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I’m about to go off on a rant. I work as a tech writer and I have a love-hate relationship with MadCap Flare, my authoring tool of choice. On one hand, it has simplified my work immensely by making it easy to create professional-quality documents in a variety of format from a single source. In that respect, Flare is head-and-shoulders above its competitors. On the other hand, every day I have to struggle with Flare’s bizarre, non-standard WYSIWYG editor. Honestly, simple editing tasks are brutally painful. Continue reading “”

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Schrodinger’s printer problem

Like many cubicle dwellers, when Friday afternoon rolls around, my mind begins to wander a little, and tasks like attaching the correct cover sheet to the TPS report become unreasonably tedious and just really, really… uh… adjective. I couldn’t concentrate long enough to come up with the right adjective. That’s exactly what I mean. By the end of the week, my brain, frankly, is toast.

Today the printer failed. Jobs were sent, nothing came out. And then it struck me. The problem is that between the computer and the printer, there’s a trans-universe quantum entanglement. You know, the kind that’s often caused by warp-generated inverse tachyon pulses. Yeah, that kind. Basing my reasoning on the long-established and hackneyed premise that there are an infinite number of parallel universes and something about a cat, I think it’s reasonable to assume that the print jobs are actually proceeding through an interdimensional bridge to a nearly identical alternate universe where a nearly identical printer is receiving them. So right now, the other-universe analogs of my co-workers and I are gathered around the printer trying to figure out where all those pages are being printed from. I think my reasoning is sound, but a quick call to Dr. Hawking should verify my hypothesis.

I realize that diagnosing the printer problem in this way doesn’t provide an actual solution, but it may solve other problems, such as those caused by Friday-related lethargy. Let me explain. If there are an infinite number of universe representing all probabilities, then it’s reasonable to assume that in a similar parallel universe, I have completed all of today’s work. All I need is for one of those universes to send it to me, the way I sent my print jobs to the other universe.

Naturally, I don’t have the technology available to send a request or to retrieve things from other universes, but if it is possible, it’s reasonable to believe that there is at least one universe where I do possess the technology. And knowing myself, I know that if I ever had that technology, I would freely share it with my other-universe analogues. I just have to wait for an alternate-universe me to transmit the details.

But Cubey, you say, if there are an infinite number of universes and if inter-universe communication is possible, wouldn’t we be barraged by an infinite number of communication requests from other universes? No, and for an obvious reason: Of all probabilities, there must be a chance of there existing at least one universe that has not been contacted yet. And that’s us.

So now that it’s mid-afternoon on a Friday, all I have to do is wait for another universe to send me instructions. Even just the completed TPS report would be nice.

Hang on… just received an email. And it’s from myself! Hmm. Apparently, in that universe, my middle name is “Awesome”. I always felt it should be.

Crap. He sent me the TPS report alright. But it’s got the wrong cover sheet.

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Where is the telecommuting revolution?

The engine revved as my ancient Civic struggled up the airport end of the Arthur Lang bridge, the worn-out valves popping and clattering not unlike the sound of a coffee grinder in a vain attempt to keep up with traffic. I tried not to notice the newer, healthy cars surging past me and the dirty looks and curses of morning commuters for having delayed their daily pilgramage to officeland by the seconds it took to change lanes and go around my frail old car.

The wastefulness of the morning commute struck me. All these cars roar along choked corridors to get their single occupant to the cube farm on time, while burning vast amounts of fuel and spewing pollutants. And consider the resources and energy spent building thousands — millions — of cars that make the same trip twice a day all across the country. It’s an obscene waste. And none of it is the least bit necessary.

Having spent the last five years working from the remote location of my desk at home, I can assure you that there is no reason why office workers can’t be productive remotely. Using secure software for remote access to the company’s servers and a reasonably fast Internet connection, anyone can be virtually present at the office. Add to that virtual presence an instant messaging and VoIP application, then workers can be available for meetings, presentations, and even casual watercooler chat.

This kind of virtual presence is something that any Second Lifer well knows already. In a world created collaboratively by individuals spread all over the globe, working remotely in environments like Second Life becomes second nature. From our living rooms and home offices, we meet, chat, organize, build. And even though Second Life itself doesn’t lend itself to practical aspects of the workplace, like sharing documents, other software exists that allows exactly that.

So where is the telecommuting revolution that tech pundits promised a decade ago? Why are we still engaging in the wasteful, destructive daily migration to the office towers downtown? What is the resistance?

To employers, it would seem to be a no-brainer. Remote workers don’t use up costly office space and resources. There are no on-site insurance issues. You don’t need to spend money on meals when they work late.

I think in the end it comes down to trust, or a lack thereof. Employers feel the need to keep a watchful eye on their employees when productivity is measured in keystrokes per minute, not in the quality and volume of daily output. If workers aren’t seated in their cubicle and clattering out words at their keyboards, then they simply aren’t working. Part of the resistance on the management’s part is purely emotional, I imagine. Decentralization means a loss of direct control over the minute-to-minute activities of their subordinates. And that means no more leaning on the cubicle wall, coffee mug in hand, with a personal reminder to put the cover sheet on the TPS report.

Somehow, this negative perception needs to change to follow the example of Second Life. Businesses need to change from a centralized, cubicle farm model to a decentralized, remote model. Office workers needn’t be enclosed in a grey stall to work productively. In fact, as I can attest, working from a home office reduces stress, which in turn improves productivity, creativity, and output.

Until the telecommuting revolution arrives, however, I’ll be bumper-to-bumper with the hordes of fellow cubicle dwellers.

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