Plight of a Data Analyst
Once upon a midday sunny, while I labored for my money
Tapping keys and writing notes, just as I’d done the day before.
While I scanned the lines of coding, I felt a feeling of foreboding
Like my confidence eroding, eroding from the thought I bore -
“I don’t know these numbers,” whispered I, which only fueled the thought I bore -
Staring eyes were now made sore.
At once I ceased this thoughtless thinking, and set my eyes to easeful blinking,
Reviewing code that I’d relied on, from the early days of yore.
How could I be drawn to doubting, numbers I’ve been surely counting,
While calculating their amounting, just as I’d done the day before?
I relaxed a bit and got some water, from the cooler on my floor -
Staring eyes no longer sore.
But suddenly my thoughts were slipping, as I witnessed water dripping
From the cooler I’d relied on, that was placed upon my floor.
Now stared I, my thoughts relentless, with piercing eyes and pure intentness
At the slowly growing wetness, evidenced upon the floor.
“If this machine could fail, so could I” was the only thought I bore -
Only this and nothing more.
To my computer I returned, recalling all the things I’d learned,
All those things ‘bout running numbers, from the early days of yore.
I began the task of re-computing, the totals I was now disputing,
Persistently I’d be refuting, the solid numbers that I’d bore.
“They all must go,” I fiercely whispered, everything from just before -
Reports I’d run; now I tore.
Like a madness it consumed me, just find the error and resume thee,
Normal duties that you’re used to, from all the days you’ve worked before.
One could hear the violent tapping, of my keystrokes and their clacking,
Every key I was attacking, they could hear it from across the floor.
But all I heard was the dripping, of the cooler near the door -
This I heard and nothing more.
All my effort I unloaded, pouring over lines I’d coded
Even lines I thought were perfect – how much more could I endure?
I knew the answer must be hidden, among the VB code I’d written,
But on my backside I felt bitten; to any God I now implored -
Only silence I received, except that dripping on the floor -
Where was it, my blessed cure?
All at once a thought occurred me, one I’d ignored so gruff and surly
Barely moving I reflected – could it be the thought I bore?
Barely breathing, hardly blinking, all of my ideas now linking,
The answer lied in simple thinking, and suddenly I felt secure.
I recalled the lesson I’d forgotten from the early times of yore.
‘Twas just a typo, nothing more.