Alright, let me tell you about this whole “Cavs at Suns” episode. It wasn’t some vacation, believe me. That was our code name for a project, a real beast of one, that nearly burned us all out. We picked “Cavs” because the client, bless their hearts, were a bit like cavaliers, charging in with new demands every other day, no real thought for the chaos they were causing. And “Suns”? Well, we were based out in a really hot place for a good chunk of it, and the pressure felt just like being under a scorching sun, day in and day out.
So, how did it all start? It began like any other project, really. Lots of excitement, big promises from upper management about how this would be a game-changer. We had our initial meetings, all smiles and handshakes. I was roped in to lead a small team, tasked with handling a critical part of the integration. My job was to make our old system talk to their brand-new, shiny, and utterly undocumented platform. Sounds fun, right?
The first sign of trouble came pretty quick. Their “documentation” was a bunch of outdated notes and a guy named Dave who was never available. We’d spend days trying to figure out a single API endpoint. Then the “Cavalier” aspect really kicked in. They’d change specs mid-sprint. “Oh, we decided this whole module needs to work completely differently now. And we need it by Friday.” Yeah, right.
Our process, if you could call it that, became pure firefighting.
- Wake up.
- Check emails for new fires.
- Spend the morning trying to put out yesterday’s fires.
- Attend meetings where new, bigger fires were announced.
- Spend the afternoon and evening trying to prevent the whole place from burning down.
- Rinse and repeat.
I remember one particular week. We were supposed to be finalizing a major milestone. Then, bam! They drop a bombshell – a whole new set of compliance requirements they’d “forgotten” to mention. The team was already stretched thin. I had to pull everyone in for a weekend shift, fueled by stale coffee and sheer desperation. My kid had a school play that Saturday, and I missed it. That’s the kind of stuff that really sticks with you, you know? More than the technical headaches.
We tried to push back, of course. We showed them the timelines, the resource constraints. But it was like talking to a brick wall. Their project manager would just nod, say “I understand your concerns,” and then reiterate the impossible deadline. It felt like they thought we had a magic wand or something.
In the end, did we deliver? Sort of. We cobbled something together that mostly worked, most of the time. But it wasn’t pretty. It was a patchwork of quick fixes and workarounds. The kind of thing that keeps you up at night, worrying about what might break next. The “Suns” part really lived up to its name; we were all pretty scorched by the time it was “done.”
What did I take away from it? Well, for starters, I learned that not all shiny projects are gold. And that sometimes, you just have to be brutally honest about what’s possible, even if it means having uncomfortable conversations. I also got way better at documenting everything myself, ’cause you can’t rely on a “Dave.” After “Cavs at Suns,” I actually took a bit of a step back, re-evaluated what I wanted from my career. Led to some changes, good ones, eventually. But man, that project was a trial by fire, no doubt about it.
