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You know, I spend a lot of time whining about the day-to-day hassles of my job. And the expectation of miracles. And they're there, and they're annoying. But that's hardly the only side; if it was, I'd have made good long ago on my occasional threat to move on to greener pastures. (Though probably not, despite my grumbles to that end, to shelving groceries.)
So what is it that keeps me there?
Well, some of it is that I like making things go. I'm good with this software, and I like being able to reach in, find the right spot, and change it. I like the setup (of course; it's the first thing I learned outside the closed walls of school, after all), and I generally like the software. (Ours, and to some degree the development environment. It's hard to really love the latter, however; sometimes I claim it crashes more often than our alpha-test programs. Which is actually not far off the truth, though our alpha-tests fail to perform without crashing far more often.)
I like being able to answer people's questions. But wait. I could do that - oh, yes, with some changes - I could do that at almost any programming job.
I like developing. I like doing design-work. I like figuring out how to make changes, or even whether those changes are a good idea. I like being trusted to decide what to do, and when, and how. I like R&D.
Okay. So now I'm talking an R&D position - but emphasis on the Development part, really; and with my experience, while those jobs are fewer, I could probably either land one or work my way into one in fairly short order.
I could cop out and say most companies have drawbacks, and mine aren't worth the price of leaving, and that's very true.
But there's more to it than that. There's this:
Tonight, I was tired, and stressed, and headachy. (Not, for once, from my work; my allergies are being a bear or I have a minor cold, one of the two. Since Scott had a truly epic cold this past week, I have my fears.)
So I went for a walk, to relax. Just a short walk up the block and back down. I confess, the return trip was made with a Coca Cola flavored Slurpee in hand. Those things are yummy.
What does this have to do with my work? I'd come out of the 7-11 and was just past the pizza place when I heard the sirens. A fire truck, coming toward me; better than even odds, I knew, that when it came around the curve and into view, I'd have just a glimpse of it before it turned onto Hunziker at the corner there. They usually do: that's the quickest route from that station to I-5 and 217 alike....
I stood a little straighter, and I lifted my head, and I stopped in my tracks, watching it. It came around the curve, lights flashing...and turned, as I'd thought. My people. Those are my people.
Not really. I write computer-aided dispatching (CAD, an acronym which confuses anyone outside the industry) software, but the town I live in doesn't (as far as I know) use our software. It doesn't matter.
I admire the men and women who work to keep us safe, guard our streets, rescue us from fire and injury, help us at the risk of their own lives.... I admire them so very much. We've seen their best, this past week, selfless bravery. We've seen their loss, the high price their caring can take.
I haven't doubted them. Not in the almost four years now I've worked for this company. I admired them before that; but in a vague way. I hadn't seen it.
I still really haven't. I'm not an insider-insider; and I could never do what they do. But without the dispatch centers, they wouldn't have nearly as easy a time getting where they were needed; and what I do makes life in those dispatch centers a little easier.
These are my people. My software makes it easier and quicker to send them where they are needed. My software recommends which ones are best for a given situation (who has what equipment, does someone here speak Spanish?). Sometimes, the dispatcher will overrule it, if they know things not in the data-set.
I have seen the fear and anger in a dispatcher's face, when radio interference forces them to repeat the signal for a child in seizure. I have seen the dark humor, the sadness, the happiness when someone is helped.
I have watched firefighters stand around and take sides on whether a "smoke" call was a cooking pot fire, on the basis that the address was visible from the building we were in (several stories up), and they didn't see any smoke. (It was a stove fire, by the way.)
I read the articles, and even before last week, I think of all they are doing for us. Risking their lives, yes. Risking their sanity: could you go in, day after day, to the job of an EMT? How many patients could you lose, before you gave up? What about a police officer? Traffic stops, those hassles everyone loves to hate? Scarier than you might think: officers have been shot, when the speeder was, unbeknownst to them, also a wanted criminal. They have died. For trying to keep their cities safe from careless drivers.
(Please, if you are stopped: get your registration and license out on the seat where you can easily reach them, get your window down, and rest your hands on the steering wheel where they can be easily seen. It will make it easier for the officer to be sure of her safety. If it's after dark, he will probably shine a flashlight in your car. It will be bright. Squint if you need to, but please don't complain: officers have also been shot by people hiding in the back seat, or on the floor. It's not common, but it is possible, and they'd like to go home after their shift.)
They're all our people, really. I just get to do a little more to help them, a little more directly. In the end, it's no more contribution than the person who inconveniences themselves to get out of the way of a police car, or a fire truck, on their way to a burning building or an accident or a medical emergency. (Fire are often co-dispatched to medical emergency because they can arrive before the ambulance and at least render some assistance.)
They're my people, yes. And I'm proud of them, and I'm proud of that, and I love my job.
And after the events of last week - hopefully, the memory will last enough for us to all recognize: they are our people.
This started out being about my job, and it seems to have wandered, I know.
But this sort of wandering, and pride, is what I love about my job. Thank you, to all of you who serve, who help, who protect us, who rescue us. I'm doing what I can to help, however small or large it is.
So what is it that keeps me there?
Well, some of it is that I like making things go. I'm good with this software, and I like being able to reach in, find the right spot, and change it. I like the setup (of course; it's the first thing I learned outside the closed walls of school, after all), and I generally like the software. (Ours, and to some degree the development environment. It's hard to really love the latter, however; sometimes I claim it crashes more often than our alpha-test programs. Which is actually not far off the truth, though our alpha-tests fail to perform without crashing far more often.)
I like being able to answer people's questions. But wait. I could do that - oh, yes, with some changes - I could do that at almost any programming job.
I like developing. I like doing design-work. I like figuring out how to make changes, or even whether those changes are a good idea. I like being trusted to decide what to do, and when, and how. I like R&D.
Okay. So now I'm talking an R&D position - but emphasis on the Development part, really; and with my experience, while those jobs are fewer, I could probably either land one or work my way into one in fairly short order.
I could cop out and say most companies have drawbacks, and mine aren't worth the price of leaving, and that's very true.
But there's more to it than that. There's this:
Tonight, I was tired, and stressed, and headachy. (Not, for once, from my work; my allergies are being a bear or I have a minor cold, one of the two. Since Scott had a truly epic cold this past week, I have my fears.)
So I went for a walk, to relax. Just a short walk up the block and back down. I confess, the return trip was made with a Coca Cola flavored Slurpee in hand. Those things are yummy.
What does this have to do with my work? I'd come out of the 7-11 and was just past the pizza place when I heard the sirens. A fire truck, coming toward me; better than even odds, I knew, that when it came around the curve and into view, I'd have just a glimpse of it before it turned onto Hunziker at the corner there. They usually do: that's the quickest route from that station to I-5 and 217 alike....
I stood a little straighter, and I lifted my head, and I stopped in my tracks, watching it. It came around the curve, lights flashing...and turned, as I'd thought. My people. Those are my people.
Not really. I write computer-aided dispatching (CAD, an acronym which confuses anyone outside the industry) software, but the town I live in doesn't (as far as I know) use our software. It doesn't matter.
I admire the men and women who work to keep us safe, guard our streets, rescue us from fire and injury, help us at the risk of their own lives.... I admire them so very much. We've seen their best, this past week, selfless bravery. We've seen their loss, the high price their caring can take.
I haven't doubted them. Not in the almost four years now I've worked for this company. I admired them before that; but in a vague way. I hadn't seen it.
I still really haven't. I'm not an insider-insider; and I could never do what they do. But without the dispatch centers, they wouldn't have nearly as easy a time getting where they were needed; and what I do makes life in those dispatch centers a little easier.
These are my people. My software makes it easier and quicker to send them where they are needed. My software recommends which ones are best for a given situation (who has what equipment, does someone here speak Spanish?). Sometimes, the dispatcher will overrule it, if they know things not in the data-set.
I have seen the fear and anger in a dispatcher's face, when radio interference forces them to repeat the signal for a child in seizure. I have seen the dark humor, the sadness, the happiness when someone is helped.
I have watched firefighters stand around and take sides on whether a "smoke" call was a cooking pot fire, on the basis that the address was visible from the building we were in (several stories up), and they didn't see any smoke. (It was a stove fire, by the way.)
I read the articles, and even before last week, I think of all they are doing for us. Risking their lives, yes. Risking their sanity: could you go in, day after day, to the job of an EMT? How many patients could you lose, before you gave up? What about a police officer? Traffic stops, those hassles everyone loves to hate? Scarier than you might think: officers have been shot, when the speeder was, unbeknownst to them, also a wanted criminal. They have died. For trying to keep their cities safe from careless drivers.
(Please, if you are stopped: get your registration and license out on the seat where you can easily reach them, get your window down, and rest your hands on the steering wheel where they can be easily seen. It will make it easier for the officer to be sure of her safety. If it's after dark, he will probably shine a flashlight in your car. It will be bright. Squint if you need to, but please don't complain: officers have also been shot by people hiding in the back seat, or on the floor. It's not common, but it is possible, and they'd like to go home after their shift.)
They're all our people, really. I just get to do a little more to help them, a little more directly. In the end, it's no more contribution than the person who inconveniences themselves to get out of the way of a police car, or a fire truck, on their way to a burning building or an accident or a medical emergency. (Fire are often co-dispatched to medical emergency because they can arrive before the ambulance and at least render some assistance.)
They're my people, yes. And I'm proud of them, and I'm proud of that, and I love my job.
And after the events of last week - hopefully, the memory will last enough for us to all recognize: they are our people.
This started out being about my job, and it seems to have wandered, I know.
But this sort of wandering, and pride, is what I love about my job. Thank you, to all of you who serve, who help, who protect us, who rescue us. I'm doing what I can to help, however small or large it is.
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