tunnel rat posted on October 4, 2006 16:50

On my first day at TCTSRN, I took some time to meet my “team.” Team was a nebulous term, because Mr. Whiteboard had not yet introduced me to my “team”. The admin girl took me around the whole department and suggested that so-and-so may be reporting to me, but she wasn’t sure.

The org chart was six months old, and from it, I figured I had four direct reports. I knew who two of them were for sure – Mr. Coffe and the TAC (Thick-Accented Cambodian). They had been in on one of my interviews. They had asked generic, meaningless questions like “What do you think of design patterns?” and “How do you deal with deadlines.” I had answered with generic, meaningless answers.

The third guy was Burning Man. Long hair, dyed purplish, tied in a bun. In a bun mind you, not a ponytail. More on him later.

When “Charlie” walked into my cube, I did the math and figured that was the last guy my “team.”

He was tiny. Maybe 100 pounds. Short, lean, terrier-like. He even had an odd scar on his nose, like he had been clawed by a simian . Close-cropped hair. Gray, bell-bottomed slacks (Sears?) and a dingy white button-down shirt, and a belt that almost wrapped around him twice (99 cent store?). He looked like he lived on nothing but pho.

I couldn’t stop thinking of the stories I had read about the tunnel rats in Vietnam, the men who went in after the Viet Cong hiding in tunnels.

“Then I cautiously raised the upper half of my body into the tunnel until I was lying flat on my stomach. When I felt comfortable, I placed my smith wesson .38-caliber snub-nose (sent to me by my father for tunnel work) beside the flashlight and switched on the light, illuminating the tunnel.

There, not more than 15 feet away, sat a Viet Cong eating a handful of rice from a pouch on his lap. We looked at each other for what seemed to be an eternity; but in fact was probably only a few seconds.”



I envisioned that this is what they encountered in the dark tunnel complexes of Cu Chi – a diminutave, fierce warrior that my (Marine brethren) had faced decades ago .

I’ve seen his type before. Excruciatingly technical. Zero people skills. They suffer from some mutation of (Aspergerger Syndrom), one that makes them appear normal, except when challenged. So smart that they are stupid, as they say in Texas. I worked with a guy like that at the Fountain Valley contract, another contract programmer that had pulled a typical geek bitchslap when he had emailed me, and a dozen of our closest colleagues, to inform us that he thought I was a big idiot because I dared to disagree with him about some technical minutia.

My geekdar, like (gaydar), started squawking. I tried to get over my initial impressions. We made small talk. Geek small talk is not like normal small talk:

“Yeah, there’s some cool stuff in 2.0.”
“Yeah, have you tried the object data source?”
“No, but the master pages are nice”
“Yeah. And Atlas is cool”
“That new grid view is way better than the old control”

And then it was time to wrap up the small talk. “I look forward to working with you,” I said.

“We’ll see about that,” he responded, grinning. Or smirking. Whatever. He left.

“We’ll see about” ?! What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Cocky smart-ass, I thought. Typical hot-shot young developer. Binary mentality (I am smart, therefore you are stupid).

I could deal with him, I reasoned. I started to fell like a Tunnel Rat, being lowered into the hole to face Charlie.

But I kept thinking of a scene from the Big Lebowski. “The man in the black pajamas, Dude. Worthy fuckin' adversary,” Walter Shobak had said about guys like Charlie.


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