A. Levintov

"Zhenya, what is this whole idea about diagnostics technicians?"

Zhenya is the network administrator of some big-time company in the middle of Silicon Valley who, in his spare time, teaches at SATI (Software Advanced Technology Institute), and who, when not engaged in one of the above, is a perfectly normal person, just like yours truly. This is the place where training is provided to future QA technicians, Internet development and networking professionals, web-design experts and other computer industry specialists.

We are sitting by the ocean, catching fish. The fish are in a state of deep circumspection, concerning themselves with how they will be best today: will they look better in soup or hot-smoked? Fried, perhaps? If so, then how exactly? And what would be the best sauce, tartar or Polish again? And what would be better as a garnish? Perhaps, so as to not think too much, simple steamed artichokes? And another problem – Pinot Gris or Chablis? What if the Chablis is sweeter than is desirable? Then a Sauvignon would be better, can’t go wrong with Sauvignon, even in a heavy fog.

While the fish are thinking about their makeup before making their entrance, we quietly occupy ourselves with fishing: what wisdom is necessary here? Pour it and drink it down, drive that cholesterol from your poor, environmentally-polluted body.

"You see, my friend, when this all began, programming was done on the principles of subsistence farming. Floppy disks held 360 kilobytes (I remember huge, antediluvian disks the size of my car’s steering wheel that held just a few dozen kilobytes), while hard disks held 5 megabytes. Programs were tiny, programmers wrote them themselves, got them working, looked for bugs."

I recalled my job on a sea transport ship. At that time, we suddenly received a whole bunch of programmers. We had barely learned how to add on a computer (my boss constantly rechecked the numbers produced by these electronic keyboard machines, which he did not trust, against the office records that he kept in a safe). I recalled those guys, enigmatic and strange: only they had access to alcohol (it was not given to mere mortals) and only they were able to write, speak and read in the binary language of ones and zeros. They were certain that the world would soon begin to resemble and depend upon their programs and iron ore. They were allocated enormous amounts of money to this end, and we humbly awaited the inevitable – our replacement by quick, sober machines.

Zhenya continued his story from his course, "Introduction to Diagnostics as a Profession."

"Lightning struck about twenty years ago, when the Americans had to blow up a space rocket immediately after lift-off due to a severe deviation from its course. They found a seemingly insignificant mistake: someone forgot a dash somewhere.

After that, it was clear: programs must be tested. If this is done during the development of the program, then the developer only needs to pay the diagnostician for his work. If it is done after the sale, then the fixes and patches affect not only the bottom line, but the reputation of the company as well. The thought was, "if these eggheads can’t find the errors in their own programs, we’ll find some smarter folks."

Thus began the demand for diagnostic testing of programs, and for diagnostics technicians.

"So if I understand you correctly, the diagnostic technician represents the interests of the consumer within the manufacturing company?"

"Well, yes, only this is a qualified consumer who understands the manufacturing process itself, who is acquainted with the languages and technology of programming. The free ride for slackers and hacks is over. Now that the rules of the game and the market have become stricter, no ignoramus is going to be getting $60K a year."

"I understand, the downturn…"

"Right now, at an economic low, this is the best time to study. This economic wave will pass and demand will jump, and you’ll be fresh, brimming with new knowledge."

The fog over the ocean and in my notions of the work ahead slowly began to drift far away, in the direction of Hawaii.

"My doctor told me that if I continue to skip eating when I drink I might not live to see my autopsy," I said, slicing a piece of liverwurst on the top of the tackle box.

"The main thing is to die healthy so as to not give others a reason to suspect that you didn’t live right," Zhenya answered, continuing his acquaintance with the glass jar.

"Hmm, I wonder what these boys like most: wings, legs or breast?" thought the fish, splashing the water with her fins. "Wait, what am I? I’m not a chicken, I’m a fish." She began to try to discern exactly which kind of fish she was, whether halibut, salmon or hake.

"For the development of SQA," Zhenya continued, "two factors played a critical role. First, fixes and patches began to create new errors in the programs, which is why diagnostics took on professional status and stopped being a one-time operation in programming development. The second reason is that programs became enormous back-breakers for one person working alone. Individual skill was replaced by assembly lines. Now programs are developed by the collective effort of teams that are sometimes widely separated and don’t know one another.

Imagine that elephants are built by several teams of workers: someone makes the colors, the grey hide, the ivory tusks; someone gets the contract for forms – of the ears, legs, tail; the third team works on production problems, such as gestation periods, child-rearing abilities, etc. All these things must be in perfect harmony within the elephant. Can you imagine what happens when they try to put this poor elephant together?"

I could. The Soviet economy worked in a similar fashion. As it turns out, the only things lacking were diagnostics technicians, which nobody had foreseen.

"The fish aren’t biting," I said.

"It’s the weather," answered Zhenya.

"I think you forgot that you have to throw that smelly stuff into the water."

"Why throw it in? We can see that there aren’t any fish there. Is it bothering you?"

"No, I’m doing fine. But I feel bad for the fish. They’re waiting, give it to them."

"That’s alright, let them wait. We’ll fry ‘em without it. The bird’s not big."

"That’s a fact."

The fish heard the last sentence, looked around to check whether she was a bird after all, spat disgustedly and swam off to find other fisherman, ones who had already broken out their fishing tackle labeled "Absolut."