

I thought for a bit – there are so many!

“You mean at the G20 protests?”

“Yeah! That’s the guy!”

“Ha! Officer Bubbles … you don’t say.”

Yes indeed, Officer Bubbles’ beat is my neighbourhood. Small town.

So that was this evening. Okay, I know … no gun fight or exploding car chase, but it’s a sight more interesting than my days have been lately. Not to say Glade didn’t have its interesting aspects, but watching sparkles fall down the screen gets a little tired after the fiftieth time. Throw in some soupy heat and you’ve practically got monotony.

Right now, the night’s where it’s at!

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It’s just been hard to focus on the blog with so many dark clouds hanging over my head and I didn’t want to continue to dump all my misfortune online. I’m sure you’re already well aware of my fruitless search for a job, my growing debt, yadda yadda. The particulars of my daily existence didn’t really seem blog-worthy, you know?

I was starting to feel a lot like the biblical Lazarus there for a while. Not the resurrection guy though. Maybe he is the same dude – Jesus did, after all, raise his old buddy from the dead some time later – but most scholars think that they’re two different people.

The Lazarus I’m referring to was a beggar so pitiful that even the mangy street dogs licked the open sores on his feet. Me, I had my sores attended to by Ollie. Well, not so much sores as acne from a miserly diet, but pretty much the same thing. During the past three weeks I’ve subsisted on instant noodles (when I was flush with cash), numerous variations on white rice (I can now cook rice like it’s nobody’s business!), and occasionally treated myself to a can of Cott Cola on festive Saturday evenings (the royalty of “value” beverages).

I was shocked by homeless peoples’ disposable income, enough for a fun evening on the town with a bottle of Chinese cooking wine. I didn’t dare indulge in such government-sponsored decadence (for which I did not qualify).

The time of sores and value beverages, however, seems to finally be behind me. Last week, as if by some biblical miracle, the skies opened up on my arid life and poured forth job offers, some of which have sprouted into contract jobs. Like the other Lazarus, I am born anew.

No, really, my experiences over the past number of months have been transformative and in a weird way I’m almost thankful for them. I’ve shed much of the naiveté of my past life. I suppose I could be bitter and resentful about what happened, about government (I haven’t even begun to mention the shit they pull), about the way business regards us plebs, about the callousness and selfishness of society in general, about even those who once claimed to love me. You’ve probably read about some of this and judging by your responses, I have the right to be pissed off.

But did Jesus not say, “fuck those assholes”? I needed some time to consider the wisdom of those words, and after being offline for a while I finally get it. The message has touched my heart.

So no, I’m not dead. Quite the contrary, in fact. It’s a little hard getting back into the schedule so don’t expect any miracles just yet. But you know what they say, the early bird gets the strategic advantage. Plus, they insist on me showing up at 9 a.m. at my freelance gig uptown. It’s getting me into better habits and takes me past Mount Pleasant Cemetery, home to snobby joggers, the dead, and the imagery you see in this post.

It should be no surprise that I’m not thrilled or excited to be back at work. As jobs go, so far at least, it’s not that bad. Unfortunately, however, there are certain irregularities popping up already and it’s only my second day.

Not my first day either, though. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. And just like Lazarus, I’m rising from the dead to feast on their brains!

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I guess you know the story by now, crazy project, crazy hours, and at the end they basically gave me the middle finger for even suggesting that I take some time off. I was “expected” to keep that up for another two months, minimum. After my probationary period, then, maybe, a few days off. What about the time off that the law allows for workers to rest so, you know, we don’t die and stuff? Those came off my vacation days. And again, wasn’t I lucky that they granted me such privileges – what an asshole I was for fucking them over like this. Overtime pay or lieu time?! HOW DARE I?!

When I think about it, I suppose thinking that they’d at least try to consider our plight was optimistic, but I’d hoped that by reminding them of their obligations as employers, under the law, they’d at least pacify me and send me on my way. But no, jerky to the very bitter end.

So I’m filing a complaint with the Ministry of Labour. It’s just not cool to treat people that way, legally or otherwise.

That’s me and a gentleman I met at the Human Rights complaints office. Turned out this wasn’t the office I wanted, they deal mostly with discrimination and everyone at my former employer is treated equally shabbily. I guess my complaint is common enough that the government now conducts most of its business online, so my trip was entirely unnecessary. But it was a nice day and I’d just quit the sweatshop (really, dictionary definition), so why the heck not?

The gentleman accompanying me had a compelling case – former manager in a well-known company, been there for a while, forced out by a higher-up who later turned out to be a bit of a scoundrel. The details certainly seemed to fit and sounded honest, and he claimed to have documented every step of the story. I don’t know if he’ll get the damages he’s asking for, but some of the lower sums he was tossing out (and that the lawyers had been suggesting), seem more likely. But I only know as much about the law as I need to, so that’s that analysis for you.

After our chat we strolled to nearby Nathan Phillips Square where the Paralympic torch relay was being held:

No idea what the point of this was supposed to be but I found it kind of funny that, apparently, you’re allowed to subdivide the flame – there was definitely more than one torch running the track:

I’m thinking that, should my funds start running low, maybe I’ll get into the Olympic flame racket. “No, honest, it came off the Olympic torch. You can even use it to start campfires – Olympic campfires! Think of how good those marshmallows’ll taste.”

In the meantime, though, I’m really averse to being an employee again. I mean, sometimes managers are just boobs, but sometimes they’re absolute tyrants. Either way, I have a really hard time buying what they’re selling. So, here I am on my first free Saturday since early February, jobless, nothing lined up and no feelers out (and no richer off for the experience, let me tell you!). I can honestly say I’ve never been in this position before. Bit scary. Also a bit exhilarating – I do pretty good work under pressure, implying I’ve got about month of layabout time before things start to get serious. But I tend to get antsy after about three days, so I don’t expect I’ll be pushing that envelope very much. Besides, my last fortune cookie said, “You will become an accomplished writer” (undoubtedly referring to TCL) – how can you argue with that?

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Let me explain.

As you may be well aware by now, I’ve been putting in some insane hours lately. Around 300 for the last month, according to my rough estimate. Fair enough, they warned me it would be crazy. Can’t say I was always peachy when it came to losing weekends, weeknights, sleep, nerves, and basically my entire life for the last two-and-a-half consecutive weeks (I was only doing 12-hour to 14-hour days before that). Laundry, Ollie, and kitchen sink all suffered – not good situations. But, I’d hoped that the extreme flexibility they were requesting of me would be reciprocated. All said and done, I’d worked roughly two weeks extra during the four weeks. None of that was because of any deadlines I’d missed, I should point out. Seems like that was just how the thing was scheduled.

So, I was asking for three days off. Three measly days.

I figured asking for overtime pay wouldn’t fly, and besides, I really just wanted some time to rest and recuperate – get my wits back together before taking on my newly added duties (begin managing the other developers as part of my seniorness). Apparently they’d already booked me on another project but when I requested my time off they tentatively switched me to another smaller one. Cool, I thought. Guess it shouldn’t be a problem – they’re shifting stuff around to give me some room. Plus, the new project really shouldn’t take more than a day or two. Three if the computer bursts into flames halfway through.

It struck me as odd was that I was asked to fill in a vacation request form. Again, though, I thought it shouldn’t be a problem. Just paperwork. I’d finally get some rest (plus the time to do all the other things I’d been neglecting). That’s all I really wanted.

Spoke to the head of H.R., told him I really needed some time off, told him why. “Oh, I don’t care one bit, I know it’s been crazy around here”, he replied. Still cool, I guess. Came across as a bit non-committal but he seemed to genuinely not care about me getting away for a few days.

Spoke to the managers on my initial project (currently on vacation), they didn’t think it’d be a big deal. But they’d be out of the picture so…

Unfortunately, it seems that the new project manager (who today, possibly yesterday, returned from vacation and isn’t “quite with it” yet), booked me in for this Friday. Ooh, part of my three days off – no can do. And I’m pretty sure that I didn’t even exist on this project until this week so I’m not sure how that commitment got made. How many times did I tell them I need some time off? And just to add some extra pique to this, I later found out that this thing isn’t going out until mid-March, so the urgency of forcing me in this Friday really escapes me. Fairly certain the weekend would be involved too, you know, for all the stuff that’d be overlooked. Not my first time down that path, you must understand.

Perhaps there’s some question about my willingness to put in the hours or effort to get things done? Perhaps my seniority doesn’t apply to my ability to estimate the amount of work involved?

So I raised a concern.

It went up the chain of command.

I got the hand in the face.

Not only the hand, but reminded that I’m still on my probationary period and don’t really even qualify for vacation – I’m lucky to get two days (that’s my word but that was the implication). I was reminded that I’d been duly warned, the hours weren’t the typical 9-to-5. Oh yes, I understood that going in, I said. I just didn’t realize that I would be expected to hand over my life, health, etc., in exchange for a pat on the back and the opportunity to add to my ulcer collection for what amounts to less than minimum wage (salary divided by hours). Okay, to be fair, that will be true at the end of this month when the new minimum wage kicks in, but it’s not far off the current mark. Did I mention I took a bit of a pay cut to work there?

In other words, this schedule is expected of me and it’s a bit rude to even be asking for a break. When I was told I’d be giving up my first-born, I didn’t think they were being serious. Perhaps that’s my fault. Perhaps I misunderstood. But, as Danny Glover so eloquently put it, “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

Don’t worry, dear reader, I’ll let them down gently. After all, freelance work would probably be considerably more advantageous there. At least that’s what the freelancers I work with lead me to believe. And, you know, I’m okay with a thank-you note in the form of cheque – for every single hour I’ve put in. Not like they wouldn’t be getting their money’s worth. The company-wide email with my name in it doesn’t really do it for me, to be perfectly honest. Also, the ability to refuse the next project is quite handy.

Heck, I would’ve scrounged up enough for a month off at this point. Instead, I get a guilt trip for two days. They were grudgingly approved in the end, except I’m not sure they’re technically a “vacation” so much as “the law”. Seems like I shouldn’t have to fight for that.

*sigh*

That just won’t do :(

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I’ve signed on the dotted line and am now the proud new Senior Flash Developer at Henderson Bas, a downtown ad agency with a bunch of famous clients and awards coming out the wazoo. I normally wouldn’t mention their name but, being so out there, I don’t think they’re averse to being discussed. I’ll just have to refrain from talking too much smack.

The contract was a gargantuan tome, one of the largest volumes I’d ever encountered. A whole adult tree made up just the non-disclosure agreement alone, the rest had to be delivered by freight train. So it’s pretty thorough. I’m fairly certain I’ll have to relinquish my spleen upon termination, but that’s a pretty standard clause. Otherwise, I’ll be slapping stuff together for HB come Monday; incidentally also my birthday (I know, right?)

In the same way that I won’t talk smack about HB, I’m not going to go into the gruesome details of why I left my current position. Let’s just say that there were some … issues.

That’s my former desk in the middle there, between the windows. I needed to lose major poundage just to be able to get into my seat. On the plus side, my ass has never been leaner. But the alarmingly cramped quarters, even when compared against the double-wide spaces all around, weren’t part of the issue. Neither was the scorching radiator at my back (intermittently overpowered by the winter wind coming in through the ancient windows). Even the fact that the only safe place in a fire would be outside the building didn’t really bother me.

The issues that I mentioned, I suppose, are ones you could encounter at any workplace. Just considerably more acute here. Nothing cute about them either. I think it’s best to leave it at that.

I haven’t seen my spot at HB yet, but if the parts of the office I saw during my interviews are any indication, I may be able to gain a few pounds back. And possibly even take Ollie with me on occasion (they seem quite pet-friendly there). Then again, tromping around downtown with a cat on a leash might not work out that well. Not for Ollie. Not for my heterosexuality.

Similar to the office above, HB is situated in an older brick building, but the decor has infinitely more personality. It’d be great if I could do a couple of posts from the inside, but maybe I’m just getting a bit ahead of myself. Guess I’m just happy. What an odd feeling.

The location shaves about half an hour off my walk and puts me just south of Chinatown, meaning my regained pounds may come from all manner of dim sum, greasy roast duck, and “special tea” (after-hours beer). It’s also close to a section of King Street West where a number of fancy restaurants live; ones that “I’ll totally eat at this summer” and know full well I won’t. But it’s nice to know the option’s there.

I won’t bore you with the techie details of what I’m going to be doing at HB; I’ve come to realize that broaching the subject causes instantaneous brain haemorrhages in anyone within earshot (or eyeshot, in this case). But luckily there’s a whole whack of programming lingo that sounds even more entertaining if you have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about:

• When a child throws something, the parent must catch it at some point. Otherwise the object that was thrown just gets tossed on the heap and is eventually discarded.
• When a parent is destroyed, the children are often destroyed too. This is usually accomplished by making them null (or void).
• One of the most dangerous things a developer can do is to create an orphaned child. This is a child with no parent, though it can still have siblings.
• Once orphaned, a child can go rogue and start to consume all the resources. To prevent it from crashing, it must be killed. If that doesn’t work, we go after the process that spawned it.
• It’s possible to create clones, but all the variables involved make it a complex procedure (“method” in modern terminology). It’s better to work from prototypes and simply inherit attributes.
• A class typically has members; some public, some private. The members should follow strict naming rules and be cast as specific types. However, for things to run smoothly, classes should eventually be completely removed from memory.
• Before a class can be created, it needs to have a package. It’s perfectly okay to use an empty package.
• Clean instructions go a long way to preventing bugs. If bugs are found, however, they should be tracked.
• Modern strings can be of any length, but all strings are terminated at some point.
• Addresses are usually accessed with the help of operators. Sometimes pointers. Other times you need references.
• The garbage collector plays a big role in keeping things tidy, but it does its own thing in its own time. It’s the garbage collector that’s most often implicated in orphaning children.

And these aren’t even taken out of context – they actually mean something. When you repeat them to a software developer, you should get a knowing nod in return. How you choose to explain that you have no idea what you’ve just said is entirely up to you.

Now if you’ll excuse me, dear reader, I’m going to get some shut-eye. It took me hours to rid the work PC of all the porn and I got home very late. However, I get a few of days before my “trial by fire” begins (HB’s words), so I’m going to try to put my noggin into neutral. Sleep should come easy tonight.

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The thing is, I’m not sure if it’s technically mid-life at thirty-five. Also, doesn’t that usually come during the marriage? And I have absolutely no wish to buy a flashy sports car, get hair plugs, or date younger women. Well, maybe that last part. But basically, I’m not exhibiting the standard signs of a crisis. Except maybe uncertainty about my job. No, my vocation; my calling.

This morning, waiting for the streetcar, I looked up at a window washer and seriously thought, “Could I do that?”

I think the main problem is that programming’s just not fun anymore. I’m not talking about sidebar widgets, but the everyday working-for-the-man kind of stuff. On a broader scale, I know that working for money always involves working-for-the-man.  The man has projects and ideas about how he wants those projects to act/look/feel/sound/touch/react/sparkle/etc. Sometimes, it’s hard to get enthusiastic about all those ideas. Sometimes they’re not really even ideas, just innuendo.

As I usually do in my darker moments, I found solace in the Toronto Archives. They revealed that my situation isn’t unique. That others have suffered as I have. That I am not alone:

Gah! That even looks like the office where I work!

Look at them, slaving away for that jerk back there, flipping through filthy mags and abusing himself. And back then, shackles came off only after the shift was finished, and the boss could fire you for anything!

Check out the terrible working conditions some people had to put up with:

To stop oncoming streetcars with your head, to essentially act as the brake, is a horribly dangerous profession. If the guy in the picture thinks that by covering his face he’s somehow better-protected from the oncoming multi-tonne vehicle, he’s sorely mistaken. Same goes for that flimsy-looking tether he’s got snaking over his foot. He’s not even tied in!

Wow.

And I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw this photo:

In one sudden and terrifying moment she realizes who she’s been producing munitions for all this time. The Red Chinese!

Talk about a demoralizing work environment.

Kind of like this:

Unbelievable. First they make him drive that hunk of crap on, what is that? a dirt road? And look who’s along for the ride; a bunch of cripples! Add insult to injury, then the driver gets to wear “Special” above his head all day.

I don’t know how he put up with it. In fact, I don’t know how any of them could do what they did all day. But in a sense, I’m glad they did. Helped to throw some perspective on my modern lack of enthusiasm. Yup. Totally justified.

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I did resist for so long, but I finally feel like I need to mention … the day job.

Okay, I need to bitch.

Are you groaning already? See, that’s why I resisted. I know how you feel about people whining about their jobs, and I totally get it. I mean, there are plenty of people who would love a job, and there’s plenty else to blog about, right?

You couldn’t be more correct in agreeing with me. But  I figure TCL can accommodate everything Toronto-related for at least one post. And I work in Toronto, so it qualifies.

Besides, my intention is to make this as painless, boringless, and whiningless as humanly possible. No names, of course, and I don’t claim that any of this is true. But I think inspired would be a good way to put it. Very inspired.

The People

Manager: My immediate manager (plus a few other people’s, including the art team’s).

MANAGER: Manager’s immediate manager.

Art team: The people who produce the designs and artwork for the software.

IT: The people who manage all the computer hardware and software that we use.

The Words

Bug: Any problem with a piece of software. Could be as small as the wrong colour on a button, or as big as your computer bursting into flames.

Bug ticket: GODDAM COCKSUCKING MOTHER OF A WHORE!! (A notification, usually by email, that the testers found a bug in the software we’ve written).

Code: The instructions (written by us) that make up the brains of the software. If we’re feeling fancy, we call it “source code”. But code sounds cooler.

Build: When all the code, art, etc. get collected and mushed together to produce the final software product.

Specification: A long and boring document that describes, in detail, what the software should do, how it should do it, how it should look while it’s doing it, and so on. At least, that’s what we hope for.

Server: A computer that sits on a network and “serves” data to any other computers that request it. That data could be a web page, Twitter feed, or hardcore pornography. Computers are awesome!

To: MANAGER@employer.com
From: patrick@employer.com
Subject: Requested time allotment report for Tuesday
Sent: Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Time Allotment

10:00 – 10:30: Searching for Manager to discuss bug. After questioning, art team revealed that he is home sick today.

10:30 – 10:45: Had to do some research to retrieve Manager’s unlisted telephone number. The one he recorded for our records is our own office number (we should probably update that).

10:45 – 11:00: Telephone call with Manager to discuss bug. Manager maintained that it was “impossible” for it to be his code so I re-assigned bug ticket to myself for investigation.

11:00 – 13:00: Ran verifications and concluded that the bug must be addressed in Manager’s code.

13:30 – 13:35: Telephone call with Manager who confirmed that, “of course”, the bug was something he needed to fix.

13:35 – 13:40: Emailed response to build team’s complaint regarding errors in our builds. I reminded them that we can’t prepare our code for a build if they don’t tell us they want to do one. We have not as yet been able to develop psychic abilities.

13:49 – 14:00: Discussion with you regarding project X:
Project to be completed by this Friday or next Monday for release in the afternoon, same day. Art team will produce graphics on Thursday and  the specification will be ready by Friday morning. Testing to begin next Tuesday with a round of bug fixes scheduled for next Wednesday. Scheduling discrepancies will be dealt with later. This is to be exclusively top-priority until finished.

14:00 – 14:30: Your team meeting request to discuss why the schedule wasn’t being met. Team agreed that closer attention needed to be paid to scheduling.

14:30 – 14:45: At your request, sat with your assistant to update the schedule with accurate dates and times for current projects.

14:45 – 14:50: Emailed IT explaining why I needed a license for the Adobe Flash development software (specified that I am an Adobe Flash developer). The software lock currently in place on my copy of the expired software is preventing me from effectively doing my job.

14:50 – 14:55: Emailed IT again explaining why my current software was, as yet, unlicensed. I included copies of the six unfulfilled software requisition forms I submitted during my first six months of employment.

14:55 – 15:00: Discussed with you why I required a software license for the Adobe Flash software.

16:00 – 16:05: Larry asked, on your behalf, for a detailed estimate on development time for project X.

16:05 – 16:10: Wong asked, on your behalf, for a detailed estimate on development time for project X.

16:10 – 16:15: Vergil asked, on your behalf, for a detailed estimate on development time for project X.

16:15 – 16:20: You requested an estimate on development time for project X.

16:20 – 16:50: Took lunch.

16:50 – 17:00: Worked on project X.

17:00 – 17:10: Meeting to re-assign priorities. I should now focus all my efforts on project Y.

17:10 – 17:15: Vergil asked, on your behalf, for a detailed status report on the progress of project X.

17:15 – 17:20: Emailed IT to request more disk space on our only development server. Explained that it was the only way to test our software. Request was denied, but I would like to point out that I am willing to purchase an 8 Gigabyte memory stick ($20), out of pocket, to effectively quadruple our storage capacity. Please advise.

17:20 – 17:40: Deleted and compressed data on the development server to clear up some space.

17:40 – 17:50: Sat with your assistant to re-input the schedule from this morning. I’d like to suggest that only one person be responsible for updating the schedule to preventing this type of data loss in the future.

17:50 – 18:00: Produced this time allotment report to identify some of the inefficiencies in our system.

Thanks for humouring me. I feel … lighter.

Should I find myself suddenly unemployed for some reason, I’ll even be able to reveal how much of that is actual, unembellished truth. The number shocks even me.

And as a special favour to you, I will abstain from boring you to tears again for at least a week.

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First the employment.

I don’t want to paint an unnecessarily rosy picture; there are certain sectors out there that are getting beat up left right and center. These seem to be mostly in old, established manufacturing jobs with most of them tied to car makers. However, many emerging and newer fields are on a broad upswing. Consider the letter I mentioned above. What makes that email uplifting is that it’s for the job in which I’m currently employed; I know because I helped to write the job description. We could chalk this mistake up to ignorance (more on that later), but le’s say for a moment that this was for a job that I wasn’t already in; what does the email say about the job market in my field (Flash developer, if you didn’t bother)?

First of all, the employment agency went to the trouble of describing my employer as a “Medium Sized Trendy Company”. In a brief discussion about this, my fellow developer and I came to the conclusion that we most certainly are the heppest things since hep became a word.

Going to the bother of adding trendy words indicates that a little bit of extra oomph is needed to attract candidates, something to which I can definitely attest. We’ve been trying to fill this position for about a year now. There have been a lot of dismal, head-shake-inducing entries and unfortunately, those that have been good were poached by competitors.

I don’t think that this job situation requires any heavy analysis (like this helped any “experts” forecasting our current monetary troubles); it’s a simple matter of supply and demand. Most high-tech skills, especially really nerdy ones like programming have large gaps between what employers need and what they can get. Sure, the learning curve is pretty steep but I think that an intensive six month course in your technology of choice should be enough to get you in on the $60K/year gigs. More often than not, there will be good room for negotiation.

Most developers I know are aware of the current global economic fiasco by name only. If you’re looking for a job, Toronto is probably faring a bit better than most places, but it’s hurting just as bad in those areas where people are getting axed globally. Despite this, it seems to be smooth sailing for all the fields that are opening up either because of changes in technology, ageing of the population, or recognition of global problems like the environment. By new, I mean somewhere in the neighbourhood of five to six years. I’m considered senior for God’s sake!

Don’t poopoo jobs because they’re different. Work environments are bound to change; if you’re freelancing now you probably have a better idea of what the workplace of tomorrow will look like than the standard nine-to-five guy. Keep your mind open when looking for a new job; the opportunity may seem unlike anything you’ve ever tried, and that’s usually what makes it the one to go for. There is an element of uncertainty, but as a general risk-averting pussy, I can honestly say that it’s a lot smaller than you think (mostly just an excuse).

In closing, I wanted to just touch on head hunters in the employment maelstrom. You can do without them! After all, their modus operendi is to make money off of you in exchange for providing a job seeking service as well as backing you up when you’re on the clock.

At least, that’s the theory.

In my experience with about seven different agencies, most fucked off after my first day on the job. In most cases I had to hunt down my rep who, more often than not, would be generally unavailable because of “meetings”, and that didn’t go down well on payday when the cheque didn’t show up. For the forty-odd bucks they were charging on top of my hourly, you’d think they’d be able to actually do what they say they’d do. Besides this, I had better luck finding good jobs myself ; they exist and agencies usually don’t have exclusive dibs. My delicate feet never hit pavement either.

And do keep in mind the level of competence exemplified by some of these chuckleheads; like the one who sent me a job offer for my own job. I wonder if he has opposable thumbs.