Man, what a long strange trip it's been, as the the Grateful Dead sang.
Over three years ago, I started blogging and I'm still going strong. I've been porting over 200 posts over to my new platform, and I've had a chance to reflect.
At first, I told the story of my six weeks at THE COMPANY THAT SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS. That is where the inspiration for Tunnel Rat came from -- I was a grunt chasing down my nemesis, a Vietnamese renegade coder that was recking havoc in my shop. You can read about Charlie starting with my very first post.
I didn't get any traffic, until some folks at another site catering to software developers posted some links to my blog. Of course, I got flamed, for being racist and politically incorrect. Racism is the new McCarthyism.
ARE YOU NOW, OR HAVE YOU EVER, WRITTEN OR SAID OR THOUGHT OF ANYTHING THAT CAN BE REMOTELY CONSTRUED AS RACIST?
Anyway, who gives a shit. I sure don't. There are worse things than politically incorrect speech, like the ethnic cleansing of Americans out of the STEM professions by a culture with a fondness for Hitler, child brides, and the worship of farm animals.
So I blogged sporadically, like the Zodiac Killer, emerging every now and then to spew venom in cyberspace. Then once, while I was working on a year long contract for a client in another state, the lead IM'd me and asked about my blog.
Oh shit! I was just about to start blogging about him and his refusal to do anything right and the dumb alcoholic bitch that was posing as PM/Analyst/HMFIC on the project. "i like ur blog" he texted.
Thanks, but it is my blog, fucker. And it is no fun writing about douchebags I work with if I know they are reading my shit.
So I laid low for awhile, and got my private domain.
And then I had the misfortune of working for a gang of hackers, and the daily frustrations of that gig made me want to write.
But what really set me off was being forced to work for three weeks at the Curry Den. That experience literally scared the shit out of me. I am still traumatized. Being the only white guy on a team of 15, with only four non-Indians, was a major fuckin' wake up call. Trust me, it is nasty. Just look at the shit Infosys pulls in America. There have always been sweatshops in I.T., and I have done my time in many, but the slumdog kennel is unique type of gulag.
Desperate, sweaty, and musky guys, suffering from blue balls, eager to go back home and command a nice dowry, in over their heads because they can't code, pressured to make inhumane deadlines by the Desi that shipped them over and paid their freight. Three or four at a time, barking at a monitor as some fresher types unformatted, misspelled code.
Back then, I was open minded, knowing that I could hold my own against any developer in the world. And I had been to other side of the earth and back, and was hardly the dumb country fuck that people like Vivek Wadhwa, aka "Fraudwa", like to portray us American techies. (BTW, Google "Vivek Wadhwa" and my blog post is the eighth result on the first page -- it must suck being him; that NASSCOM agent has a nasty online rep).
Regardless of my background, I saw for the first time the real truth about Indian coders -- they fuckin' suck. The Curry Den was supposed to be ISO certified and CMM 5, but they could not code a single thing without someone telling them, line by line, what to type. Usually it was the overworked Desi architect. Sometimes it was me or Chinaman. And the project went NOWHERE. Three weeks I spent, trying to look busy, waiting for a build to compile, or sitting on my ass while we waited for some fucker in New Delhi to come in that night and fix the control wrapper he had hacked.
All the while, there was the yapping in Hindi or Hinglish, the bullying, the viruses being spread by the stupid imports who shared their infested folders on the LAN, the smelly meeting rooms, the surly paranoia, the primitive cultural norms, the half dozen slumdogs smoking outside, talking on their cell phones to their immigration lawyers, the reeking communal lunches, the stench of shower-shoes, people falling asleep at their desk, the honkie boss screaming "don't lie to me, I want the truth this time, is it a bug?!", the scams by the imported QA team to throw the cracker analyst under the bus, the slimy Desi account exec, always boasting, blustering in his nasal voice...
And something occurred to me.
This could be your future unless you do something...
So I blogged. Some fellow insurgent posted my stuff on Dice and Immigration Voice, and the traffic shot up. The slumdogs came out of the woodwork, enraged. They are all gone now, dead, deported, or busted by the Feds for cybercrimes. I reported them all. They got a taste of the 1st Amendment, and like most arrogant Indians, they ran away after trying to act like badasses.
Now here I am, writing.
And doing some other shit, which I will write about later. Once the statute of limitations is up...