Secrets and lies: A coding cover-up

Have you ever felt like you were stuck in another dimension? One week of my career was like that, when I put in a short stint on a job that was full of unanswered questions.

On a crisp fall Monday, I arrived for my first day on the new job. In HR, I filled out the usual forms, was introduced to the timekeeping system, listened to explanations of health care plans and the company 401(k), and watched a video about this amazing, fast-growing contractor. Yes, this would be a great company to work for.

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After lunch, I reported back to HR as instructed. Someone was waiting for me — but it wasn’t the hiring manager who had interviewed me. HR introduced me to “Phil,” another manager. I was told that Phil had requisitioned me for an emergency assignment. I would help him out for two or three weeks, then join the department I’d been hired for.

Phil briefed me on the nature of the new task, which sounded challenging and engaging. My new company had won a support contract away from a competitor, and we needed to prep an office on the client’s site as soon as possible so that they could fill out their staff for two dozen available positions. My job was to assess the condition of computers, files, software tools, and security. I was sent home and told to report to the client site the next morning.

All is not what it seems

It sounded straightforward, but Tuesday brought a string of strange experiences. First of all, I had trouble getting into the building because the receptionist didn’t know to expect me and Phil wasn’t around. Finally, after a couple of phone calls and half an hour of waiting, I was given a badge and sent upstairs.

The next sight that greeted me didn’t bode well, either. The previous contractor had dedicated a large open room to its operations. About 20 workstations adorned this stark space. It looked deserted, as if an alien mothership had abducted all the people, leaving behind their artifacts: open books, stacks of papers, folders of reports, and three-ring binders. Notably, there were no disks anywhere. In fact, there was no media at all except a few DATs stacked up on one of the desks. I got an eerie feeling about the situation but soldiered on, introducing myself to the one person who was in the room. He turned out to be “Harry,” another one of Phil’s employees.

We had a brief conversation to help me get oriented. I’d expected to meet Phil there and get my assignment, but Harry said he had no idea when or if the boss would show up. He pointed to a cluster of workstations along one side of the room and recommended I dig in, take inventory, and start recording my findings.

I did so, even as my uneasiness continued to grow. As I began reverse-engineering years of the client’s work, I felt like an archaeologist on a dig. What lost civilization was here? How were these pyramids built?

By the end of the day, I had documented four workstations. I understood how to recompile everything the client had been working on and had a written inventory to add to the one occupying Harry’s time. Harry had made his way through another three or four workstations. Neither of us had heard from Phil.

On Wednesday, I got into the building easily and met Phil in the hall on my way to the room I’d been in the day before. He was frantic. The client had a list of tasks needing immediate attention. I was told there was an additional room where another employee was working on a programming project that the client wanted finished that day; I was to help that employee in any way I could. If we completed the assignment, I was to work on the next task on a short list he showed me. Harry would remain on the inventory and assessment.

I went down the hall to introduce myself to “Shirley.” Our conversation lasted five minutes. Shirley wanted to work independently. She didn’t want or need any help. She trusted no one. She was brusque and suspicious of everyone and everything. I kept my questions short. She kept her answers shorter. I decided to leave her to her work and move on to the next task on the list.

The confusion mounts

I looked to see what was next. All the tasks were about tweaking existing programs. To my surprise I got the first one done in less than 30 minutes. I got the next one done in 15. Why so fast? Because the code I needed was already there — but commented out. What sort of game was this?

I called Phil and told him what I’d found. He sounded surprised that it was so easy, then told me how to deliver the results of my first task. At the same time, he instructed me to not tell anyone that I’d completed the second one. Why? I asked. He said he intended to meter out the results our little team produced; if we delivered results any faster, he wouldn’t be able to justify to the client the number of staff he had budgeted for the project. What was the new revised plan now that there wasn’t as much work as originally thought? I dared not ask — yet.

Thursday passed quietly. I worked on two more projects, one of which required about 50 lines of code and tricky changes to a module stack. This was the first challenging programming work I’d seen so far. The other project was like the first two: Uncomment some code, test the results, prepare a deliverable, and document my work.

I talked with Harry and Shirley. How were we going to handle deceiving the client about how hard it was to do the work? How could a policy of deception work to anyone’s favor? Harry shrugged. It was a job — no more, no less. Shirley scowled and grumbled quietly, but said no more. I privately renamed her Surly Shirley.

The last straw

Friday morning, Phil was on-site again. He told me in the hall that my job title and pay rate had been changed to fit the requirements of this new contract: My pay had dropped $2,000 a year with the promise that it would go back up “soon.” Confused, I asked when I would report for the job I’d originally been hired for. Phil told me that my position had already been filled by someone else — something about budget, job classifications, nothing he could do about it, blah, blah, blah. Oh, I also belonged to him now.

Well, no, I thought — I am not property. I was so mad I could hardly see straight. But I also knew I was leaving.

I smiled at him and expressed disquiet that these changes had been made without my input or knowledge, but assured him I would work hard to meet his requirements. I figured someone who lied to everyone around him wasn’t entitled to the truth.

Before I went back to work, I made a phone call to a recruiter about another job I’d interviewed for prior to signing onto this one, saying I would indeed be available for a second interview after all. He sounded delighted, and I got a call back with a time and place.

At the end of the day, just before HR closed, I called in and resigned. The following Monday, I interviewed at the other company and was hired on the spot.

This was the job that never was — and my own Twilight Zone.

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This story, “Secrets and lies: A coding cover-up,” was originally published at InfoWorld.com. Read more crazy-but-true stories in the anonymous Off the Record blog at InfoWorld.com. For the latest business technology news, follow InfoWorld.com on Twitter.