The heart is not located in the normal spot, in a PM. He’s back at work today, spreading joy around and asking for estimates.
“What can you get done in, say, the next ten minutes?”
“There’s a status tracking meeting at four, and I need to report progress.”
“But we talked at ten this morning, and –”
“This is really high visibility, and we have to show we’ve done something since then.”
He continues: “Or, we can give the project to Ralph. Ralph is good at reporting progress.”
“Ralph is a DBA. He doesn’t know which side of a curly-brace goes left or right.”
“But he gives good progress.”
“He thinks backslashes are the devil’s work. I’m not even sure he knows how to turn off his caps-lock key. Also, he doesn’t know C++.”
“You’re just being difficult.”
About five years ago I purchased The Bag from an old crone in a bad part of town. I’m not sure what’s in it, but a little bit of the stuff does wonders. I reach into my pocket, draw out a pinch and throw it in his eyes while muttering the charm.
He takes a step back, rubs his eyes and says “Ackblphltb?”
“You’re feeling on top of your game!”
“I am? I am!”
“You’re not being paid enough!”
“I’m so totally repressed and under-appreciated in this group. This sucks.”
“You’re going to interviewing, starting tomorrow!”
“I am so out of here. Maybe I’ll go to Google or Facebook.”
And that is how we do that.