Ancient civilizations feared eclipses. Modern employees fear calendar invites with no agenda. The ordinary office worker hears “Can we chat for two minutes?” and experiences the same internal chemistry as a pigeon realizing the statue has moved.
Its sort of coming of age like potty training. It seduces you gently at first — brochures, green lawns, smiling seniors, the promise of “finding yourself” — and then, before you know it, you are in a dim hostel room at 2:11 a.m., half-dressed, underprepared, and whispering filthy things to a PDF that refuses to open.
The beginner arrives innocently. He thinks software engineering is about logic. He has seen movies. In these films, a genius in a black hoodie types very fast in a dark room on his keyboard and either saves the world or steals a satellite.
It is less “journey of healing” and more “four-to-six-year hostage situation conducted by PowerPoint, cortisol, and the brachial plexus.”
