Page 49 of Debugging Love

“None. I used it all. The app is due in six weeks.”

Chance leans back and rubs his face again and finishes the job by running his fingers through his hair and presenting his Adam’s apple to the room. I don’t want to climb it, more like karate chop it. A good throat punch. That’s one way to establish my authority.

“What about my code isn’t ‘real’ Chai work,” I say, saving the throat punch in case this meeting starts going south ofsouth. Surely it won’t. Also, I don’t feel like getting fired today.

“The backend code is too simplified. There are too many objects in the view layer, too much duplicated code.”

“Really.” It’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

“I hate mucking around with HTML. If we genericize the view layer, it complicates the backend and makes the coding more fun.”

Heng’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. Mine stay in place by sheer willpower, but I require a moment to force my tongue tobehave. A deep breath reduces my boiling blood to a simmer. I spread my palms against the tabletop, focusing on my fingers while I carefully choose my words. “See, that’s what I’m trying to avoid. Complications.”

“If you want to change the look and feel of the app, you’ll have to modify five hundred objects.”

“Not five hundred. More like thirty and not when the HTML and CSS are written properly. Then it’s just a matter of changing a few styles.”

“But if it’s genericized, you only have to change it in one place.”

“This app needs to be in test in six weeks.”

“No problem.”

“And when you’re gone and someone has to maintain your code. They need to be able to make sense of your ‘complications.’” I use air quotes. It’s not professional, but neither is Chance’s behavior.

“That’s what comments are for,” he says in an ah-ha tone like he just solved world hunger.

“Do you include comments? Because a lot of coders don’t include comments.”

“Sure, when they’re necessary.”

“And how do you decide when they’re necessary?”

“I just do,” he says before crossing his arms.

I grit my teeth and tap my thumb against the tabletop. Heng is leaning back, one arm draped over his stomach, his opposite hand covering his mouth. Smart. Chance could learn a thing or two from his coworker. But I have a feeling Chance doesn’t like to learn from others, he prefers to forge his own path, never mind everyone else. I’ve read this story before, but it’s a Choose Your Own Adventure, and I’m in charge of how it ends.

I lean over the table, meet Chance’s eyes, point at my code on the wall, and invoke my JetAero authority. “This is how we’rereallydoing it. We’re using the KISS method. Keep it simple stupid.”

Chance furrows his brow at me.

I smile at him. “Who’s ready for lunch?

Chapter 12

Chance

I look down at my Glad container filled with last night’s salmon and white rice with a little curry powder thrown on top, the kind in the tiny bottle from the grocery store that Americans think qualifies as Indian spices. But I don’t own a spice grinder, and if I did, I wouldn’t use it anyway. Half my life, I grew up in this country, so I’m well-acquainted with its subpar food. But I like my salmon. And according to the petition on the breakroom wall, at least ten people in this office do not.

“Fine, then. You don’t like my salmon, you don’t get my salmon.”

That sounded better in my head. I spin and walk out of the breakroom, chucking my Glad container in the trash along the way. A round of applause greets me. The whole room is gawking at me and clapping vigorously.

“All right. I got it,” I say, patting the air to try to quiet their enthusiasm. “You’re gonna miss it when it’s gone.”

“No we won’t,” Bruce bellows from four cubicles away.

A smile crimps the corner of my mouth. As I stride out of the office, the claps diminish and Juanita hollers, “Stinky-fish-man, you forgot your gum.”

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