Verity is the pseudonym of a programmer based in the UK. She can be contacted at [email protected].
If you don't get British Channel 4, don't worry. I'm sure you won't miss out. A TV station near you will do it next week, for if there is one thing we know for certain about TV people, it is that they are very fond of cribbing off each other. The excellent documentaries that C4 put out as That'll Teach Them had a simple premise. A classful of 16-year-old school children was assembled from across England's green and pleasant. These individuals had this in common: They were all predicted to get "A" grades in their government exams. The young hopefuls were holed up in a mock-up of a 1950s-style boarding school for four weeks, fed disgusting 1950s-style school food, accommodated in 1950s-style dormitories with stern-yet-hilarious 1950s-style warnings about the dangers of "beastliness," crammed from 1950s-style curricula (sic) and, at the end, were given 1950s-style exams.
Inevitably, and to the malicious pleasure of jaded antiques like me, they floundered hopelessly. These children discovered that a dish of leathery liver, boiled-to-death cabbage, and near-potato substances containing grey bits, all washed down with warm well-chlorinated tap water, is less palatable than burgers-and-fries with cola. Proper outdoor games in old-fashioned outdoor kit turned out to be not as convenient as an afternoon in the bedroom with a PS2. Most of all, they were astonished to find that their ancestors could multiply large integers and conjugate avoir without access to calculators or even the most basic Internet search facilities. Nearly half of them flunked the final tests.
Now a proper discussion of That'll Teach Them belongs to another place and time, that place and time specifically being down the pub in the dim twilight zone beyond the fourth pint mark. ('An' anuvver thing I shshould shay ish diss: The way kish dressh today ish ridic'loush. U'erly ridic'loush. Shtupid. They're jusht ma'in' foolsh of themshelvesh. No' li' ush. We were shtylish.') However, I too am very fond of cribbing, and it seemed to me that, with but a little alteration, the format could be effectively applied to our own dear profession. Here is a sketch of what I have in mind:
The 1980s Programmer: A TV Treatment by V. Stob.
Title Sequence: Clunky pixilated graphics and that blobby magnetic font that used to indicate 'the future,' accompanied by an emphatically electronic signature tune in the Atari ST MIDI mode.
Opening Shot: Old-fashioned, headachy bright, air-conditioned computer room with a brutally mown nylon carpet, long laminated wood tables around the walls, and nonswivel plastic chairs of the type that stack. The room is liberally decorated with notices forbidding you to do things, although a "You don't have to be mad to work here..." poster above the fuse box supplies a more cheerful element. There are three or four green phosphor display terminals on the tables, and huge piles of green-and-white printout. A door opens and a Smug Presenter, who clearly fancies herself ten bob each way, enters the room talking to camera.
Smug Presenter: Hi. My name's Verity Stob and welcome to "The 1980s Programmer." This week's contestant is Kevin Shuttley from Nottingham.
Cut to shots of Kevin, a spotty youth, at his place of work: Editing code files in a modern syntax-highlighting editor, designing a form with a mouse, drawing diagrams on a whiteboard, etc.
Smug Presenter on voiceover: Kevin is 23, and has been working as a Java programmer for 18 months.
Kevin, interviewed to camera: I think I will do quite well as a 1980s programmer. I learned C++ at college before I started doing Java, and C++ is pretty 1980s, from what Mr. Murison said. Of course, if I have to do Fortran or something, I could be in trouble. (Giggles nervously.)
Cut back to computer room. Kevin is sitting at a terminal, a helper at his shoulder. Caption: DAY ONE.
Helper: ...very security conscious around here. Your account name is [KWA/28TK], with your password set to 'PASSWORD.' Please don't change it, by the way. If you do, the compiler won't work.
Kevin, looking at terminal: So where's the mouse?
This is taken as a witticism and there is polite laughter to which Kevin adds his nervous giggle. He puts out his hand to touch the terminal.
Kevin: Ow! Bloody hell! It bit me!
Helper: Ooops. Should have warned you about the static. It's tricky with these metal-cased terminals...
Smug Presenter on voiceover, stating the very obvious in that patronizing TV documentary way: Almost at once, Kevin finds himself struggling.
We see Kevin typing away, looking anxious.
Kevin: It doesn't seem to be...Excuse me, is there something wrong with this? I'm pressing keys and nothing's happening...Ooooh! It seems to have come unstuck!
Helper: Have you never heard of the type-ahead buffer?
Kevin, examining the keyboard: ...I don't seem to be able to find the [ and ] keys.
Helper: No, it's this job lot of cheap Swedish terminals that we got in. You have to use å and Å for square brackets.
Kevin: I see, so...
Helper: Use % to get < and _ for >. Quotes are easy to remember: Just press " for ' and ' for ". Oh, and press # for £ so that it displays on screen or _ if you want to print it out on the upstairs printer. If you want to print it out on the downstairs printer, tell Julie before you send the print job so that she can switch the wheel, but it's uppercase only and, of course, you can't today because it's Tuesday. On no account press Break because that puts the terminal into baud rate configure mode, and we can't get it out without losing the session.
Kevin: Oh.
Helper, cheerfully: You'll soon get the hang of it.
Smug Presenter on voiceover: Half an hour later, things haven't got much better.
Kevin: Do you have a screen editor?
Helper, proudly: Yes! Only had it for two months. It's great—you can edit a whole document on screen...
Kevin, dismissively: Yes, yes. I do know what a screen editor is. How do I invoke it?
Helper, offended: You type SCREDR at the OS_ prompt.
Kevin, after a pause: But...But it's all garbage!
Helper: Yes. SCREDR doesn't work on these terminals. Different escape codes. You'll have to reset it, ring ops to kill the session, and then use the line editor.
Kevin: How do I reset it?
Helper: Lean over the top and press the small button right round the back.
Kevin: Ow! Bloody hell!
Helper: Mind the static.
Smug Presenter: After the break, see what happened when, after waiting four hours, Kevin got back the result of his first batch compilation.
Cut to Kevin, staring incredulously at a printout: Syntax error on Line 1!
Smug Presenter: And see him get to grips with contemporary printer technology.
Cut to Kevin, standing in front of a huge 1980s line printer. He stretches out a tentative hand to touch the metal frame.
Kevin: Ow!
DDJ
