Humor 5/27/98: The 11 Evolutionary Stages of A Programmer

Hey,

Welcome to my weekly humor email, for those of you I met/saw in CA this
past weekend. There are three parts to these typical emails: a thought
provoking question (appetizer), the humor (main course) and a
inspirational/touching story (dessert).

This week's thought provoking question is: "If you were to pick one
place to live for the rest of your life, where would it be? If you were
to live several places, where would those places be? Why?" (from Jerry
Jones' "201 Great Questions").

This week's humor email comes to us from Jennifer Chin. It's for those
of you with some technical (computer) background. It's long, but I
thought it was amusing. I wonder if these programs really work. What
stage are you in? I've gone through some of these stages, I admit it.
The inspirational story after that comes from the Chicken Soup series.
Enjoy!

-Josh.
P.S. Please make sure that you send all future emails to me at:
joshli@post.harvard.edu. I'm getting rid of my GIS account soon.
P.P.S. Since I'm leaving the U.S. on June 7th for Asia, please take me
off of your humor distribution lists now. I've really enjoyed them, but
I will have limited Internet access overseas. My humor email folder
already has over 500 messages! It'll take me years just to send out the
humor emails I already have.
__________________________________________________

For the tech-ies out there =)

The 11 Evolutionary Stages of a Programmer

Stage 1: High School/Jr. High
===================

10 PRINT "HELLO WORLD"
20 END

Stage 2: First year in College
=====================
program Hello(input, output)
begin
writeln('Hello World')
end.

Stage 3: Senior year in College
======================
(defun hello
(print
(cons 'Hello (list 'World))))

Stage 4: New professional
================

Section deleted

Stage 5: Seasoned professional
=====================
Section deleted


Stage 9: Seasoned Hacker
===================
% cc -o a.out ~/src/misc/hw/hw.c
% a.out



Stage 10:Guru Hacker
===================
% cat
Hello, world.
^^D



Stage 11:New Manager
===================
10 PRINT "HELLO WORLD"
20 END



Middle Manager
===================
mail -s "Hello, world." bob@b12
Bob, could you please write me a program that prints "Hello, world."?
I need it by tomorrow.
^^D



Senior Manager
===================
% zmail jim
I need a "Hello, world." program by this afternoon.



Chief Executive
===================
% letter
letter: Command not found.
% mail
To: ^^X ^^F ^^C
% help mail
help: Command not found.
% damn!
!: Event unrecognized
% logout

_____________________________________________

A Simple Act of Love

When I was growing up, my father always stopped what he
was
doing and listened while I'd breathlessly fill him in on my
day.
For him, no subject was off-limits. When I was a lanky and
awkward 13, Dad coached me on how to stand and walk like a
lady.
At 17 and madly in love, I sought his advice on pursuing a
new
student at school. "Keep the conversation neutral," he
counseled.
"And ask him about his car."
I followed his suggestions and gave him daily progress
reports: "Terry walked me to my locker!" Guess what? Terry
held
my hand!" Dad! He asked me out!" Terry and I went steady for
over
a year, and soon Dad was joking, "I can tell you how to get
a
man; the hard part is getting rid of him."
By the time I graduated from college, I was ready to
spread
my wings. I got a job teaching special education at a school
in
Coachella, California, a desert town about 170 miles from
home.
It was no dream job. Low-income housing across the street
from
the school was a haven for drug users. Street gangs hung
around
the school after dark. Many of my charges, emotionally
disturbed
10-to 14-year-old boys, had been arrested for shoplifting,
car
theft or arson.
"Be careful," Dad warned me during one of my frequent
weekend visits home. He was concerned about my living alone,
but
I was 23, enthusiastic and naive, and I needed to be on my
own.
Besides, teaching jobs were tight in 1974, and I felt lucky
to
have one.
"Don't worry," I reassured him, as I loaded up the car
to
start my trip back to the desert and my job.
Several evenings later I stayed after school to
rearrange my
classroom. Finished, I turned out the light and closed the
door.
Then I headed toward the gate. It was locked! I looked
around.
Everyone - teachers, custodians, secretaries - had gone home
and,
noy realizing I was still there, stranded me on the school
grounds. I glanced at my watch - it was almost 6p.m. I had
been
so engrossed in my work that I hadn't noticed the time.
After checking all the exits, I found just enough room
to
squeeze under a gate in the rear of the school. I pushed my
purse
through first, lay on my back and slowly edged through.
I retrieved my purse and walked toward my car, parked
in a
field behind the building. Eerie shadows fell across the
schoolyard.
Suddenly, I heard voices. I glanced around and saw at
least
eight high-school-age boys following me. They were half a
block
away. Even in the near darkness I could see they were
wearing
gang insignia.
"Hey!" one called out. "You a teacher?"
"Nah, she's too young - must be an aide!" another said.

As I walked faster, they continued taunting me. "Hey!
She's
kinda cute!"
Quickening my pace, I reached into my shoulder bag to
get my
key ring. If I have the keys in my hands, I thought, I can
unlock
the car and get in before...My heart was pounding.
Frantically, I felt all over the inside of my handbag.
But
the key ring wasn't there!
"Hey! Let's get the lady!" one boy shouted.
Dear Lord, please help me, I prayed silently. Suddenly,
my
fingers wrapped around a loose key in my purse. I didn't
even
know if it was for my car, but I took it out and clutched it

firmly.
I jogged across the grass to my car and tried the key.
It
worked! I opened the door, slid in and locked it - just as
the
teenagers surrounded the car, kicking the sides and banging
on
the roof. Trembling, I started the engine and drove away.
Later, some teachers went back to the school with me.
With
flashlights, we found the key ring on the ground by the
gate,
where it had fallen as I slid through.
When I returned to my apartment, the phone was ringing.
It
was Dad. I didn't tell him about my ordeal; I didn't want to

worry him.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you!" he said. "I had an extra
car key
made and slipped it into your pocketbook - just in case you
ever
need it."
Today, I keep that key in my dresser drawer and
treasure it.
Whenever I hold it in my hand, I am reminded of all the
wonderful
things Dad has done for me over the years. I realize that,
although he is now 68 and I am 40, I still look to him for
wisdom, guidance and reassurance. Most of all, I marvel at
the
fact that his thoughtful gesture of making the extra key may
have
saved my life. And I understand how a simple act of love can
make
extraordinary things happen.

By Sharon Whitley
from A 4th Course of Chicken Soup for the Soul
Copyright 1997 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Hanoch
McCarty & Meladee McCarty