The Security Council
Welcome to London — Episode 09
London. Friday. 4.35 pm. Train to West Hampstead Thames Link departing 5.27 from platform 3: On time. I glimpse at my phone next to my keyboard and smile. The weekend is just about to start — plans are made, just getting my last bits and bobs ready at work before I go into my well deserved two days break.
I leave some comments on the Change Request I just reviewed, update our developer board and fill in my time sheets, when Dallas Lawrence appears at the far horizon beyond the rows of desks right in the door.
That’s no good omen.
Dallas climbs the stairs to our lair only for one reason: A fatal security breach we have to look into immediately. Most of the time it is something ridiculous, what is not our fault in the first place, but never mind. Better not to mess with the head of the security council.
I watch him approach our corner with fierce steps and wonder for whom he’s aiming this time and suddenly sit upright when he comes to a halt right in front of me.
I peep over my screen and put on a wide smile.
“Hi Dallas, how are you?” I’ve learned that the English expect this kind of small talk before they come to business. Waste of time in my eyes, but you really want the guys from security on your side.
Not today, though. Dallas’ eyes pin me down with a severe beam.
“Did you just check-in the changes with the Datepicker?”
Yeiks — I don’t even get a ‘hello’! He must be really pissed.
“I did indeed. Is something wrong with it?” I ask innocently and keep my smile up, although I can feel the itch to roll my eyes raise inside me.
He grunts. “And it did not occur to you to have a look at our security checklist before you committed your change?”
My smile gets even brighter. “I did indeed,” I repeat and open up my signed off Change Request. “I checked with Charlie and Melvin and they said both it was OK.”
We are all obsessing about the checklist, normally after a security issue, keen to not let anything be flagged in the first place. So we fall into the nice comfort just ticking off quickly and slowly forget about it entirely and about the pain of the consequences. Dallas seems to smell whenever we feel too comfortable and keeps catching us whenever we didn’t check this damn list.
But for a change, I am prepared. I pulled out my hairs over this damn date picker — or the fake picker as we started to call this little piece of … code. However, I am pretty sure, that we tested everything about it.
Dallas folds his arms and gives me again this look. Like a disappointed father who did everything for his adolescent daughter and yet gets nothing but betrayal for his trust.
I battle my facial expression to stay calm and not grimace nor laugh and hope my voice sounds severe when I reply, “Would you just tell me what it is, then?”
He sighs upon this incompetence to see the obvious.
“Bring up the date picker and open the developer console in the browser.”
Yes, I know what the console is, thank you, Dallas. I know what I am going to see there, anyway.
“You mean the warning? That’s why I asked Charlie, he signed it off.”
In fairness — I completely forgot about the security checklist as always. It was dutiful Melvin to remind me of it when he reviewed my code and actually found the warning.
“It is an error message! Your date picker violates our security standards and that does not concern you at all?”
“It does concern me.” We figured that this little warning would stop the entire feature to work in the production environments, so I had to fiddle around, overwriting a dozen classes to make it look like it does — but Dallas probably does not share the same concerns.
His foot pounds in a wild rhythm on the floor like rattling thunder in a storm cloud and his body stiffens even more if that was possible.
“You cannot just ignore an error message in the console!” he presses.
From the corner of my eye I see an incoming message on our slack channel: Do not question the word of the security council!
Without a peek on the user avatar I know who sent the message and I try not to look at the GIF animation which follows the message immediately, probably showing some ridiculous but accurate film scene mocking Dallas obsessing over nothing.
“Sorry Dallas, we didn’t just ignore it.”
Another incoming message: Convene the security council
I can hardly fight my laugh back and stare to the opposite desks where Tony giggles behind his computer monitor.
“But the security rules are clashing with a few styles. That is hardly a violation — it’s just about how the software looks,” I add and try to block out the vision of more security council banter. While the others are pretending to work busily our slack channel buzzes with GIFs and banter, popping up in the corner of my screen, while I try to stay focused.
“Just?” Dallas snaps. “The rules are there for a reason. It’s a potential security breach.”
Quick to the security mobile!
“We are talking about the styling. What’s the worst case scenario? That someone inserts a pink background in our app?”
Knee before the council!
“It’s styles now, but it could be a script as well, wandering off and doing stuff in the background we are not aware of.”
His face turns red while he gets more and more in rage, while I find the situation more and more amusing.
I want to argue, that both Developer and Operations signed my code off, but it is pointless. I pretend to take notes, while I just scribble on my notepad and say “Look, I will raise a ticket to get it sorted. We are not going to release anytime soon, so we have plenty of time to find a better solution.” Passing around this stupid settings, I think to myself and smile placative.
“Get it done,” he growls and turns on his heels.
The council has spoken!
I crumple my fake notes and throw them over to Tony as soon as Dallas is out of the door.
“Thank you for your support, mate,” I chaff.
Tony, who started this avalanche on slack, avoids my paper missile and bursts into a laugh. “You’re very welcome.”
Melvin shrugs “Raise the ticket, so Dallas sees we make an effort, but to be honest, I don’t see what we could have done differently.”
“I’ll ask Charlie to drop the rule for the styling. There is no point in being so strict!” I sigh and look at the clock.
5.18 pm. 9 minutes to my train.
I jump from my chair and pull the plugs from my laptop.
There is literally nothing going to happen today any more. On my way out the paper ball hits me in the back and when I spin around Tony bends suspiciously concentrated over his keyboard.
“Have a good weekend, everyone” although I give Tony a rude gesture before I open the door with my key card.
“Beware of the security council!”
To J. — Who started the security council and handles it gracefully.
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