Tunnel Rat posted on February 15, 2009 22:50

For those of you following along, you know that I got a call from my recruiter Saturday mornging after she found out I quit the Curry Den.

I recorded the whole thing.

She ain't too swift, and she tried to guilt trip me into at least giving notice or working something out with her client. The bimbo just wants her commission, but after I got thorough with her, she was offering me another gig, a full-time position at another client.

But what floored me was how clueless she is about the impact that the Indians have had on I.T. She has also seen her commissions drop because the rates have been gutted by the flood of cheap CEWPs, yet she thinks it is because the industry is cyclical. Cyclical my ass, it has been down for ten years and will go lower until we kick all the slumdogs out.

She also said that there are a lot of .NET guys looking for work, so I told her to get someone else in the Hindu dungeon. But her saying that is yet another nail in the coffin of the "programmer shortage" cannard peddled by the H-1B lobby, immigration lawyers, and dumbass CTOs.

I sliced up the audio and scrubbed out any incriminating evidence. For your listening pleasure, here are the clips (sorry, no Hindu version):

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

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Tunnel Rat posted on February 15, 2009 09:11

Man, I'm hurting. I haven't been this hungover since that time in Singapore 20 years ago when I had to get a corpsman to give me an I.V. so that I could get back in town and finish banging that Malaysian chick that I had hooked up with night before.
I did her
Damn, she was hot. That's her to the right. Seriously.

My mouth tastes like I just went down on some Bangalore call center Hindu girl, all pungent and bitter. And hairy.

But I partied like it was 1999. I literaly felt the way I did when I got back from Gulf War I after nine months at sea. It is amazing how three weeks in a Hindu concentration camp will traumatize you. Don't ever do it, fellow crackers. Just say no. Or "fuck you, Desi dipshit, I ain't working for you."


Anyway, I went out with my Obamaphile honkey friend and got severely wasted. I had started on beer and painkillers at 11 AM, and proceeded to get mildy shitfaced all day. We ended up hitting three or four bars, and I think I was asked to leave the last one. It's kinda fuzzy.

He's a cool dude, but a total Wigger. Loves hip-hop, even rap, Obama, etc. He just got a new job, and I told him about my time in the Desi dungeon.

"Yeah, I work with some Hajjis too. But they are pretty cool dudes," he said.

"No, bro, 'Hajji' is what jarheads in the Gulf call the locals. Those are Arabs. The correct term is slumdog. And ya know what the 'H' in H-1B stands for? HardCodingHinduHacker."

"Whatever. Hey, I saw that movie, and it was great."

"Fuck that," I told him. "I ain't sitting through some movie about a bunch of dancing Hindu fuckwads. I am so sick of those fuckin' Indians."

"Dude, is there anybody you don't hate?" he asked.

"Whatever. Now who is buying the next fuckin' round?"

So we got snookered, and I stumbled home around 11 PM, and fell twice trying to get up the stairs. Wifey told me to give it up and crash on the couch, and I have no recollection of that conversation.

I do, however, recall seeing an Army dude in his dress uniform. Airborne, about five rows of ribbons. Three Up, Two down. Stripes, that is (you Desis wouldn't understand). That would be a Gunny in the Corps. He was with his Filipino wife. She looked familiar; maybe I banged her 20 years ago in Subic.
Yeah, I got this
So I chatted him up. 24 years in service, just got back from Afghanistan. BTW, you Desis wouldn't know anything about that shit, either. All you care about is getting rid of all the honkeys in I.T.

He had a Kuwait Liberation Ribbon, just like I had. A lifer.

"So how's it going over there?" I asked.

"We are fuckin' some shit up," he said. "Kickin' their fuckin' ass."

"Awesome. Thanks for your service." I bought him a shot of Tequila.

FYI, you fucking Desis should go out and find the first guy in uniform (I don't mean a USICS uniform) and shake his hand and thank him. But you won't. You'll probably give him the stinkeye.

And don't send me that link to the story about the Sikh girl that joined the Army. That is hardly evidence of a pattern.

For the most part, you shrimpdicks are pussies. I saw it when the whole Mumbai shit happened -- the Indian "commandos" showed up with motorcycle helmets and canes, and got their ass kicked by some psycho Pakis with AKs. It took days for the Indians to put an end to that attack. It would have been a typical morning's work for an L.A. SWAT team.

BTW, the best thing that could happen is if those psycho Pakis (that term is almost redundant) drop the bomb on India, and India retaliates and nukes Pakistan. That would be like killing two shitbirds with one stone. Right then, we would say goodbye to the war in Afghanistan (because the Pakis support the Taliban), and end the American recession, (because all the prospective H-1Bs would be dead).

Whatever. Wishful thinking on my part. But I can dream.

Time for some hair of the dog...wifey made me a nice Bloody Mary. And I have to get my credit card back...it must be at the bar that I was asked to leave.

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Tunnel Rat posted on February 14, 2009 16:27

Indian Discrimination of Women In America

Here's a post from a vet who posted on InfoWorld :

Mama-Engineer Thursday, February 12, 2009 10:12:22 AM
Thanks for the article. I am a US citizen, but an immigrant, also a USAF veteran. Am employed, have MS degree, etc. And to avoid any suggestion that I'm racist, my son's godfather is a mid-caste Gujarati male. I dated him before marrying hubby and he was our best man.

So here's another problem with the H1/L1s: DISCRIMINATION AGAINST WOMEN.

Bad enough dealing with western sexism back in the 80s, now the workplace is flooded with younger mostly single men from countries that have taboos against women (ask me about some quaint Indian customs about being around a menstruating woman!) Let's talk about female infanticide and girl baby abandonment. Let's talk about India's attitude towards widows and divorcees. (I'm married 22 years...but have seen active discrimination.)
These attitudes manifest themselves in the workplace.

I even once had an Indian male express shock at my age (50)--apparently life expectancy for women in his state in India is 47, per the UN.

There's a different set of anti-woman attitudes from the countries of the former Soviet Union. The big difference there is that many of the workers are women as well, seeking to escape the workplace oppression.


Tunnel Rat posted on February 14, 2009 16:25

From marketwatch.com:

As a hiring manager, I was trained by HR in techniques to avoid hiring a skilled American so that an H1-B could be hired instead.

Before an H1-B is hired, the job requirement must be posted in a public place for a specified amount of time. Ours were posted in an unused office. If an American qualified for the job, the job requirements could be ‘clarified’ to somehow eliminate the American. The list goes on and on…suffice to say that if a company wants to hire exclusively H1-B employees, a fiction can be created to justify it.
-- swimwitdafish

From the Seattle Times:

Federal investigators discovered fraud in more than 20 percent of applications they examined in which employers were requesting H-1B visas to hire foreign professionals in the U.S., a finding they called a "significant vulnerability...But investigators found instances in which workers forged their employment and education credentials to obtain visas. No actual U.S. employer even existed in some cases.

Some employers failed to pay the prevailing wage or "benched" the H-1B workers — an illegal practice of not paying them or paying a fraction of what they are required to during times when there's no work."

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Tunnel Rat posted on February 13, 2009 09:13

Today should be my last day at the Desi concentration camp. By sometime this afternoon, I should get confirmation that I have been hired for my new gig.

I'll then walk into Sulu's office and ask him to sign my weekly timesheet. This should be around 3-ish, and he'll ask why I'm leaving before the 4 PM dev meeting.

"'Cause I'm fuckin' quitin', you Desi dicksucker," I'll tell him. Loudly.

If he pushes the issue, I'll just go ballistic in the place. In my combat voice, I'll ask:

"Where all da white people?!!...Wha' da' fuck is goin' on here? You got three fuckin' SLUMDOGS trying to learn how to code, when you could have hired one fuckin' American to do the job?"


Then the Sikh PM will probably be heading my way, pulling out his kirpan.


I'm going to fuck up some DesiI'll walk over to Desi architect, sitting in his snake pit with the hard-coding Hindu hackers recently shipped in from Delhi.

"WELL HOW ABOUT IT, FUCK-FACE? I'm not one of your goddamn slumdogs, so don't ever talk to me like one, or I will cut your little shrimpdick off with that Sikh's kirpan, you fuckin' Desi dipshit."

And then I'll walk out before the curry-scented pod-people ambush me and try to suck the brains out of my skull. "Run for it Chinaman," I'll scream at my fellow prisoner, but he will be too shocked to move.

In my wake, I will print numerous copies of these articles and leave them scattered in the breakroom, the shitter, all over my desk, and I'll spool 10 sets each to all the printers:

Visa Fraud Sparks Arrests Nationwide

India to launch cow urine as soft drink

Condoms a big problem for men in India

Fannie Mae contractor indicted for planting malware

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Tunnel Rat posted on February 12, 2009 16:51

Man, it was great to go to an interview at a real company, not an Indian-only ghetto. Obviously there was no Occupational Apartheid going on there.

I saw all sorts of folks -- white women, Asians, middle-aged white guys, a black dude, cute white women, old guys, young geeky white guys, fat old women, a few Hispanics, ugly young white women, you name it. No slumdogs, just a Desi or two.

I expect an offer by Friday, and as soon as Sulu signs my last timesheet, I am calling my agent and letting her know that she needs to find another cracker to sit around and be the token white boy at the Curry Den so that they don't get in trouble for bringing over a ton of Indians and discriminating against Americans.

Meanwhile, I have noticed a few things at the Curry Den that are troubling. Besides the lack Mexicans, white women, blacks, and Americans in general, it appears that a couple of honkeys have mysteriously disappeared.

For example, the cube I sit in was formerly occupied by a Senior Head of QA -- a guy named Dennis. I know this because he never cleaned out his drawers.

Going through his trash, I found receipts for lunch (Daily Grill, Red Lobster), his business cards, and plane ticket stubs for flights to Delhi via KL. Even his toothbrush and toothpaste (Peroxicare). And half a pack of smokes (Camel lights).

That was weird.

Nobody departs a job and leaves all that shit around. Especially the smokes -- that's big money.

Poor bastard was probably escorted out.

Or they sent him to Delhi, and he never returned. Then they imported four curry-scented pod-people to do his job.

Then there's the missing "Mark."

The architect sits in a cube that still has some honkey's nameplate on it. What's up with that? He got shitcanned, and didn't even take his nameplate down?

Poor bastard was probably escorted out.

And why is the architect sitting there? Shouldn't he be over there on the other side of the floor, with a cube next to the two Desi leads?

Oh, that's right, the architect has to sit next to the three imported slumdogs so that he can teach them how to code. And that just happens to be where "Mark" used to sit, before he got marched out, probably for something serious like reading the paper in the shitter.

That's another thing -- in most of corporate American, there is usually a copy of the sports section hanging on the handicapped bar of one of the shitters. It's a courtesy we white boys do for each other. First guy to take a dump in the morning reads the paper, and leaves it for the next dude.

But not at the Curry Den. I am afraid to even be seen walking into the bathroom with the Wall Street Journal tucked under my arm.

That's life in the fuckin' sweatshop.

Tunnel Rat posted on February 12, 2009 16:30

Chinaman was laughing. I figured he saw something funny on the Internet; then I remembered we work at the Desi concentration camp and web-surfing is forbidden.

I looked over across our pod and he was giggling about some code.

"Wassup? What you got there?" I asked. I leaned over and took a closer look.

There it was, the same slumdog code I saw on my first day in the Curry Den:

var row = document.getElementById("gridContainer").children[0].

"Now, how do you tell someone nicely that there are better ways to do things?" he asked.

I don't know, I usually just quit or commit occupational suicide when I see crap like that, and move on to the next gig, I wanted to say.

"Yeah, I saw that my first week. Didn't make sense," I told him instead.

Chinaman is an optimistic guy, very spiritual. Just like the Kung Fu guy. He got up and headed towards the snake pit where the three slumdogs sit with their tutor, the Desi architect with ADD.

I gotta see this, I thought to myself.

I peered over my cube and listened to him get into with the H-1B retard that wrote the shit code. Chinaman was camly explaining why slumdog's code sucked, but Hindu hacker would have not of it.

Heading to the bathroom, I eavesdropped some more, and could tell that Chinaman was getting nowhere. Slumdogs are arrogant, surly pricks, and they think their code is so fuckin' awesome. Even a guy like Chinaman, who has read the entire MSDN library from front to back, couldn't get through to someone like the buck-toothed Hindu hacker that has been tormenting him for days.

After my head call, I checked in with Chinaman.

"So w'a he say?" I asked.

"Uh, I, uh, didn't get anywhere. I'll just leave it." He is very Zen-like.

Such is life in the world of Hard Coding Hindu Hackers, also known as the Indian I.T. industry.

In the meantime, I had my own issues to deal with. I had to look busy for a couple of more days until I could escape from the Curry Den. I was making good use of my time, cracking open MSDN and picking up all the new C# 3.5 shit like lambda expressions, LINQ, and WCF. As long as I had code on my screen and not Yahoo or YouTube, the Desi slavemasters didn't know any different.

But I knew the Desi architect would be by soon to check on my progress with the infamous Upload Control. I was done two days ago, but I was waiting on him to figure out how to insert a blob into the Oracle table. Yeah, I know, I could have just wrote the code myself. I can just see the Desi hacks reading this and dying to post something like this in the comments:

"You stupid American! Here is the code..."

And there would be some shit that they copied and pasted from a website. The developer forums are full of dumbass Desis posting such crap, or begging for help:

"Pls, how do u make alert box show on web page..."

But the common data access code is maintained by the Desi leads, so I didn't have rights to VSS to make updates. So I pleasantly waited for the architect to get his shit together and extend the class to support blobs.

And soon enough, here he was, standing over my shoulder, wanting me to show him the code I was working on.

"I'm all done, just need to wrap up the insert once the data layer is updated," I told him.

He started talking to me like I was one of his slumdogs. "It is supposed to do yada-yada-yada..."

"It does," I said, smiling while I demo'd the functionality. I wanted to kick him in the balls, grab my shit, and walk out.

"Ok, let me see the code."

I show him the code, and then it got weird.

As he was reading the code, the Desi's eyes narrowed. He was concentrating deeply. And then his eyes rolled in the back of his head, and all I saw were the whites of eyes.

And he stood there, while I stared at his sclera.

He was like an alien, some curry-scented pod-person.

Finally he emerged from his trance.

"Ok, check it in and read the SRS for the next deliverable."

Been there, done that, Desi dipshit.

He left and I went back to my work on LINQ. Shit, that was freaky.

To be continued...

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Tunnel Rat posted on February 10, 2009 16:57

I first came across Occupational Apartheid in the I.T. business in the mid-nineties.

I got hooked up with a short-term consulting gig from a contractor buddy. He was working for a client up north, and they needed someone to advise them on configuration management and version control.

I flew up for the three day engagement, and met him at the client site.

What I saw there was appalling. In a brand new office building, the entire first floor was a giant open space filled with Indian "debelopers." Back then, I didn't think much of it.

Now, as a resident of a Hindu I.T. ghetto, I realize what was going on back then. Once one or two H-1Bs establishes a beachhead, a place will get infested with them. That is why you don't see H-1Bs scattered randomly throughout big I.T. shops -- you see them dominating the entire departments.

The only way for H-1Bs to achieve such numerical superiority is through blatant nepotism and discrimination of American workers.

Hence the term "Occupational Apartheid."

As for the Curry Den, it was another day of sitting around. I could have made a major shit storm there today, because they had clients in the building. All day long, I fantasized about going off on an anti-H-1B tirade, screaming at the top of my lungs things like:

"What the fuck is the problem with you slumdogs?"

"Why the hell can't this app compile?"

"Do you know what an enumerator is, you stupid fuckin' hard-coding Hindu dipshit?"

"Hey asshole Desi DBA, why don't you write some fuckin' stored procedures? What is your major malfunction?"

"Why the fuck did they fly seven of you scumbags over from Delhi? All you do is sit around and gossip in Hindi!"

But I bit my lip, biding my time. Half a day left, and I should get another offer by the end of the day tomorrow.

Then I can come in and blow my top.

But I already talked it over with the wifey. I'll quit on Friday night, so I can milk the Desi fuckers for a few days pay. Cheap curry-scented bastards deserve it.

To be continued...

Tunnel Rat posted on February 9, 2009 22:58

In the movie Papillon, Steve McQueen’s character attempts to escape from Devil’s Island by making a raft out of coconuts. He throws the raft over a cliff and dives into the ocean.

Jump, bitch
I am preparing my own escape, putting the finishing touches on my metaphorical bag of coconuts. The phone interview with the big local company went well today. Of course, I nailed it. I haven’t blown an interview in almost ten years.

If you are qualified and your resume is not full of shit, interviews are a breeze.

Now, on the other hand, if you are a freshly imported H-1B, you have to find someone else to do the phone interview.

The recruiter called back within an hour.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“It went well,” I whispered. I was in my cube, next to Chinaman. Two Desis were bickering in Hindi in the next cube.

“Good. The client said so too, and they want you back for a face-to-face. It sounds like now is not a good time to talk.”

“No, it’s okay.” We set up the appointment.

I started to mentally check out of the Desi concentration camp.

It has started get worse, here in my third week. Chinaman and I had come in Monday morning and couldn’t compile the project after getting the latest. The Desis had been mucking around with everything all weekend.

And now we had to sign in and out, like the FTEs. In the morning, at lunch, and at the end of the day. Penal colony shit.

I’m sorry, but if you are a white-collar worker in the United States, you are expected to be at your desk between 10-ish and 4-ish, with a little time before and after to make it about eight hours. None of this sign-in/sign-out shit. What if my sign-ins/outs add up to 8 hours and 15 minutes? Do I bill for that time exactly? Hell no, it is an even eight. It all comes out in the wash.

But I have learned that the Desis are the cheapest pricks in the world, and ironically, calling someone “cheap” is their most favorite insult. Can you say “projection?”

Russell Peters even has this bit where he talks about an Indian walking into a store with a pocket knife, just to cut a hole in a shirt and get a discount. Peters is funny as hell.

So finally 5:55 comes around, the time that would give me exactly eight hours in the Desi shithole for the day. I’m wrapping up, and the architect comes in the pod, looking for Chinaman.

“Is he gone?”

“Yeah, left about 10 minutes ago,” I told him. Being the end of the day, the place was erupting in Hindi banter.

“Umm, did he check in his changes? He broke the build.”

“Yeah, he always checks in his changes and shuts down his box.”

“Do you have his number?” the Desi architect asked.

“No sorry.” And if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you, curry-breath. This is the guy that still hasn’t figured out how he wants me to have this damn upload control work. It’s only been a week, dumbass. The “best and brightest” and all that, you know.

What kind of shit is that? The slumdogs break the fucking build three times a day, but now you are going to harass Chinaman on his drive home? Fix the build yourself, fuckface.

But Chinaman was losing the Desi Gladiator match. He just didn’t have the tact and charm I have, and the Desis didn’t really care for him, I could tell.

Man, I was getting tired of this place.

And if I get the offer after the next interview, I am SO leaving that curry-den. No notice, nothing. After all, this is an “At-Will” engagement. And they could always hire my single-dad buddy and not miss a beat.

I can just image the conversation with my recruiter. She will be PISSED.

“What exactly is the problem?” she would say.

“Uh, well, just between you and me, I DON’T LIKE BEING THE ONLY FUCKING WHITE MALE ON A TEAM OF FIFTHTEEN PEOPLE...And these people don’t know what they are doing, and this is a sweatshop....And no one talks to me, not even the white Desi dicksuckers, and it is obvious I am just a token or a scapegoat.... And I have to sign in and out. and I can’t get anything done, and they treat people like shit...And everybody gives me the stink eye. And…ah, fuck it, I am just leaving. Sorry. ”

To be continued…

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Tunnel Rat posted on February 9, 2009 16:58

A while back, I blogged that Doc Martins Are Not Business Casual.

I never thought that I would have to say this, but shower shoes are not business casual, either. The slumdogs at the Curry Den had a fondness for
wearing the oddest shoes on Fridays, if not every day.

For example, there was the men's shower sandal; very popular amongst the new imports from Delhi.

Then there is the Sensi Regatta Basic, a favorite of the Desi DBA and Sikh PM.

And then of course we have the Merrell Waterpro Animas, found frequently on un-pedicured toes of many an H-1B.

That is one of the bummers about this business -- the cheapening of protocol, manners, and grooming. When I started in the early 90's, I had to wear a tie to work. Big I.T. consultants that worked for the likes of EDS, Anderson, and PWC were respected and dressed to command respect.

Now that I am competing with illiterate slumdogs shipped in from India and Pakistan, none of that really matters. Although I still get a haircut and manicure before putting on a sharp suit and tie and going on an interview, the Desis interviewing me are wearing things like this:

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The thoughts expressed on this blog may or may not be the author's own and are protected by the 1st Amendment. Any attempt to reveal his identity by contacting a slumdog hack at Google, or a corrupt Desi sys-admin at his ISP will be dealt with promptly and severely. Civil and criminal penalties may apply if one is found to have used private information in an attempt to get the author fired at the Hindu-only I.T. ghetto he currently works at. In addition, any Desi who attempts to burn the author's house down because they are enraged over his writing will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. This isn't India.

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