This is kind of a slow build with some systems development discussions along the way. If you have trouble with those, just speed read past them.
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My name is Mireille, (pronounced Meer-ay) which is a French girl's name, since I was named after my one great grandmother who was French. The problem, of course, is that no one knows how to pronounce it. I grew up with teachers and everyone else calling me Mary-elle or some such thing. It didn't help that I was a nerdy girl.
I had slightly darker skin, thanks to my great grandmother from the south of France, along with curly brown hair. To make it worse, I had braces and glasses for most of my youth. Beyond that, I was a late bloomer, so when all the other girls began to get boobs, I remained flat chested for some time after. Even now, I have no more than a small b-cup.
I was smart and studious, though not at all athletic. In fact I was almost a klutz and pretty much uncoordinated. Forget trying to fit in, I just tried to survive. I was bullied by some of the more popular girls. One of the worst was Angela. I had to think it was wishful thinking when her parents named her. Now it was more ironic, since she was as far from angelic as possible.
Angela was pretty, blonde, sexy, and quite popular. She was a head cheerleader and all the boys swooned over her. You'd think she would bask in her popularity and just ignore the likes if me. Instead, she went out of her way to make fun of me any time she could. All I had to do was exist for Angela to find something to make fun of.
"Ohmagod, here's the girl who can't even pronounce her own name."
"It's a French name, and they -- "
"And she thinks she's French instead of American."
"I'm American, but my name is -- "
"Of course if you look at her, it looks more like a boy pretending to be a girl."
"We can't all have your assets."
"No boobs, no ass, and she's always in jeans and tees. Why do we even pretend she's a girl?"
"Why do you even care?"
"Glasses, braces, and dorky looking. She's too ugly to be a girl."
Angela could go on like this for much longer than I could take it. She was athletic and bigger than me, so it wasn't like I could even physically respond. She could have beaten my ass with little effort. Mercifully, she limited herself to verbal assaults. We went to the same middle school and high school, so I had to put up with her teasing for years.
I went away to college, on a scholarship and got far away from dear Angela. Obviously I am being sarcastic in referring to her as 'dear'. I majored in computer science and became a damned good programmer, with a thorough knowledge of all the behind the scenes stuff. It isn't enough to know how to code, you're better if you understand how it all works.
At any rate, after I graduated, I began working for a company that did contracting for computer clients. I was a top notch coder, but honestly I am not an artist. I was criticized for having my screens be dull and very run of the mill. I worked with some more artistic types who did screen design and had much prettier screens that pleased the clients more.
I was working on a web system for ordering for one client and had the guts of it down solid. It worked exactly as it was supposed to and had all the options needed and only the options that applied to the product in question. Having gotten the basis down, they brought in someone to do screen designs to make it zippier.
So who do they bring in to do the more artistic end of my project? None other than Angela, my high school tormenter. I had not even realized that she was employed at that company. Frankly, if I'd known that she would be employed there, I'd have gotten a job somewhere else. At any rate, now I had to deal with Angela doing my screen designs.
"Well, if it isn't Mary-elle."
"Hello, Devila."
"Don't you wish you were clever?"
"Tell you what, call me, Miri, and I'll call you whatever you prefer."
"All right, Miri, call me Angie."
"So, Angie, you're doing my screens?"
"I hope to hell that your back end works better than the last clown I did screens for."
"My code works, and works right."
"Well then, Miri, we should get along."
I showed her my rough layouts, and explained the options and how they worked. For one product, there might be two or three options, while another might have as many as ten. There were levels of options, and some options didn't work with some other options, and my code would not allow them to choose incompatible options.
"And you have that so it works right?"
"Beat it up. Try it out. See if you can build some incompatible options."
"If it doesn't crash or lock up, you're doing better than my last."
"What the hell happened?"
"Raoul coded it. My screens were beautiful, and the damned thing would crash if more than three people were on it at a time."
"We can stress test this with multiple users, but it should be fine."
"The project with Raoul went so badly, they almost fired my ass."
"Even though the problems weren't your fault?"
"My fingers were on the project, so I shared the blame."
"That sucks. I'll make damned sure I'm not the problem."
"Given how I treated you in the past, I couldn't blame you if you took me down."