The Crapolla According to Fek'Lar

You Know You're DOOMED When...

the price of Imodium triples over-night.

You've stumbled onto another issue of The Crapolla, a journal written for software professionals. No not the managers; I mean the people who do the work.

This Crapolla is sponsored by...

In This Issue...

The Rookies a Quinn Martin Production!

Zoom!

Whose Saree Now?

I keep reading statistics that say India has more Ph.d.'s per capita than any other country. With this in my head, I jumped into the car, and my driver Mani roared down the hotel driveway, and creeped down Sankee road with the rest of the cars.

About 45 minutes later, I arrived at the company WTHAIS has chosen to out source the junior half of my team. My good friend Pradeep met me, and helped me through the realms of paper one has to sign to visit this building. Indians love paperwork.

With the Ph.d. stat still in my head I entered my classroom. I expected a bunch of crusty old guys who have spent their entire lives doing research. Wrong! If any one of them tipped the age-o-meter past 28, I'd be in shock. The average age looked closer to 22.

One by one, they stood and told me about their degree. They would keep rattling off the certificates they had collected. Hmmm. Degree here might mean something different than degree back home. I heard MCSE a couple times, A+, and a few others. Is it possible I have a classroom full of test-takers?

There's nothing wrong with taking a test to get some piece of paper which the absence of is preventing you from working. Billions of years ago, I needed a First Class FCC RadioTelephone Operator's License in order to operate a broadcast station. I went to a company which guaranteed results. They had me memorize the six possible tests for a month. When I went to the Federal Building, I just had to recognize which test I had and start marking away. I ace'ed it, got the license, and got the job. But it didn't mean I was a transmitter rocket scientist.

I needed to do a quick assessment of the class. I pointed to an FNG at random.

"Tell me what Rule One is."

I though this guy's mouth was wired shut. He rose, faced me, but didn't speak for the longest time.

Finally, in a very soft voice I heard, "I don't know, sir." He sat.

What was that dead feeling in the air? I called on another.

"What is the proper method for knifing a guy in the back?"

The second FNG rose to face me. Not only did he not speak, but he looked horrified at the question.

"It's cool if you don't know. Have a seat, don't worry about it. I'm going to teach you the answers to these questions, and a whole bunch more that will spin your noodles."

Turned out I had a classroom full of rookies. In a way, I'm wasn't too un-happy about that. I didn't have to break them of bad habits some other Yo-Yo taught them last time around. Oh, no. These guys were going to learn my rules, and my bad habits.

That mouth wired shut routine? Turned out there's a simple answer. An Indian who sees you as a customer would rather faint muteness than tell you what he thinks you don't want to hear. Well that crap was going to have to go. Back in the States, I will fail you on a job interview if I can't get you to say the words, "I don't know." If you know everything, what the hell am I going to teach you?

But What of the Sights?

Bangalore is not a tourist hot spot. There's not a lot of attractions. What there is to do here is work. This makes the weekends a little on the boring side. One Saturday, a few of my students and I went to a movie. I had asked to see Indian cinema. I wanted a movie in the local language without subtitles. Since cinema is visual, I figured it wouldn't matter.

It doesn't cost much to go to a movie here. Admission is about 3 bucks. But the real surprise is that you are frisked as you enter the lobby. I asked one of the students why, and he told me there were a lot of bomb threats. Also, seats are reserved, so there's no pushing and shoving to get a good spot in the theater. For 100 rupees at the snack bar, I got a chicken hot dog, a soda (no Diet Coke), and popcorn. 100 rupees is $2.27 US. This is every movie-goer's paradise; cheap admission, cheap snack bar.

As the movie unfolded on the screen, I recognized the plot. There had been an American film of the same story called Changing Lanes. But this movie was different in that there were two gratuitous dance numbers. Indian films are notorious for dance numbers, even the horror flicks.

The weather is in the 80's with moderate humidity. I ran into a British friend out from London who was dying in this "heat". I love this weather. I was bitching all through February back in the US. I've been wearing shorts and T-Shirts to work. This feels fine until evening when the mosquitos come out. Mosquitos love white meat.

After the movie, I went shopping and bought some India clothing to cover up a little more without over-heating. (You'll die in denim here.) I spent about 15 US dollars for a shirt and pants (with alterations). I'll have to come back to this tailor later to buy something a little more formal. I've been invited to a wedding, and none of my western clothing will do.

This Issue's Headline submission to the National Daily World Enquiring Globe.

Jacko Adverts Bankruptcy

First IPO of a Soul, Highly Successful!

Let's play, "Who said this?"

Heard in the halls of various software companies.

"This is America, we like to sue people."

"The bathrooms here are dirty. We'll use nature."

"President Bush is visiting my company Friday. The Secret Service has forbidden me to go to work that day."

"Why can I breathe better when I'm standing than when I'm sitting?"
"When you're walking around, you keep jostling the snot back and forth allowing air in."

Excuse Me

I love this part where the taxi driver dances across the freeway.

Fek'Lar
(They pay me to think. These are my thoughts. Do you think they are getting their money's worth?)

Remember: The Crapolla contains my personal opinions. That's right they're mine, so get your own! And you kids get off my lawn!

Although written with the software professional in mind, my mind tends to wander all over the place, and I sometimes write about politics, mass stoopidity, dumb things I saw, and whatever else comes to mind.

From time to time, I use salty language, thus The Crapolla is not intended for children, or certain people in the Bush Administration.

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EOJ

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