“No.I did it myself. It was easy.”
“It was easy,” he repeats, unconvinced.
“It was no big deal, just a small fix. The index was out of range.”
“How do you know what thatis?”
I shrug, showing him how breezy and nonchalant I am. “I’ve been working through a few levels onDinoCode.I knew what todo.”
ThehoursI’ve spent secretly playing a children’s coding game have all been leading up to this. And I can tell you it was one hundred percent worth it. Connor is completely, utterly speechless. I feel like I could take over the world.
When he finally speaks again, his voice is kind of squeaky, like he’s straining every muscle he has not to react. “You’ve been doingDinoCode?”
“Yes.”
He does laughnow.
“That is…” He trails off, scratching at the back of his neck. “Wow.”
“What?”
“Nothing. That’s great, Annie. Well done.” His voice is like a warmhug.
He’s still chuckling minutes later, when Ben reappears. “What’s funny?” Ben asks.
“Annie’s been doingDinoCode.”
Ben freezes, then says, “Annie’s…been doing…DinoCode?”
“Yes,” Connor says, his smile huge.
I look from one to the other, suspicion flaring. “What’s so weird about that?”
“Nothing,” Ben says hastily. “Absolutely nothing. That’s cool.DinoCodeis sweet.”
I get the feeling I’m missing something, but none of the guys say anything, and they’re all suddenly very focused on their work, and my calendar pings with a call reminder, so the moment is gone.
—
I don’t see the guys for the rest of the afternoon, until we’re all due to sit in on a weekly stand-up meeting with Software Engineering. Stand-ups are one of the stupider customs of the tech industry, designed to be an informal team meeting where people share what they’re working on, and they do it—you guessed it—standing up.
Except, no oneeverbothers standing, making a stand-up meeting just…a meeting. While I’m at it, no one in Software Engineering is anactualengineer, either. Rather, it’s just a team full of developers who use—get ready to die—an “engineering approach.”
You can see why I love it here.
Sven, the department head, is a highly respected yettemperamental Swede with hair so blond that when I first met him I genuinely thought it came from a bottle. Shannon would die if she realized the color she spends hundreds of dollars a month to maintain is simply growing out of this man’s head naturally.
He is exactly what you’d expect from the head of software engineering: technical, smart, efficient—and scary, with no people skills. That last part is something I’ve only ever dared say out loud to Connor, who laughed and said, “He’s a really good guy.” I never did figure out if this was because of his lack of people skills, or in spite of them. I may never know.
I catch up with the rest of DatStrat (Martin’s shorthand has infected my brain) as they’re hanging around by the elevators, deep in animated discussion.
“No way,” Ben says, throwing his whole body into it, like a human slingshot. “Nothingtops the pistachio.”
“That’s insane,” Martin parries back. “White chocolate is the original. The classic!”
“It’s too much,” Ben insists. “That’s way too much for a cookie.”
“Only you would like asavorycookie.”
