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Between the Bits: The Shame of Gaming

Stock Option Trading Disclaimer: The proceeding article is editorial content. The views expressed are those of the author and do not neccessarily reflect the official position of the Advanced Media Network.

In 1925, the Masquers club was formed by actors fed up with the grueling work hours at the Hollywood studios, particularly for actors without contracts, who felt the brunt of cost-cutting measures during the Great Depression.
- ("Screen Actors Guild, Wikipedia", http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Screen_Actors_Guild

Balance of Dignity

My first computer job was a very short one. I was working as a data entry clerk for a retail credit loan agency. This was a place that offered 21% interest loans for people who wanted to buy vacuum cleaners. I don't know about you, but when a vacuum cleaner costs me $75 a month for three years, it'd better clean the place itself and make me toast. Toast with peanut butter and cheddar cheese on it.

One day, a new programmer came to our building. We were going high tech! No more little keyboards with 2 line displays tied into a mainframe. We were going to get to view the entire application on a real computer screen and process the applications from there. Now, instead of telling people they were denied a $1000 21% interest rate loan for five years so they could buy a big screen TV in ten minutes, we could do it in nine and not have the paperwork to mess with because we were digital, baby.

As it turns out, I knew a lot about computers. My father had been a computer technician, then an IT manager and later a CIO. I originally planned to go to law school, but realized that I was pretty damned good with the new-fangled digital devices that the rest of the world was getting into.

Because of this, my supervisors placed me in the newly formed IT department. I was estatic. Instead of schlepping in classes forever, I was going to work in a real IT department. Setting up computers. Trying out the latest technology. Working on programs on the mainframe system.

As it turned out, one of the things they liked about me was that I was young, eager to please, and willing to work whatever hours they could dish up. And why not? I was "salary", so it wasn't like I was getting paid overtime. If things in the old retail credit area got too busy, they could call me over when they needed to. My 80 words per minute ability was in high demand during rush hours, and then I could go back to work in the IT department once I was finished.

Then, two months later, I was sent back to the retail credit division. Nothing I had done wrong - they had finished the extra work that was needed. I felt demoted and annoyed. All that homework, and not a single bonus, a raise, promotion, or coffee cup. If there's anything I've learned in corporate America, it's that recognition is usually given in a coffee cup.

Too bad I don't drink coffee.

I felt humiliated. I had been demoted, and with little more warning than coming into work one morning and being told, "Yeah, you sit over there now."

A week later, I had a new job in an IT department of an insurance company, with a new position, better wage, and better hours for school (mainly in the evening). When my old job asked me why I was leaving with only a 48 hour notice, I couldn't believe it. What did they expect, that I stick around and show loyalty after the way I was treated? How much warning had I been given that my position was changing?

I understood that there's a time to get out. A year later, I ran into one of my former coworkers. The company I worked for had gone out of business, most of the employees laid off, and this former fellow employee bemoaned that they wished they had gotten out when I did. Probably nothing to do with how they treated me, but then again, who knows? Perhaps without me to sing "Walking Around in Woman's Underwear" every December the employees revolted, used the now-useless fax machines to broadcast the revolution and hung the managers in effigy.

Well, maybe not. But I can dream, can't I?

Back in November, I read the account of one ea_spouse on her Livejournal blog. For those who don't know, Electronic Arts is one of the (if not the) biggest software game developers in the world. By their own public statements they made $2.9 billion dollars in revenue, and $577 million in profits.

Ms. ea_spouse's tale (which I recommend you read yourself) is the story of an employee who starts working 6 days a week, 8 hours a day (48 hours, of which 8 hours was unpaid overtime), then 12 hours a day 6 days a week (32 hours of overtime), then up to 7 days a week with a minimum of 40 hours a week of unpaid overtime being worked by this employee.

Which, according to Electronic Arts, is fully legal under California law; programmers don't have to be paid overtime. (There is some dispute since the law excludes artists, but we'll let the courts and EA's conscience handle that.)

It was also legal for Enron to keep telling its employees to buy company stock at the same time they were going bankrupt. Remember: ethical != legal.

I could say that EA could change their corporate policy of taking young, eager, talented programmer artists and working their tails off until they burn out and move onto other jobs. But that would require that EA showed they have a soul. And other than some comments from EA about looking into some overtime positions, my Dad always used to say "Money talks, and bull-" well, you know the rest.

So rather than trusting that Electronic Arts will do the right thing on behalf of its employees rather than its shareholders, it might be better to focus on what those employees should do.

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