Sara works as a product manager for a piece of accounting software for a large, international company. As a product manager, Sara interacts with their internal customers- the accounting team- and Bradley is the one she always bumps heads with.
Bradley's idea of a change request is to send a screenshot, with no context, and a short message, like "please fix", "please advise", or "this is wrong". It would take weeks of emails and, if they were lucky, a single phone call, for Sara's team to figure out what needs to be fixed, because Bradley is "too busy" to provide any more information.
One day, Bradley sent a screenshot of their value added taxation subsystem, saying, "This is wrong. Please fix." The email was much longer, of course, but the rest of the email was Bradley's signature block, which included a long list of titles, certifications, a few "inspirational" quotes, and his full name.
Sara replied. "Hi Brad," her email began- she had once called him "Bradley" which triggered his longest email to date, a screed about proper forms of address. "Thanks for notifying us about a possible issue. Can you help me figure out what's wrong? In your screen shot, I see SKU numbers, tax information, and shipping details."
Bradley's reply was brief. "Yes."
Sara sighed and picked up her phone. She called Bradley's firm, which landed her with an assistant, who tracked down another person, who asked another who got Bradley to confirm that the issue is that, in some cases, the Value Added Tax isn't using the right rate, as in some situations multiple rates have to be applied at the same time.
It was a big update to their VAT rules. Sara managed to talk to some SMEs at her company to refine the requirements, contacted development, and got the modifications built in the next sprint.
"Hi, Bradley," Sara started her next email. "Thank you for bringing the VAT issue to our attention. Based on your description, we have implemented an update. We've pushed it to the User Acceptance Testing environment. After you sign off that the changes are correct, we will deploy it into production. Let me know if there are any issues with the update." The email included links to the UAT process document, the UAT test plan template, and all the other details that they always provided to guide the UAT process.
A week later, Bradley sent an email. "It works." That was weird, as Bradley almost never signed off until he had pushed in a few unrelated changes. Still, she had the sign off. She attached the email to the ticket and once the changes were pushed to production, she closed the ticket.
A few days later, the entire accounting team goes into a meltdown and starts filing support request after support request. One user submitted ten by himself- and that user was the CFO. This turns into a tense meeting between the CFO, Bradley, Sara, and Sara's boss.
"How did this change get released to production?"
Sara pulled up the ticket. She showed the screenshots, referenced the specs, showed the development and QA test plans, and finally, the email from Bradley, declaring the software ready to go.
The CFO turned to Bradley.
"Oh," Bradley said, "we weren't able to actually test it. We didn't have access to our test environment at all last week."
"What?" Sara asked. "Why did you sign off on the change if you weren't able to test it!?"
"Well, we needed it to go live on Monday."
After that, a new round of requirements gathering happened, and Sara's team was able to implement them. Bradley wasn't involved, and while he still works at the same company, he's been shifting around from position to position, trying to find the best fit…
Pascal wrote, "If you ask me, I think Dr. Phil needs to hire a captioner that doens't have a stutter."
Tore F. writes, "If the Lenovo System Update tool was coded to expect an unexpected exception, does that mean that it was, in fact, actually expected?"
"Note to self: Never set the A/C to its lowest limit, or at least have a toilet and TP handy," writes Peter G.
"No matter how hard you try, Yodal, 82 - (-7) does not equal 22," Chris E. wrote.
Jiri G. writes, "100% service availability? Nah, you don't need that. Close enough is good enough."
Carl was excited to join his first "real" company and immerse himself in the World of Business. The fresh-faced IT Analyst was immediately assigned to a "cross-strata implementation team" tasked with redesigning the RMA form completed by customers when they returned goods. The current form had been flagged for various weaknesses and omissions.
The project's kickoff meeting ran for three hours, with twelve team members in attendance representing departments throughout the company. By the end of the meeting, the problem had been defined, and everyone had homework: to report to the next team meeting with their own interpretations of what the new form should look like.
Each team member dutifully came back with at least one version of the form each. The next meeting consisted of Norman, the QA Manager, critiquing each prospective form as it was presented to the group. Without fail, he'd shake his head with a furrowed brow, muttering "No, no ..."
This proceeded, form after form, until Terry, an Accounts Junior, presented his version. When Norman expressed displeasure, Terry dared to ask, "Well? What's wrong with it?"
Norman gestured to the list of required criteria in his hands. "You've missed this piece of information, and that's probably the most important item we need to capture."
Terry frowned. "But, Norman, your form doesn't have that information on it, either."
Upon looking down at his own form, Norman realized Terry was correct. He rallied to save his dignity. "Ah, yes, but, you see, I know that it's missing."
Stupefied, Terry backed down.
Carl cycled through bafflement, boredom, and agony of the soul as the meeting dragged on. At one point, Finance Manager Kevin picked up yet another version of the form and asked, "What about this one, then?"
Jason the Ops Manager skimmed through it, ticking off items against the list of criteria. "Yup, yup, yup, yup ... yes, this is it! I think we've cracked it!" he exclaimed.
Norman peered at the form in Jason's hands. "That's the form we're currently using." The very form they needed to replace.
Hours upon hours of combined effort had thus far resulted in no progress whatsoever. Carl glanced at the conference room's wall clock with its stubbornly slow hands, wondering if a camera hidden behind it were recording his reaction for a YouTube prank channel. But, no. He was simply immersed in the World of Business.
Tiberrias sends us some code that, on its face, without any context, doesn’t look bad.
var conditionId = _monitorConditionManagement.GetActiveConditionCountByClient(clientIdentityNumber); _monitorConditionManagement.StopCondition(conditionId);
The purpose of this code is to lookup a condition ID for a client, and then clear that condition from a client by
StopConditioning that ID. Which, if you read the code closely, the problem becomes obvious:
GetActiveConditionCountByClient. Count. This doesn’t return a condition ID, it returns the count of the number of active conditions. So, this is a stupid, simple mistake, an easy error to make, and an easy error to catch- this code simply doesn’t work, so what’s the WTF?
This code was written by a developer who either made a simple mistake or just didn’t care. But then it went through code review- and the code reviewer either missed it, or just didn’t care. It’s okay, though, because there are unit tests. There’s a rich, robust unit test suite. But in this case, the
GetActiveConditionCountByClient and the
StopCondition methods are just mocks, and the person who wrote the unit test didn’t check to see that the mocks were called as expected, because they just didn’t care.
Still, there’s an entire QA team between this code and production, and since this code definitely can’t work, they’re going to catch the bug, right? They might- if they cared. But this code passed QA, and got released into production.
The users might notice, but the
StopCondition method is so nice that, if given an invalid ID, it just logs the error and trucks on. The users think their action worked. But hey, there’s a log file, right? There’s an operations team which monitors the logs and should notice a lot of errors suddenly appearing. They just would have to care, which guess what…
This bug only got discovered and fixed because Tiberrias noticed it while scrolling through the class to fix an entirely unrelated bug.
“You really shouldn’t fix two unrelated bugs in the same commit,” the code reviewer said when Tiberrias submitted it.
There was only one way to reply. “I don’t care.”
Jakob M. had the great pleasure of working as a System Administrator in a German school district. At times it was rewarding work. Most of the time it involved replacing keyboard keys mischievous children stole and scraping gum off of monitor screens. It wasn't always the students that gave him trouble though.
Frau Fritzenberger was a cranky old math teacher at a Hauptschule near Frankfurt. Jakob regularly had to answer support calls she made for completely frivolous things. Having been teaching since before computers were a thing, she put up a fight for every new technology or program Jakob's department wanted to implement.
Over the previous summer, a web-based grading system called NotenWertung was rolled out across the district's network. It would allow teachers to grade homework and post the scores online. They could work from anywhere, with any computer. There was even a limited mobile application. Students and parents could then get a notification and see them instantly. Frau Fritzenberger was predictably not impressed.
She threw a fit on the first day of school and Jakob was dispatched to defuse it. "Why do we need computers for grading?!" she screeched at Jakob. "Paper works just fine like it has for decades! How else can I use blood red pen to shame them for everything they get wrong!"
"I understand your concern, Frau Fritzenberger," Jakob replied while making a 'calm down' gesture with his arms. "But we can't have you submitting grades on paper when the entire rest of the district is using NotenWertung." He had her sit down at the computer and gave her a For Dummies-type walkthrough. "There, it's easier than you think. You can even do this at night from the comfort of your own home," he assured her before getting up to leave.
Just as he was exiting the classroom, he heard her shout, "If you were my student, I would smack you with my ruler!" Jakob brushed it off and left to answer a call about paper clips jammed in a PC fan.
The next morning, Jakob got a rare direct call on his desk phone. It was Frau and she was in a rage. All he could make out between strings of aged German cuss words was "computer is broken!" He hung up and prepared to head to Frau's Hauptschule.
Jakob expected to find that Frau didn't have a network connection, misplaced the shortcut to her browser, didn't realize the monitor was off, or something stupid like that. What he found was Frau's computer was literally broken. The LCD screen of her monitor was an elaborate spider web, her keyboard was cracked in half, and the PC tower looked like it had been run over on the Autobahn. Bits of the motherboard dangled outside the case, and the HDD swung from its cable. "Frau Fritzenberger... what in the name of God happened here?!"
"I told you the computer was broken!" Frau shouted while meanly pointing her crooked index finger at Jakob. "You told me I have to do grades on the computer. So I packed it up to take home on my scooter. It was too heavy for me to ride with it on back so I wiped out and it smashed all over the road! This is all your fault!"
Jakob stared on in disbelief at the mangled hunks of metal and plastic. Apparently you can teach an old teacher new tricks but you can't teach her that the same web application can be accessed from any computer.
One of the key differences between a true WTF and an ugly hack is a degree of self-awareness. It's not a WTF if you know it's a WTF. If you've been doing this job for a non-zero amount of time, you have had a moment where you have a solution, and you know it's wrong, you know you shouldn't do this, but by the gods, it works and you've got more important stuff to worry about right now, so you just do it.
An anonymous submitter committed a sin, and has reached out to us for absolution.
This is a case of "DevOps" hackery. They have one server with no Internet- one remote server with no Internet. Deploying software to a server you can't access physically or through the Internet is a challenge. They have a solution involving hopping through some other servers and bridging the network that lets them get the
.deb package files within reach of the destination server.
But that introduces a new problem: these packages have complex dependency chains and unless they're installed in the right order, it won't work. The correct solution would be to install a local package repository on the destination server, and let
apt worry about resolving those dependencies.
And in the long run, that's what our anonymous submitter promises to do. But they found themselves in a situation where they had more important things to worry about, and just needed to do it.
for f in ./*.deb do echo "Attempt $count" for file in ./*.deb do echo "Installing $file" sudo dpkg -i $file done (( count++ )) donecount=0
This is a solution to dependency management which operates on
O(N^2): we install each package once for the total number of packages in the folder. It's the brutest of force solutions, and no matter what our dependency chain looks like, by sheer process of elimination, this will eventually get every package installed. Eventually.
"It's as if IntelliJ IDEA just gave up trying to parse my code," writes John F.
Henry D. writes, "If you have a phone in English but have it configured to recognize two different languages, simple requests sometimes morph into the weirdest things."
Carl C. wrote, "Maybe Best Buy's page is referring to a store near Nulltown, Indiana, but really, I think their site is on drugs."
"Yeah, Thanks Cisco, but I'm not sure I really want to learn more," writes Matt P.
"Ebay is alerting me to something. No idea what it is, but I can tell you what they named their variables," Lincoln K. wrote.
"Not quite sure what secrets the Inner Circle holds, I guess knowing Latin?" writes Matt S.