Month: July 2005

Joan the Programmer

I’m entertaining friends in the rumpus room when I hear mum’s call.

“Joan!”

“What, mum?”

Dad rushes down the stairs, holding the phone before him. “It’s Jason,” he says grimly. “He says it’s an emergency.”

I put the phone to my ear.

“Joan!” comes Jason’s frantic voice. “You need to do some emergency programming!”

“Huh?!”

“There’s a problem in Western Australia. Go up to my room and turn on my laptop.”

Confused, I run upstairs.

“What’s going on, Jason?”

“Is the laptop on? You need to open up muvision. It’s a black and yellow icon. Now find the file called ‘main.c’. Go up to the top and scroll down until you reach the function called ‘main’.”

“Function?” I reach back into my hazy past and recall ‘Engineering Programming’ (ie. Java for Dummies).

“Find the ‘while’ loop… It’ll have the word ‘while’ in it.”

“Jason, I have a bunch of computer scientists, mathematicians and electrical engineers downstairs. Do you want to talk to them?”

“No, Joan. You can do it.” He believes in me.

“There’s a line with 2000 or 20000 in it. Do you see it?”

“Yes.”

“Read it to me, every character.”

I hear the intense concentration of silence as I read each letter, square bracket and space. After my litany, he instructs me to make changes.

“Now compile it, Joan.”

“Compile,” I murmur. I look for the ‘compile’ button.

“It’s in the top left. It looks like a pile of paper.”

I click it cautiously. Suddenly, a stream of sentences fills the window at the bottom of the screen. Thankfully, there are none of these “bugs” of which Jason tells me. Jason then leads me through finding the file on the hard disk, renaming it, then compressing it.

As I do this, I think of my guests downstairs, who are probably wondering where their host has disappeared to.

“Now put it on a USB disk and email it from the main computer.”

I fumble with my USB disk (which I normally use to transfer Microsoft Word files), then finally email it to Western Australia.

“Thanks, Joan. I hope that works. Bye.” The dial tone tells me it is over.

Budget on the run

Last week, I spent some days on a demolition site. In my role as “professional engineer”, I had the arduous task of watching trucks drive by, then writing down their number plates and arrival time.

Sometimes, an hour would go by without excitement. Naturally, I decided to use the time to work out a budget for my life. I pulled out my pen and paper and carefully scribed down my income and expenditure per week. I worked out my monthly and annual costs and divided them by 4 and 52 as was appropriate.

I did long division.

(Later on, I recalled that my fancy mobile phone also has a calculator for times such as these, when you want to work out your net worth on the run.)

“Hey, what are you doing?” The foreman peered curiously at my scribblings.

“I’m making a budget,” I replied helpfully. “I want to work out how much money I can save every week.”

He began reading my list. “Food, board, transport, holidays, opera… Opera?

“Yeah. Of course,” I said. “Opera costs money, you know.”

I am Woman

Yesterday, six of us went to a Thai restaurant to celebrate the end of the last audit. Celebratory dinners seem to have become a tradition.

The food was flavoursome and the conversation was extremely stimulating. I was surrounded by five of the most intelligent, experienced and wise people I know.

Yet, the discussion made me feel… sad. Critical thinking, such a driver and tool for scientific and social advancement, makes me sad.

Those older and wiser than me explained why our company, despite the progressive field we work in, does not encourage innovation and change. It’s our systems, it’s the nature of the consulting industry. Where time is exactly equivalent to money, it is a battle to even allow time to think further than one financial year into the future.

Don’t tell me that, please. Don’t warn me of frustrations and barriers I haven’t yet faced. Don’t disillusion me about this company that I love working for.

The women at the table railed against society’s ingrained culture of gender discrimination. “Joan,” they assured me, “Sex discrimination is definitely alive. We see it all the time, women not getting the same opportunities as men.”

“Even in our company?”

“Even in our company.”

To which I could only protest in bewilderment, “I’ve never, never experienced discrimination. I’m getting paid the same as the male graduates, surely. I’m have the same responsibilities and privileges. I’ve experienced nothing but support being a woman in engineering.”

“Ah, but look at management. Look how male-dominated it is.”

“Isn’t that historic? Isn’t only a matter of time before there are capable women in these roles? And who’s to say women even want to be in these roles?”

Oh, I know the arguments about how business is built around the male culture. To succeed, you must be aggressive. You must be ruthless. For women to succeed in business, they must be more… like men.

Is that fair?

Maybe that’s what my dinner companions meant. Maybe they’re demanding not female representation in management for the sake of numerical equality. Maybe they’re demanding a change in corporate culture so that women can contribute in their more empathetic, multi-tasking, communicative, no-sense-of-direction way.

Woe. Woe.

Heaven and Hell

Something funny I heard on ABC NewsRadio today as I drove around in my hire car.

Heaven is living in an English house, on an American salary, with a Chinese cook, and a Japanese wife.

Hell is living in a Japanese house, on a Chinese salary, with an English cook, and an American wife!

Down the garden path this week

We finally handed it the audit report I’ve been slaving over. I am proud of all 127 pages of it, even though I would do it differently if I had to do it again. It looks like I’m getting time in lieu for the extra hours I worked, too.

On Tuesday, I performed my second Toastmasters speech. My speech, ‘The Art of Giving Gifts’, was about two gifts that I’ve been proud to give to my friends. I wrote the speech the night before and hadn’t practiced. I had also forgotten that the District and Divisional Governers of Toastmasters in our region were coming to our meeting.

It went well. I pulled it off. Delight abounded.

On Thursday, I was in Coburg supervising trucks moving 20 tonnes of asbestos-contaminated soil. It was an enjoyable day, despite the rain. I got to mingle with blue collar workers, which is not something I’ve done much before. I had fun tailoring my conversation to what I predicted their views to be. I think I have successfully ingratiated myself into the crew. It was dishonest but harmless, I think.

A warning, then, to you all. If you find that I am likeable and that we seem to share many things in common, I might just be manipulating you to pass the time 🙂

On Friday night, I went to a Aux Batifolles, a French brasserie in North Fitzroy. I came in with high spirits but was soon reduced to a paranoid, unhappy, nervous little girl because I was convinced the waitpeople hated us. It was their expressionless faces and melodious alien accents. I was on a loud, disorganised, cheerful table. I felt uncouth.

I ate a snail.

“What’s French for snail?” Damjan asked.
“Escargot,” I replied immediately. Ooh! It’s not often I get to teach European Damo about European stuff.

On Friday, Jason also sold his white Nissan 180 SX.

On Saturday, I cooked all day in an empty house. My parents and Jason drove up to Daylesford to pick up Jason’s new car, a yellow Honda S2000 convertible.

“It’s hot,” Jason sighed.
“It’s hot,” I agreed.

Jason’s old Nissan 180 SX

Jason’s new car, a Honda S2000 (an old man’s car, because only old men or young men with big loans from parents can afford it).

Needless to say, Jason is chuffed.

Before mum left, she gave me detailed instructions on how to marinate chicken, fry dumplings, cook rice and make dough. I executed these instructions slowly but with minimal clumsiness.

Damjan and I held our first self-catered dinner party for friends on Saturday night. It was very successful, although without mum’s help, it would have run less smoothly.

Today, I went skating with Megan and Damjan. I was ruthless and mowed down talented children with smaller legs. Then we came home and made crepes.

The end.