Post Syndicated from The Codeless Code original http://thecodelesscode.com/case/224

While passing by the temple’s Support Desk, the nun
Hwídah heard of strange behavior in a certain
application. Since she had been appointed by master
Banzen to assist with production issues, the nun
dutifully described the symptoms to the application’s senior
monk:

“Occasionally a user will return to a record they had
previously edited, only to discover that some information is
missing,” said Hwídah. “The behavior is not repeatable, and
the users confess that they may be imagining things.”

“I have heard these reports,” said the senior monk. “There is
no bug in the code that I can see, nor can we reproduce the
problem in a lower environment.”

“Still, it may be prudent to investigate further,” said the
nun.

The monk sighed. “We are all exceedingly busy. Only a few
users have reported this issue, and even they doubt
themselves. So far, all are content to simply re-enter the
‘missing’ information and continue about their business.
Can you offer me one shred of evidence that this is anything
more than user error?”

The nun shook her head, bowed, and departed.

That night, the senior monk was awoken from his sleep by a
squeaking under his bed, of the sort a mouse might make.
This sound continued throughout the night—sometimes in
one place, sometimes another, presumably as the intruder
wandered about in search of food. A sandal flung in the
direction of the sound resulted in immediate quiet, but
eventually the squeaking would begin again in a different
part of the room.

“This is doubtless some lesson that the meddlesome Hwídah
wishes to teach me,” he complained to his fellows the next
day, dark circles under his eyes. “Yet I will not be
bullied into chasing nonexistent bugs. If the nun is so
annoyed by the squeaking of our users, let her deal with
it!”

The monk set mousetraps in the corners and equipped himself
with a pair of earplugs. Thus he passed the next night, and
the night after, though his sleep was less restful than he
would have liked.

On the seventh night, the exhausted monk turned off the
light and fell hard upon his bed. There was a loud CRACK
and the monk found himself tumbling through space. With a
CRASH he bounced off his mattress and rolled onto a cold
stone floor. His bed had, apparently, fallen through the
floor into the basement.

Perched high on a ladder—just outside the gaping hole in
the basement’s wooden ceiling—was the nun Hwídah, her
face lit only by a single candle hanging nearby. She
descended and dropped an old brace-and-bit hand drill into
the monk’s lap. Then she crouched down next to his ear.

“If you don’t understand it, it’s dangerous,” whispered the
nun.