The Project of an Intern By Carl Doersch Milestone 0 Life, in the corporate world, at least according to common knowledge, is something like a ladder. At the moment it seemed convenient to view my life that way. My right foot was on the first rung, even if it was my left foot, on the solid ground of my Freshman year in college, that held most of my weight. But every fiber of my being was ready to shift my weight onto my right foot, to perform, to gain respect, and to move upward. Yet today began in a blue-carpeted conference room with about fifteen other interns, listening to a presentation. And I realized how awful this first day would be. I realized that my superiors would be deciding what kind of an asset I would be to the company, and yet the only way to impress them would be to show politeness and attention. Politeness and attention are social skills; like any good computer scientist, I don't consider social skills to be my greatest asset. According to the presentation, our company was one of the largest paper manufacturers in the world, providing some of the paper that the state government used for tax forms. This fact was of little consequence to me since an IT department handles only electronic information. An IT employee's job is roughly the same whether the company manufacturers paper or burns paper with the rest of the garbage. But I paid attention to the presentation through its end, as there was no way to guarantee it would be entirely useless. Afterward, the whole group returned to the building's main lobby where, after a brief wait, Stella found me. She must have read my name tag, because I couldn't remember speaking to her outside of email. Stella was the CIO's secretary--CIO, meaning the guy who runs the IT department--but Stella's apparent second function was as a question-answerer and guide for new recruits. We exchanged introductory phrases; she instructed me to follow her; and then she started talking about her first days at the company 30 years ago. It was obvious that she could talk until we reached the IT department, and I doubted I would need to remember anything she said. I just did my best to be polite and attentive; rather, I used her to practice being polite and attentive, so that eventually it would require less effort. We walked through the sparkling glass doors and the lush gardens of the main entrance and on into the sweltering, barren parking lot that ran alongside the building. The entrance we headed for, nearly at the other end of the building's facade, was decorated only by a steel overhang, there to keep people from entering with open umbrellas. Inside the doors, Stella and I found ourselves at one end of a positively enormous hallway. The hallway had already been discussed on the introductory tour; it was exactly a quarter of a mile long--long enough that employees often walked its length just for the sake of exercise. In fact, I could see an exerciser--a short man with a brown mustache--walking quickly and mechanically, as if he had walked the corridor's length hundreds of times before. The floor was a plain blue slab; its walls were painted plain white. The roof had pipes and wires sticking out of it. But despite its plainness, its sheer length made it somehow amazing. But we spent hardly any time there; before we had traveled more than a few feet, Stella and I turned into a side door. The door led into a maze of cubicles, with walls of tan fabric matching the tan carpet. I tried my best to remember the path we took, but after three turns I started losing count of the numerous alleyways that intersected with our own, all of which seemed the same to me. That was how I nearly ran into someone. It was clearly my mistake, and I managed a hurried "sorry" and an attempt at stepping around the uncomfortably close man, but Stella had stopped just in front of me, making it impossible to move forward. Immediately on one side was the hulking body, stopped short; on the other side was the man's trajectory, which, if I stepped into it, would lead to further awkwardness. In all, I spent nearly three seconds with my body just inches from his, before I simply forced myself to step backward. Then Stella introduced me to the man. He was Ben, and he would be my mentor for the summer. "Hello Richard," said Ben softly. "Hello," I replied, wondering whether there was more to say, and knowing I sounded awkward. Stella merely smiled approvingly. "Of course," continued Stella, "Ben is going to be your mentor for this summer, so if you have any questions--well, he should have all the answers." Ben was probably in his early 30's; his hair was dark, matching his short goatee. Like everyone else, his dress was "business casual;" in his case, a dark blue polo shirt with tan slacks. As for his expression--perhaps he found it boring to nearly collide with others in the hallway, for I couldn't discern anything in it. "Well, I have some other things to take care of, so--can you take it from here?" Stella said to Ben. "Sure," said Ben, in the same quiet tone. Stella turned back to me. "Well, if you need anything else from me, just let me know, alright? Now, I have to be off, so I'll see you later." With that, she walked briskly down the alley between the cubicles without looking back. I turned to Ben, not entirely sure how to make conversation with him. "Our supervisor isn't in today," said Ben. "So you might as well meet the rest of the group." He indicated the alley from which he had come. "Wait--our supervisor's not in today?" I objected. It was my first day, after all. "Yes, exactly," Ben answered unenthusiastically. He made it sound like there was nothing to be surprised about. Ben turned, and I hesitated a moment before following. Unless I was completely turned around, Ben was leading me back in the general direction from which I had come. Perhaps Stella hadn't been leading me to the group. Ben didn't say anything; in fact, after a few moments of walking, the silence between us began to feel awkward. I tried my hardest to think of a topic that both of us would know something about. At last I came up with, "So--where did you go to college?" "Same place you did," came his curt reply. I could tell he wasn't making any effort at conversation, so I stopped trying. Instead, I wondered how well Ben had done at my school--I had known several very bright people there, and Ben seemed different from all of them. I began to fear that we might never get along. Ben stopped at the entrance to a cubicle. The cubicle itself was square, about fifteen feet on a side, and had a desk in each corner. I assumed its three occupants were the other members of our group. They were all working hard, and Ben hesitated at the entrance as if deciding whether it was worthwhile to interrupt them. I took the opportunity to study the cubicle. Every desk had a name tag pinned the cubicle wall beside it. Ben's name was hung beside the far desk on the right side. Clockwise from there, a corner was designated for Rachel, Franklin, and Rob respectively. Rachel, a woman in her 50's with glasses and a graying, tightly-wrapped bun of hair, sat at her desk. Franklin's desk was empty, but a tall, scrawny, brown-haired man, in his 50's and wearing thick-rimmed glasses, stood behind Rob. He must be Franklin. Finally, Rob's desk was occupied by a wide old man with fuzzy, silvery hair, an enormous white beard and glasses. For a moment, I was reminded forcibly of Santa, although Santa cared more about his appearance and didn't wear "business casual." The desks themselves were unremarkable; in fact, each desk top was empty except for a computer and, if the desk was in use, perhaps a small number of papers. At college, the only person I knew who kept his desk so organized was myself; in this small way, I felt like I was fitting in. A few seconds passed in silence before Franklin noticed Ben and me. Then, in a surprisingly nasal voice, he said to Rob, "Maybe Ben would know." "Hey Ben--" Rob gargled before clearing his throat, "In Java, do you know what it means when the compiler says 'illegal start of expression,' 'illegal start of type,' and 'semicolon expected' all on the same line?" It seemed Rob hadn't even noticed me. "Umm--depends what the line is," said Ben. Ben and I gathered around Rob's computer screen and examined the computer program that it displayed. After reading the offending line twice, I realized what the problem was; it was similar to a bug I had seen a few months before. But the solution was less obvious to my co-workers. I didn't want to seem pretentious, and indeed, it would be quite humiliating if my solution was incorrect. But I had felt since the moment I had entered the cubicle that I was being ignored--being thought of as an untrained intern with no track record and no influence in the company, and I was already tired of it. I needed to say something soon, but I waited a few moments nonetheless. It wouldn't be a good idea to make them feel inferior. The prescribed moments passed in silence, so I said carefully, "Umm--I think I see what's going wrong here--" and then gave my explanation. For the record, the problem involved an improper declaration of an array literal; it's an easy mistake to make, especially for someone more familiar with C than Java. But that doesn't really matter; the point is that I was right, and I waited for their reaction. They seemed impressed--at least, they all looked at me for a moment. Then Rob made the change, the compiler stopped complaining, and he gave an apathetic cheer. "Dang it, how does that make any more sense than what we were doing?" Franklin said sarcastically. After staring at the screen for another moment, he turned to me and squinted at my name tag. "--Richard--Are you our new intern?" asked Franklin. I immediately answered "Yes," although the next moment I was less than sure it was the correct answer. Our intern? The group didn't own me; I deserved a little more respect than that. But then I reminded myself, companies usually say *our employees*. "Great--that means we can use the computer next to our testing server! I'm Franklin, by the way." A server, of course, is another type of computer. I shook Franklin's hand and listened to Rob and Rachel say their names, even though they had name tags pinned above their heads. But from my co-workers' expressions, I judged that I had made very little impression on them. I wondered where I had gone wrong. "Seems like they've been teaching you some stuff at school," Franklin continued, "Where did you go again?" That was more like it. I told Franklin, and I thought his eyes widened a little when he heard my response. "Heh, no kidding." he said. "Well, I guess you won't be coming back here after the summer, then." Indeed, my school was one to be proud of; I had spent much of my life trying to get in to it. But at that moment it was worth it; Franklin was finally impressed. And I hadn't even needed to tell him my GPA. Rachel then asked how my first day had been going, and I said something generic about liking it here and looking forward to doing some real work. Some dull small-talk later, I eventually asked Ben what I was supposed to work on, and he replied that there were some training courses I needed to take online. I didn't know where my computer was, so he instructed me to follow him. We walked about 20 feet before Ben turned into another quad-cubicle. In the inside left corner was a small, nervous-looking man of perhaps Indian nationality; the name "Param" was pinned on the wall beside him. To his right was an unoccupied and surprisingly messy desk with the name tag "Mac," and to the right of that was another unoccupied desk with the name tag "Richard." I sat down at the "Richard" desk almost instinctively, and logged in to the computer using the password the company had given me. The final desk, across the entrance from my own, was not only unoccupied but had no name tag, although the desk's computer seemed to be running. That must have been the server Franklin had been talking about. Ben left after he had helped me find the training courses. The courses were quite boring, and I found my mind wandering to the conversations I'd had so far. Eventually I remembered Franklin's "you won't be coming back here." I began to question whether he had actually been impressed. It sounded like Franklin wouldn't regret it if I left and never came back. Milestone 1 Life, in the corporate world, at least according to common knowledge, is something like a ladder. If that's the case, where do co-workers and bosses enter the metaphor? I suppose people need to learn how to use ladders by watching somebody else, but after that, people usually climb ladders alone. I was certainly learning at this point in my career, so I guess the metaphor worked well enough for me. Although, even when someone's learning how a ladder works, he or she generally isn't on the ladder at the same time as the teacher, much less the same rung--for that would be awkward. I hadn't slept well the night after my first day; at one point, I simply woke up, became convinced that my co-workers saw me as pretentious, became angry at myself for not realizing it sooner, and then couldn't get back to sleep. After lying awake for an hour I decided I might as well come in early. The company didn't care what hours an employee worked as long as there were 40 of them per week. And traffic was certainly lighter at 7:30 A.M. The only problem was that none of my co-workers were in yet. I had already finished the tutorials, and Ben wasn't around to tell me what to do next. I was left to my own devices--so far, I had explored more of the IT department, filled out a few electronic forms for the Human Resources department, and removed from my computer an odd orange sticker that read "Wiped." Then I had lost my energy; now I was just staring into the space above my cubicle. All I could see was the dropped ceiling and fluorescent lights hanging about ten feet above the cubicle walls. If I stood, I could see over the cubicle walls to the expansive white, cinder block walls standing almost thirty feet away in all directions. Ignoring the tan maze below, it was truly a spacious room. Someone appeared at the cubicle entrance. I leaned forward to make it look like I was doing something useful, silently cursing myself for appearing so worthless. It was only Param, the small Indian I shared my cubicle with; still, rather than wait for him to realize I wasn't working on anything, I decided it would be better to check whether Ben had arrived. Rachel was alone in the cubicle. The moment she noticed me, she started talking about her last vacation spot in Greece, and the ensuing conversation lasted for several minutes. I eventually interrupted her, asking when Ben would be in. Rachel replied, "Oh--he's been standing behind you for about a minute now. I guess you'd better get out of his way." Indeed, I had been blocking the entrance, but Ben should have said something if I was in his way. I hurried to make room for him. "Ah, morning Ben." I said, not entirely sure my tone completely covered my shock. "Well, Rachel, it's been nice talking to you, but I'd better get to it." "Alright, good luck," said Rachel. Ben sat down in his chair and turned on his computer. I started, "Hey Ben--," but another voice interrupted mine. "Hello everyone!--Ah, you've arrived! Welcome to the team. I'm Abe, your supervisor for the summer; great to finally talk to you!" The voice belonged to a blonde-haired man, about the same age as Ben. Abe had already entered the cubicle and shaken my hand. "How was your first day?" asked Abe. I started, "Good--I was--" "Good, good," Abe continued. "Has Ben explained what you're going to be working on this summer?" I momentarily assumed Ben would answer for me, but he didn't. "No--not yet." "Well Ben?" said Abe. "I'm pulling it up now." At last, the project that I would spend the rest of the summer working on was explained. It boiled down to this: whenever a piece of machinery in the paper plant broke, somebody entered all the information about the problem into a computer program called the "electronic Problem Information Communication" (ePIC) system. The program then sent the information to people capable of ordering new parts for the machinery. But, unlike a phone call or an email, the ePIC system would stick the information into a database, where it would stay forever as a record that the problem had been fixed. Of course, as more and more data was entered into the system, the system got slower and slower. It was up to us to build a replacement. Once finished explaining, Abe left immediately, citing some work he needed to do, and gave a parting recommendation that I see his boss at some point. I asked Ben what he wanted to do next, and he returned the question to me like a mirror reflecting light. My suggestion was that we get to know the ePIC system better, since that was our job, and Ben agreed. For the next few hours, we worked. Ben turned out to be a good partner; although he didn't say much, when he did, his words were insightful. As we mapped out the ePIC system, I found he was identifying more than his share of its features. Furthermore, the tone of his voice was somehow relaxing; it was almost fun to work with him. And it seemed Ben was enjoying my company too; I didn't notice any of the animosity the group had shown yesterday. We sat together at his computer, sharing the keyboard and mouse, for the entire morning, yet I never felt like we were in each other's way. Lunch time came just as Ben and I finalized a fake ePIC we had created, concerning a broken pencil, and I asked whether he would like to eat with me. "You mean, in the cafeteria?--I guess that's all right." he replied. "Think we should ask Rachel?" I asked. Rachel was the only one in the cubicle at the moment, but she looked busy. "Wouldn't hurt." "That's all right--I brought my own lunch," said Rachel. "I didn't even know you were allowed to eat at your desk," I said to Ben, as we started through the alleys. "How often do you guys eat in the cafeteria?" "Hardly ever. People say it's too expensive for the quality food you get." "I suppose." Then an odd thought struck me. "Does that mean you brought your own lunch today?" "It won't go bad before I have a chance to eat it," he said simply. I couldn't discern any expression on Ben's face; he wasn't even looking at me. But it was clear that he had agreed to eat at the cafeteria just because I was doing it--meaning, just out of the goodness of his heart, he wanted to keep me company. I felt a little uncomfortable; I didn't know whether it made sense to thank him. After a few more moments of silence, I remembered what Abe had said before. I wanted the silence be broken. "Didn't Abe say something about meeting his boss?" "Oh, yeah. Do you want to do that now? His office is more or less on the way." "Sure." We entered the quarter-mile hallway. My amazement at its size still hadn't completely worn off--perhaps it had even grown. It was a single corridor that ran through the heart of the building, I mused; it connected the IT department with the production floor and the rest of the company. Maybe the CEO even had an office not too far from it. I stared down its length and caught a glimpse of a mustached man, walking quickly towards us from the other end. It was hard to tell--the man looked tiny from where I was--but he seemed to be exercising like yesterday. For an odd moment, I wondered whether the management offices were all the way where he was. "This way." Ben's words pulled me back to reality; it had been ridiculous to think that the IT department's management would be at the other end of the building. By my estimation, we had barely passed the massive wall at the end of the department's cubicles. We turned left again, into a small blue-carpeted corridor. And here; for the first time I could remember, Ben spoke without being asked a direct question. "You looked inspired for a moment there." The words jolted me. He must have been referring to me spacing out in the quarter-mile corridor. Had I really been so obvious? For a horrible moment, I imagined Ben thinking I was artsy. "I think that corridor has the tendency to inspire, anyway." Ben continued. He said no more on the subject. I couldn't understand what he was thinking. I finally concluded that Ben wasn't the type to judge harshly--but still, what an odd remark. I needed to watch myself more closely. I couldn't forget--my reputation was still virtually nonexistent. Well--perhaps my reputation with Ben wasn't nonexistent anymore. About halfway down the corridor, Ben stopped and knocked on one of the doors. Then we waited. Nearly a minute later, a voice from within commanded us to enter. The man was named Gene, according to the sign that stood beside a number of photographs of a family on his desk. The room was decorated with several plants I couldn't identify. Gene looked several years older than Ben, and he wore a suit instead of "business casual." He got right down to business. Or maybe it only seemed that way because Ben and I were silent for a moment. "Well?" said Gene. Why had Ben even agreed to mentor an intern when he wouldn't even introduce me to his boss's boss? I forced myself to speak. "Eh--Hi, I'm Richard. This is my second day working here and, well, we thought we might stop by so that we could, uh, meet each other." "I see" said Gene. He stood up and shook my hand. "Thanks for bringing him over here...Umm..." "This is Ben...he works in my group." I couldn't believe I was introducing him. "Ben, right. Now--is there anything in particular you wanted to talk about?" I was starting to wonder myself; for some odd reason, I had expected Ben to lead the conversation. There was something in Gene's tone which made me feel we were interrupting him. Gene and I looked at Ben. "No, I think that's all," Ben responded quietly. "I look forward to working with you," I said, before we were ushered out. "Yeah, you too. See you later," said Gene. "See you later," I said. Once Gene's door had closed behind us, I turned to Ben and said sarcastically, "You couldn't have introduced us, could you." "Richard, I'm sorry." In Ben's softness, I sensed a little regret. "I've never really enjoyed talking to him--he just--never seems to have the patience to talk to people like me." I hadn't meant to criticize Ben. For an instant, I felt sorry for him. But then I remembered, managers are busy people--of course they don't enjoy it if people waste their time. I wasn't sure what to feel. Over the next half hour, Ben and I ate a silent lunch. But as soon as we were walking back through the quarter-mile corridor, Ben surprised me again by starting a conversation. He asked me whether I had ever studied philosophy in school. I hadn't, but Ben had taken a few courses. He barely had a chance to elaborate before we were working again. All afternoon we focused on the ePIC system, now by examining the code that made it work. But the philosophy conversation kept re-emerging whenever we waited more than a few seconds for a machine to process something. I was wondering which course to take to fill the philosophy requirement at my school. Ben tended to ask me what I thought of the subject matter. And as the day came to a close, Ben revealed that he had considered majoring in philosophy. When I asked him why he hadn't, he said, "My parents convinced me--apparently there's no money in understanding what humans live for." Then, as Rob was walking past us to leave, he stopped to listen to our conversation. After a moment, he said through his twitching beard, "Are you seriously thinking of becoming a philosopher, Richard?" "I don't know--I hadn't considered it before today, but I think Ben may have expanded my horizons--" "Heh--I could imagine--Ben as a Greek philosopher, Richard as Ben's student--Heh, see you tomorrow." Rob left hurriedly. I wondered aloud, "Greek? Why--" But then I remembered Rachel, and her recent vacation in Greece. "Probably because Greek philosophers had sex with their students," Ben said. Ben's expression was completely neutral; he didn't even take his eyes off the computer screen. But it was certainly no joke; it must have been the meaning Rob had intended. I was stunned; I felt myself blushing slightly. What had I been doing all day? I was too comfortable with Ben, and it meant I was losing everyone else's respect. Come to think of it, I had even allowed Ben to embarrass me in front of my boss's boss. Or maybe it was something else--my co-workers saw my skill, and my relationship with Ben, and Ben's skill, as threats. I was such a fool. My co-workers were my competitors, but for some reason I was seriously pursuing their respect. No wonder I wasn't gaining any ground. Their respect was meaningless. It was my bosses, Abe and Gene, that I should try to impress. The next day I brought my own lunch, and ate it in my cubicle. Milestone 2 Life, in the corporate world, at least according to common knowledge, is something like a ladder. A ladder with many people on it at the same time. I suppose that isn't so impossible; I wouldn't be surprised if there's some game show, involving people racing to do ridiculous things to win money, where one of the obstacles is a single ladder that all contestants must climb. Contestants are allowed to slow down the other climbers; that sort of physical contact between men isn't considered awkward. But there's still a problem with the metaphor. For our money, our managers generally don't want us to do ridiculous things and make our viewers laugh. In fact, I can't imagine who would be watching us in the first place. Today, the Monday of the sixth week of my internship, had started, as usual, alone in my cubicle. I had run out of things to do, hence leaving me to bizarre thoughts. Param, who normally sat directly behind me, wasn't in yet; in fact, he had been out all last week, presumably on vacation. Mac wasn't in either, although that was to be expected. Mac was one of the oldest people I had ever seen, but his functioning was the opposite of what an old person's ought to be--he came in late, usually around noon, meaning he must leave after the janitors do; he didn't comply with the clean-desk policy that kept all of my co-workers organized; he even had a radio beside his desk which played classical music while he worked. I had never talked to Mac, or Param for that matter, but Ben apparently knew Mac fairly well. Ben had once said that Mac was quite dedicated to the company; he had been an employee since he had gotten out of college. Bored with thoughts of my cubicle mates, I then thought about how I still wasn't completely used to working here. I knew the routine, but it was a very different routine from college. I didn't take my work home with me the way I had in college; nor did I take my goals, or my problems. At work, there was no need to think seriously about what I did outside, and outside they didn't pay me to think about what I did in here. It was as if the me that existed inside the company vanished and became somebody else the moment I left the building. Thankfully, thoughts like these were becoming less and less common in my head. I was becoming more and more focused on my goal; my plan to make my bosses recognize me. It was simple; I just had to do a good job on the ePIC system. The new version of the program would astound Abe and Gene--at least, I hoped it would. And today was an important day in achieving this goal; I needed to stay focused today. First of all, I needed to talk to Ben, who was helping me with the project. Hence I had come to Ben's cubicle, hoping he might have arrived, but only Rachel was there. I was habitually coming in early to avoid traffic on the roads, but this meant that, in the mornings, it was usually just Rachel and me. I would often come to Ben's cubicle around the time when he normally arrived, but if he wasn't there I would always get sucked into a conversation with Rachel. Needless to say, I tried my hardest to guess Ben's arrival time precisely. Rachel was talking about England now, or she had been--maybe she's talking about an economist now. Probably an English economist. Rachel knew a lot of things. "He said one of my favorite quotes," said Rachel, "'It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest. We address ourselves, not to their humanity but to their self-love, and never talk to them of our own necessities but of their advantages.' It means that you and I don't have to worry about other people. We just care about ourselves, and capitalism makes sure everyone's happy." The economist Rachel spoke of sounded a bit like my father. The reasoning made sense. "Well said," Abe broke in. Abe had a habit of appearing suddenly to see what we his group members were doing. "Don't feel like doing work today, Richard?" I was no longer surprised by Abe's questions. He simply wanted to know why my conversation with Rachel--that is, our lapse in productivity--had occurred. I was the one who wasn't sitting at a computer, so it was my job to explain. I knew the procedure well. "I wanted to show Ben something." "Hmm--he usually gets in around now--" That was incorrect; he usually gets in about seven and a half minutes ago, plus or minus three and a half minutes. "--anyway, you guys are going to be ready for your milestone meeting, right?" The milestone meeting--that was what made the day important. It was the second milestone for the ePIC project, and the first milestone meeting I would attend. The first milestone had technically been completed the moment the company had prepared people, money, and a requirements document for the project. It had happened not long after my arrival, but it hadn't really been relevant to me. However, today's milestone meeting was certainly relevant to me; Ben and I were to give a presentation that would hopefully show management that our project was on track. I felt that, given the work we had put in, management was bound to be impressed. I answered Abe confidently, "We'll be fine, assuming Ben gets here before then." "What's that--you don't think you could do it on your own?" asked Abe. I hadn't anticipated that question; in fact, I wasn't even sure Abe was being serious. "Eh--well, I guess I probably could--" I answered ambiguously. "Well, don't overexert yourself." Abe turned to Rachel. "So Rachel--do you think you could show me that problem you've been having?" I felt I was being ignored again. "I'd be glad to," replied Rachel. With that, Abe and Rachel left toward Abe's cubicle. I sat down in Ben's chair, wondering whether I should try to be more independent of Ben, as Abe suggested. After a few minutes, Franklin arrived. "Morning." I said. "Morning." There was little feeling in the greeting for either of us, but that was normal. I had been at odds with Franklin and Rob since joining the company. As far as I could tell, there were two reasons. First, I was more talented than Rob or Franklin and they both knew it. Second, Franklin and Rob were assigned to a project that was very similar to mine, hence making it easy for Abe to compare our performances. The basic idea behind their project was this: whenever someone on the factory floor had an idea about how to make the manufacturing process more efficient, he would enter the information about his idea into a computer program called the "electronic Candidate for Hardware Optimization" system. The program then sent the information to people who could facilitate the idea, and stored the information in a database, and so forth. From an IT point of view, there was only one difference between the eCHO system and the ePIC system: if the machine was working before it broke, then an ePIC would be written; if the system was broken to begin with, then an eCHO would be written. Functionally, the programs underlying the ePIC and eCHO systems were nearly identical, and although the managers on the factory floor hadn't realized that the systems were similar enough to be combined, Abe certainly had. He had assigned the two projects with identical time frames, and at the end of the project I was sure he would compare the two programs to discover who was the best employee. A few moments passed without a word between Franklin and me, and then Ben arrived, at last. I gave him my usual greeting before saying that I had made a few changes to our presentation slides. Half of me was relieved that Ben had arrived, and the other half was disappointed that Abe wouldn't see me presenting on my own. As we polished our slides and speeches over the next half hour, I steadily tried to increase my role in the presentation. I had never felt confident giving presentations, but it was far worse to seem unimportant. The conference room for the meeting was near Gene's office, off of that blue-carpeted corridor beside the IT department. Ben and I traveled there entirely too slowly for my taste; as we walked through the quarter-mile corridor, an exerciser--in fact, the same mustached exerciser who always seemed to be in the corridor when I visited--was demonstrating, through his practiced, mechanical movements, the speed we should have been capable of. Ben disliked walking quickly. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Ben and I had little in common. After my second day, my frustration with his personality had grown ceaselessly. He didn't seem concerned with what the company thought of him. It wasn't that he didn't work hard--his lack of concern expressed itself in more odd ways. For example, I couldn't remember him ever smiling, not even when it was required for business etiquette. The majority of the conference room was taken up by a large table with probably 20 chairs around it, but there was just enough space in one corner for a desk with a computer and telephone. A projector hung from the ceiling. Otherwise, the room was empty. I hastened to set up the computer for our presentation. After another few moments, Franklin and Rob appeared. I had assumed that they, like Ben and I, were completing a milestone today and needed to give a presentation. Abe arrived five minutes later, just moments before the scheduled start time, and said shortly, "Rob and Franklin, are you guys okay going first?" Rob and Franklin agreed, so Abe picked up the telephone's handset, set it aside, and dialed a number. A moment later, the voice of Gene, Abe's boss, was heard from the room's speakers. "Hello?" "Hey Gene. Can you hear us all right?" asked Abe. "Yeah. And I got your presentations in front of me. I'm ready any time," replied Gene. "Alright, go for it Rob," said Abe. And with that, Rob began. He wasn't a very good presenter, but I made myself pay attention; there was a chance I would learn something, and, more importantly, it took my mind off my own presentation. I was steadily remembering how much I disliked public speaking. The presentation lessened my nervousness more than I could ever have guessed; the feeling was replaced, unexpectedly, by rage at the content of Rob's presentation. Rob's program was simply too similar to my own to be possible--one by one, Rob presented features that were identical to the ones Ben and I had implemented. By the end of the presentation, it was clear in my mind; Rob and Franklin must have copied what Ben and I had written. Then, it was time for my presentation. There was no time for me to re-think what I was going to say; I simply made a fool of myself, restating everything that Rob and Franklin had already said. I could barely contain my humiliation, but I forced my voice to remain even. When it was over, neither Abe nor Gene made any comments. They had no way to know which team had copied the other, although I would have been astounded if they hadn't noticed. And until they knew who the cheater was, they would never appreciate the work I had done. I wanted justice. I was certain there was something in the company policy about giving credit where it was due. But first, I needed proof. As I left the presentation, the planning consumed me. Milestone 3 Life, in the corporate world, at least according to common knowledge, is something like a ladder. Sometimes people need to leave the ladder. They rarely jump off of their own accord, and, for some reason, even less often do they climb down the painless way. Hence, it is often necessary for another climber, usually one higher up but not necessarily, to help with the removal process. Today marked the third milestone, Friday of the twelfth week of my internship, one week before I would leave the company. And today, Rob and Franklin wouldn't outshine me. I had finished the project more perfectly than would ever have been allowed with Ben's laid-back working style. Every component of the project had been designed so that it could be explained, in glorious detail, at this meeting. I had already presented first, and my presentation had gone flawlessly. Now it was Rob and Franklin's turn, and, as expected, they were presenting a project nearly identical to mine. But there was one difference. A difference that they didn't even know about yet. One change I had made just minutes before the presentation, which they wouldn't have had enough time to copy. I still didn't know how they had been copying my work, nor had I actually proven yet that they were copying. But I would prove it today, in a way that would make the point perfectly clear to Abe and Gene. The difference was a bug; a bug deep inside the system that I had added intentionally a few days after the second milestone. There was a single input that would cause the system to fail, and I knew exactly what that input was. Until a few minutes before the presentation, the bug was present in both systems, but I had changed my system, the ePIC system, just minutes before the presentation to eliminate the bug. Franklin and Rob couldn't have had enough time to copy the fix. Rob finished the presentation and asked, "Any questions?" It would be awkward to say this, but I needed to forget such feelings for now. This was the best chance I would get. "There was this one odd input," I cut in, "that was giving our program trouble a few weeks ago--took me kind of a while to figure it out and fix it." It was actually only a few minutes ago that I had fixed it, but they needn't know that. "I was wondering how your program handles it." I gave instructions, and Rob hesitantly followed them. He entered data into his program, and submitted the data for processing. The room watched the screen behind him, all except Gene who was watching from somewhere else. And a second later, when the response still hadn't come back, I knew that my bug had been triggered. The response should have come back immediately. Now I had my proof. It was a simple matter of forcing Abe to see the dishonesty. I continued, careful to add an apologetic tone to my voice, "Actually--come to think of it, I guess it's pretty unlikely that your program would have the same problem as mine--the problem was really caused by something unusual I was doing in the code--in fact, I can't imagine this being a problem unless you used my exact code--That's really odd" For the screen now showed: Internal Processing Error. One of the worst messages that can be displayed during any presentation in an IT department. It seemed much of the color had drained from Franklin and Rob's faces, although the dim lighting made it difficult to tell. "Well, Abe, that's very interesting." said the disembodied voice of Gene. "Don't worry--I'm sure we'll figure out what happened here and fix it." replied Abe coolly. The presentation ended soon afterwards, without another word on the failure. It sounded like Abe knew what I knew--or at least, he would figure it out soon enough. I had virtually won; Abe would soon recognize that I had been more productive, not to mention more honest, than Franklin and Rob. With a feeling of victory in my chest and Ben at my heels, I walked back through the giant main corridor, quickly enough to keep pace with the mustached exerciser ahead of me, who I had now seen so often that it seemed like he was just a decoration in the corridor. Did that man ever do real work? When I reached my cubicle, it was empty. It was still too early for my ancient cubicle-mate, although there were still papers all over his desk. I wished he would take his job more seriously, especially since people saw his desk every time they visited me. The Indian hadn't been in since a week before the second milestone. There was now an orange sticker on his computer, reading "Wiped." A few minutes later, Abe stopped by my cubicle. We exchanged our usual greeting, and then Abe said what he came to say. "Well, Richard, that was an interesting stunt you pulled." My insides froze. Stunt, Abe had said? He seemed angry, and I didn't know why. I wondered whether I should try to calm him down. "I was just trying to see--" "Whether Rob and Franklin had copied off you guys? Well they had, and I've known that for months." I was stunned. "You knew--?" "I had originally wanted to have you develop the programs separately, thus I could compare the programs you guys came up with. I suppose that's what you've been thinking all along." Abe said with a smile. "But a little while after you started, something more important came up that I wanted Rob and Franklin to do." And Abe hadn't told Gene--rather, Abe had told Rob to keep the copying a secret--because Abe wanted it to seem like the group was doing one more project than it actually was.. "For future reference, don't make any more unfounded assumptions. Discuss things with me first." I couldn't believe it; I had only shown Gene what the group was actually doing, and I had embarrassed Abe because if it. I felt that the recommendation, which I had planned to ask Abe for next week, was slipping away from me. I apologized, trying to sound as sincere as I could. "Sorry--I'll try to remember to do that in the future." "Well, don't think too hard about it," Abe brushed off my apology. I didn't see Abe for the next few hours. I tweaked the ePIC program, occasionally asking Ben for his ideas. I ate lunch around midday. Late in the afternoon, Abe appeared again at my cubicle and asked me to accompany him. We walked in silence to the cubicle where the rest of the group was, and then Abe started giving a speech. "Everyone, could I please have your attention for a moment?" As he said this, he walked across the cubicle, turned, and leaned his back against the inner wall. "The department has decided that we need to reduce the workforce again, and we didn't get out of it this time. Rob--that meeting you're going to in five minutes--everyone that goes to that meeting is getting cut. I'm sorry." But there was little apology in his tone. The group stared at Abe, and Rob cowered with hunched shoulders as if the words were projectiles hurled at him. His posture should have made him look small and scared, but Rob was too fat. He simply looked wider. "I've always done my best to make sure my superiors know how productive our group is," Abe continued, no longer addressing Rob. "I still think they see us as one of the best groups in the company. The fact is, we didn't lose Rob because management thinks our group should be smaller. We lost him because Rob was doing something dishonest; copying code and not giving credit where it was due." Abe glanced in my direction, as if accusing me. "The rest of you don't need to worry about your jobs, unless you're doing something dishonest.--You don't know anything about what Rob was doing, right Franklin?" "No--Nothing at all." Franklin answered instantly, without meeting Abe's eyes. "The company is still doing well;" Abe continued, "The CEO believes that we'll get out of this slump shortly. But still, if any of you feel you'd like to talk to me about this, I'll be in the usual place." With that, Abe brushed past me and out of the cubicle, leaving a stunned silence behind him. After a moment, everyone except Rob went back to work. Rob just sat still, with his hand on his forehead, as if nauseated. I knew I ought to return to my cubicle, but I had suddenly remembered that recurring thought, which I had all but forgotten since the second milestone. There was a person that existed only inside the company--a person with different goals, different relationships, and different thoughts than the person outside. For some strange reason, I felt I was witnessing the last moments of one such person--the Rob that existed inside this company--and suddenly I felt I didn't want to leave him. Then Rob stood and walked forward toward me, at a frightening pace. I shifted to get out of his way, but he stopped halfway across the cubicle. It seemed he wanted to say something, and I was the only one around who wasn't doing anything. With eyes on the floor, he said, in a voice barely audible and strangely high-pitched, "So that's it. I can't believe it--Ben--actually outlasted me. I'll never understand him." I had no idea what he wanted to hear; I simply remained silent. Rob turned his eyes toward me; they were opened unnaturally wide. "You know, Richard, maybe you can learn something from Ben. I remember one time, Ben refused a raise--he said, 'I don't want to have to deserve that.' That's why they keep him around, see." He gave a short chuckle. Then he, too, brushed past me and out into the alleyway. I watched him until he turned a corner, and then started slowly back to my own cubicle, not sure how to take in the scene I had just witnessed. It made me feel sad--confused, somehow. I wondered whether there was something I could have done differently. I had tried my very hardest to be a good employee; I had used my brain to its fullest potential; but all my work had amounted to nothing. As it was, Abe probably wouldn't even write me a recommendation. But I started to feel a little better as I reminded myself that this was only an internship. I was going to be as sophomore in the fall. There were better companies out there than this one, and they were certain to appreciate my talent more than this one had. Release Candidate Life, in the corporate world, is not something worth constructing metaphors about. It is better to understand it logically, to let go of the things that bother you. After all, nobody can escape corporations, for they create everything humans use. We must live with what we have. The Monday after Rob left, a janitor came in and emptied his desk. Tuesday morning, an orange sticker appeared on Rob's computer that read "Wiped." Nobody ever said a word about him anymore, and we were happier for it. I, too, stopped thinking about him. Soon, I felt like I had patched up my relationship with Abe; I knew I had produced a good product, and, moreover, I felt like the internship had changed me for the better. Rocky though it may have been, I had ultimately succeeded, and my resume had improved. On Friday, the last day of my internship, I came into the building thinking only of the final checks that I should make to my program. As I passed between the cubicles, I watched a janitor replace a light bulb, before stepping down the ladder that had helped him get to the ceiling. When I reached my cubicle, I was surprised to find that my ancient cubicle-mate was already there, with his head down on the desk. He appeared to be asleep. The music was still playing on his radio, and his desk was as messy as ever. I remembered what Ben had said; this man had, for most of his life, worked his hardest for the company. What an interesting definition of hard work Ben had. This man's habits had always bothered me; people would always notice him whenever they visited me, and I always felt they connected me with him in their heads. It was my last day. I could tell him what hard work actually was, bring him back in line with the corporate vision, and nothing he did afterward could affect me. "Hey--excuse me--" I said. He didn't budge. I didn't want to say anything louder because it might disturb other employees, so I walked over and tapped his shoulder. "Hey--wake up." Still no response. His clothes were cold to the touch. I had never seen anyone sleep this deeply; old people were quite something else. I pushed harder, and still nothing happened. I was about to shout at him--justifying the potential noise with the thought that it was really his fault for being such a stubborn sleeper--and then I had a funny thought. I put my hand on his neck to find his pulse. There was no need to find a pulse; his neck was cold as stone. I stood frozen for a second, then jerked my hand away, then stood frozen for several more seconds. What was I supposed to do? Obviously the company had never told me what should happen when a co-worker dies, but clearly I needed to do something. I should talk to one of my superiors. Abe wouldn't be in yet, but Gene probably would. I hurried into the quarter-mile corridor, wondering how I could best explain the situation to Gene. But before I had taken ten steps a short, mustached exerciser walked by in the other direction, and completely threw off my train of thought, even though I had seen him so many times before. How such a person exist? He moved mechanically, endlessly through the corridor, as if oblivious to anything that went on in the company, certainly oblivious to the dead person in my cubicle. I felt like I was missing something. It was early in the morning; I was too damn tired. I didn't want to think about it anymore. I waited outside of Gene's door for a minute before he told me to enter. When I did, I immediately noticed how much lower the office ceiling was than the ceiling in the cubicles. The room seemed far too small, and I was too damn tired. I was at a loss for words. "Well?" Gene asked. I swallowed, then forced myself to speak. "There's a--dead guy in my cubicle!" Gene stared at me, as if wondering whether this was some kind of prank. I didn't feel like being laughed at, so I forced myself to explain. "T-that guy--the one who sits to my left--" I couldn't even remember his name! I had never used or even thought about his name, so I hadn't retained it. "--he was slumped over on his desk when I came in, and--there wasn't--any pulse." I said. It would take longer to explain how I had come to realize his body was cold. Gene relaxed, as if accepting the story, he calmly replied, "Call health services. They'll know what to do." Of course. Why hadn't I thought of that? I answered apologetically, "Right--I'll do that. Thank you." Gene eyes were already back on his computer screen. As the door closed behind me, I felt annoyed at myself. I had overreacted. I had probably made a fool of myself in front of Gene yet again. The death of a cubicle-mate wasn't such a big deal. When I felt sufficiently calm, I started back toward the cubicles, using my normal traveling gate, not paying attention to the hallway around me, or to anything else in particular. Before I knew it, I was back in the quarter-mile corridor. And that small, mustached exerciser was walking right beside me, in lock step, as if the two of us were members of a marching band. My legs seemed to seize up the moment I noticed him. Stopped, with my attention returned to the hallway, I suddenly felt I again felt I was missing something. And after a moment, I remembered what it was. Once when I had been in this corridor, I had thought about how it connected everyone in the company. It even connected the IT department to the factory floor. But nobody here thought of it that way; everyone in the company cared only for themselves. Everyone who came through this corridor walked with a purpose as empty as that of the mustached man, now striding mechanically away from me. Then I remembered the corpse in my cubicle. Would my life end with a cubicle-mate, who I barely know, calling health services to get rid of my body? I felt--I *knew*--that my life was different from his, but the whole time I walked back through the cubicles I tried to explain to myself what the differences were, and I couldn't. And then, when I arrived at my cubicle, Ben was sitting in my chair, as if to make sure I couldn't sit down. I didn't know what to say to him. Ben didn't seem to mind my silent stare. After a moment, he said quietly, "I've already called health services. I've called Mac's family too--although, they almost seemed happy to be rid of him." That thought seemed to both disappoint and amuse him. I didn't know how to reply, or even what to do with myself with Ben sitting there in my chair. Ben suddenly seemed so certain; he had known what to do and had done it calmly; and, even though I had learned everything the company had told me, even though I was smarter and a better leader than Ben, maybe, I thought, it was worthwhile to try to understand Ben anyway. Perhaps it was simply from awe that I didn't know what to say. And Ben sensed my uncertainty. "Are you going to be alright? You can talk to me, you know." And oddly, even though I listened my hardest, I could find no contempt in his voice, or any feeling of victory. I felt like I wanted to say something, but I couldn't find the words. Ben seemed now somehow different from the rest of the company, and I was wondering why. But I couldn't explain what I meant. We stood for almost a minute without saying anything. I stared at Mac's body feeling that, if only I had known his name yesterday, it might not hurt so much to look at him. And finally, I asked, "Ben--why is it that you work here?" "As opposed to someplace where my skills would be appreciated more?" he replied, in his usual quiet tone, "Because the employees at the smarter companies, I've found, are only better at deceiving themselves." Then I noticed--Ben was smiling, for the first time since the beginning of my internship. Or perhaps the smile was just so small that, had I ever seen it before, I'm sure I would not have noticed it.