Code Monkeys

This is simply a short story I wrote for Freshman English. Professor didn't like it, then again it's my belief that the woman cannot write or enjoy creativity that isn't hers.

My Father worked through the dot.com boom Texas in the 1990's, and I occasionally went with him when it was his luck to debug at the data centers.

- Rev

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When I was younger my father used to work in the information technology business, and at the height of the dot.com boom in Texas,there couldn't have been what seemed like a more "lucrative" career. We had moved from Huntsville, Tennessee to the Dallas Area for him to pursue a job with TI or Texas Instruments. He drove a nice sports sedan, we lived in a nice home near Plano. All this was during the late 90s and early 2000s, before the bust.

One summer weekend when I was about twelve or thirteen, my father had drawn the task of staying home with me while my mother worked. I was still in the public school system at the time, relishing every weekend presented to escape from my prison of class and drudgery. For some reason still unclear to me, my father decided that he had work that needed to be done in Dallas and I was going with. This was a treat! (To escape the rigmarole of math homework and English assignments and go to Dallas – how fun!)

I don't remember where we were in Dallas exactly, I believe it someplace associated with his work. All I knew was this was something new, something to entertain my twelve year old mind, and a welcome escape from the oppressive summer heat. We stepped into the building greeted by a blast of icy cold, stale air. It smelled exotic to me. It was new; it was foreign; it was exciting. As my father swiped his entry card in a nearby reader I, heard a audible "beep" and "thunk" as a large, heavy tinted black glass and metal door opened to reveal to regions yet unknown to me.

He led me down the worn, drab; gray, carpeted, maze-like hallways full of various cubicals and vending machines to a door with a warning symbol on it. The symbol issued a of caution against radiation, and I briefly wondered why we were going in there. He swiped the small card that was in his possession again, and once more there was that same audible "thunk". In we went into the room full of hulking black computer-like things, with what seemed like a myriad of small blinking lights of a multitude of colors along their faces. Before I realized it I was awash in the scent of stale, half-eaten pizza; Mountain Dew; unwashed bodies; and the distinctive smell of ozone.

They were speaking with my father about server load, capacity, and down time, among other phrases I couldn't comprehend. Occasionally, there would be the an expletive uttered out of frustration, accompanied by a slap of cords against a strangely cold, yet warm linoleum floor. The clack of keys would also be heard, followed by howls of frustration or cries of triumph. I can only describe it as what might happen if you placed a dozen monkeys in a room, with a dozen computers. Code monkeys, I soon learned they were called (ironically enough) , were working on what held the Internet together for most businesses and people. The behind the scenes, the things called servers and internals, all these things that most of us just don't understand.

I soon grew bored with this new world, and wandered off on my own. What I do remember is the room was freezing and it stank of unwashed bodies; flat, soured soda; and ozone put out by the various electronic devices. I never did figure out why there was a radiation warning on the door, though. . .