Today is Friday, usually quiet, but somebody changed a config in production this morning... and it’s broken. What don’t they understand about the sentence “Don’t push to prod on Fridays!”
12pm, lunch time, not even close to a resolution. Derek awakens: “Guys? Lunch?”
“Sorry, I’ve got an emergency. Joe’s Pizza to go? Can you pick me up one?”
“No, sorry Norm, I’m tired of pizza, and I have time for lunch today. Gary?”
“For sure, do you have an idea?”
“Let me find something.”
Both sit back... and an awkward silence joins us in the open space, a kind of empty rhythm led by the clicks of keyboards and mice, slowly turning into a perceptible anxiety in the room.
Is it empathy for my production bug?
The answer comes 10 minutes later, when they both stand up: “Ok let’s go...”, without looking at me.
Of course, as usual, Derek leaves without locking his session. Why would he? I’m always cleaning up after him. Windows+L seems to be out of his league.
Approaching the screen, I take a quick peek at what looks like a ChatGPT window, showing a complex form with 17 criteria to select a restaurant, including the time, the occasion and the musical ambiance... Why not?
He got 5 recommendations, including the starred restaurant across the street and the burger joint 3 bus stops away: all refused by Gary, if I read the Teams chat correctly.
And at the bottom, the final one they agreed on: Joe’s Pizza to go.
All that, for Joe’s.
As ChatGPT did not mention my name, I’ll order in, it’s safer.
Norm works in IT. He has opinions. They are allegedly his own.