The Codeless Code: Case 224 Unsupported Accusations
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While passing by the temple’s Support Desk, the nun Hwídah
heard of strange behavior in a certain application. Since
she had been appointed by master Banzen to assist with
production issues, the nun dutifully described the symptoms
to the application’s senior monk:
“Occasionally a user will return to a record they had
previously edited, only to discover that some information is
missing,” said Hwídah. “The behavior is not repeatable, and
the users confess that they may be imagining things.”
“I have heard these reports,” said the senior monk. “There
is no bug in the code that I can see, nor can we reproduce
the problem in a lower environment.”
“Still, it may be prudent to investigate further,” said the
nun.
The monk sighed. “We are all exceedingly busy. Only a few
users have reported this issue, and even they doubt
themselves. So far, all are content to simply re-enter the
‘missing’ information and continue about their business. Can
you offer me one shred of evidence that this is anything
more than user error?”
The nun shook her head, bowed, and departed.
That night, the senior monk was awoken from his sleep by a
squeaking under his bed, of the sort a mouse might make.
This sound continued throughout the night—sometimes in one
place, sometimes another, presumably as the intruder
wandered about in search of food. A sandal flung in the
direction of the sound resulted in immediate quiet, but
eventually the squeaking would begin again in a different
part of the room.
“This is doubtless some lesson that the meddlesome Hwídah
wishes to teach me,” he complained to his fellows the next
day, dark circles under his eyes. “Yet I will not be bullied
into chasing nonexistent bugs. If the nun is so annoyed by
the squeaking of our users, let her deal with it!”
The monk set mousetraps in the corners and equipped himself
with a pair of earplugs. Thus he passed the next night, and
the night after, though his sleep was less restful than he
would have liked.
On the seventh night, the exhausted monk turned off the
light and fell hard upon his bed. There was a loud CRACK and
the monk found himself tumbling through space. With a CRASH
he bounced off his mattress and rolled onto a cold stone
floor. His bed had, apparently, fallen through the floor
into the basement.
Perched high on a ladder—just outside the gaping hole in the
basement’s wooden ceiling—was the nun Hwídah, her face lit
only by a single candle hanging nearby. She descended and
dropped an old brace-and-bit hand drill into the monk’s lap.
Then she crouched down next to his ear.
“If you don’t understand it, it’s dangerous,” whispered the
nun.
