Tunnel Rat posted on January 31, 2009 14:42

Having survived the first week at my new gig, I have come to a conclusion.

I work at a CONCENTRATION CAMP.

Somewhat like the Allied prisoners in the “Bridge Over the River Kwai,” I am held captive by foreigners and forced to complete an impossible task. I say “forced,” because there is not really any .NET contract work out there.

But the true reason I feel that I work in a concentration camp is that there is an air of fear and desperation among the workers. I came to this conclusion after making a few observations.

For one, nobody surfs the internet. I’ve never seen Yahoo, Slashdot, or even MSDN open on anybody’s computer. That is odd, because in such a big I.T. shop, developers normally take frequent mental breaks and catch up on what is going on outside.

Me in DesivilleI actually heard a manager yell at a guy the other day, telling him to stop “reading the internet.” I thought he was teasing, but the manager did it again yesterday, saying “there you are again, on the internet. I’ll have to block your web access!” The boss must be from an upper caste and gets to treat his people like shit.

And nobody works with headphones on, listening to iTunes or Pandora. Nothing. The Indian on the other side of my cube chants all day. I thought it was Muslim prayers, but I think it is the soundtrack to Slumdog Millionare or a Bollywood movie.

BTW, I will never see that absurd Slumdog movie. Like I really care if some kid from the ghetto of Calcutta gets rich in falls in love. At least he doesn’t move to America and take a programmer’s job. And “Gran Torino” should be up for an Oscar, not that piece of shit Desi movie. But as usual, Hollywood loves all things non-white and if they have a choice, the Academy will go with the dark meat, so Clint is getting hosed.

Finally, there are no women, blacks, or Mexicans on the floor of 50 or so people. All men, mostly Indians. Usually you see a token brother or a female DBA or two, and most places even had a Latino boy that worked the help desk.

Not in Desi-land. No fucking way. Too much work to do. All I hear all day is bickering in broken English, or more often than not, Hindi. That and the sound of clacking keyboards.

More to come…


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The thoughts expressed on this blog may or may not be the author's own and are protected by the 1st Amendment. Any attempt to reveal his identity by contacting a slumdog hack at Google, or a corrupt Desi sys-admin at his ISP will be dealt with promptly and severely. Civil and criminal penalties may apply if one is found to have used private information in an attempt to get the author fired at the Hindu-only I.T. ghetto he currently works at. In addition, any Desi who attempts to burn the author's house down because they are enraged over his writing will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. This isn't India.

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