Alot of literature has and is being written about agile developement and its surrounding philosophies. In my quest to find
the best way to express
the importance of agile methodologies, i have found Robert C. Martin's "A Satire Of Two Companies" to be both
the most concise and thorough! Enjoy
the read!
Rufus Inc Project Kick Off
Your name is Bob.
The date is January 3, 2001, and your head still aches from
the recent millennial revelry. You are sitting in a conference room with several managers and a group of your peers. You are a project team leader. Your boss is there, and he has brought along all of his team leaders. His boss called
the meeting. "We have a new project to develop," says your boss's boss. Call him BB.
The points in his hair are so long that they scrape
the ceiling. Your boss's points are just starting to grow, but he eagerly awaits
the day when he can leave Brylcream stains on
the acoustic tiles. BB describes
the essence of
the new market they have identified and
the product they want to develop to exploit this market.
"We must have this new project up and working by fourth quarter October 1," BB demands.
"Nothing is of higher priority, so we are cancelling your current project."
The reaction in
the room is stunned silence.
Months of work are simply going to be thrown away. Slowly, a murmur of objection begins to circulate around
the conference table.
His points give off an evil
green glow as BB meets
the eyes of everyone in
the room. One by one, that insidious stare reduces each attendee to quivering lumps of protoplasm. It is clear that he will brook no discussion on this matter.
Once silence has been restored, BB says, "We need to begin immediately. How long will it take you to do
the analysis?"
You raise your hand. Your boss tries to stop you, but his spitwad misses you and you are unaware of his efforts.
"Sir, we can't tell you how long
the analysis will take until we have some requirements."
"
The requirements document won't be ready for 3 or 4 weeks," BB says, his points vibrating with frustration. "So, pretend that you have
the requirements in front of you now. How long will you require for analysis?"
No one breathes. Everyone looks around to see whether anyone has some idea. "If analysis goes beyond April 1, we have a problem. Can you finish
the analysis by then?"
Your boss visibly gathers his courage: "We'll find a way, sir!" His points grow 3 mm, and your headache increases by two Tylenol.
"Good." BB smiles. "Now, how long will it take to do
the design?"
"Sir," you say. Your boss visibly pales. He is clearly worried that his 3 mms are at risk.
"Without an analysis, it will not be possible to tell you how long design will take."
BB's expression shifts beyond austere.
"PRETEND you have
the analysis already!" he says, while fixing you with his vacant, beady little eyes. "How long will it take you to do
the design?"
Two Tylenol are not going to cut it. Your boss, in a desperate attempt to save his new growth, babbles: "Well, sir, with only six months left to complete
the project, design had better take no longer than 3 months."
"I'm glad you agree, Smithers!" BB says, beaming. Your boss relaxes. He knows his points are secure. After a while, he starts lightly humming
the Brylcream jingle. BB continues, "So, analysis will be complete by April 1, design will be complete by July 1, and that gives you 3 months to implement
the project. This meeting is an example of how well our new consensus and empowerment policies are working. Now, get out there and start working. I'll expect to see TQM plans and QIT assignments on my desk by next week. Oh, and don't forget that your crossfunctional team meetings and reports will be needed for next month's quality audit."
"Forget
the Tylenol," you think to yourself as you return to your cubicle. "I need bourbon."
Visibly excited, your boss comes over to you and says, "Gosh, what a great meeting. I think we're really going to do some world shaking with this project." You nod in agreement, too disgusted to do anything else.
"Oh," your boss continues, "I almost forgot." He hands you a 30-page document. "Remember that
the SEI is coming to do an evaluation next week. This is
the evaluation guide. You need to read through it, memorize it, and then shred it.
It tells you how to answer any questions that
the SEI auditors ask you. It also tells you what parts of
the building you are allowed to take them to and what parts to avoid. We are determined to be a CMM level 3 organization by June!"
You and your peers start working on
the analysis of
the new project. This is difficult because you have no requirements. But from
the 10-minute introduction given by BB on that fateful morning, you have some idea of what
the product is supposed to do.
Corporate process demands that you begin by creating a use case document. You and your team begin enumerating use cases and drawing oval and stick diagrams.
Philosophical debates break out among
the team members. There is disagreement as to whether certain use cases should be connected with <<extends>> or <<includes>> relationships.
Competing models are created, but nobody knows how to evaluate them.
The debate continues, effectively paralyzing progress.
After a week, somebody finds
the iceberg.com Web site, which recommends disposing entirely of <<extends>> and <<includes>> and replacing them with <<precedes>> and <<uses>>.
The documents on this Web site, authored by Don Sengroiux, describes a method known as stalwart-analysis, which claims to be a step-by-step method for translating use cases into design diagrams.
More competing use case models are created using this new scheme, but again, people can't agree on how to evaluate them.
The thrashing continues.
More and more,
the use case meetings are driven by emotion rather than by reason. If it weren't for
the fact that you don't have requirements, you'd be pretty upset by
the lack of progress you are making.
The requirements document arrives on February 15. And then again on February 20, 25, and every week thereafter. Each new version contradicts
the previous one. Clearly,
the marketing folks who are writing
the requirements, empowered though they might be, are not finding consensus.
At
the same time, several new competing use case templates have been proposed by
the various team members. Each template presents its own particularly creative way of delaying progress.
The debates rage on.
On March 1, Prudence Putrigence,
the process proctor, succeeds in integrating all
the competing use case forms and templates into a single, all-encompassing form. Just
the blank form is 15 pages long. She has managed to include every field that appeared on all
the competing templates. She also presents a 159- page document describing how to fill out
the use case form. All current use cases must be rewritten according to
the new standard.
You marvel to yourself that it now requires 15 pages of fill-in-the-blank and essay questions to answer
the question: What should
the system do when
the user presses Return?
The corporate process (authored by L. E. Ott, famed author of "Holistic Analysis: A Progressive Dialectic for Software Engineers") insists that you discover all primary use cases, 87 percent of all secondary use cases, and 36.274 percent of all tertiary use cases before you can complete analysis and enter
the design phase. You have no idea what a tertiary use case is. So in an attempt to meet this requirement, you try to get your use case document reviewed by
the marketing department, which you hope will know what a tertiary use case is.
Unfortunately,
the marketing folks are too busy with sales support to talk to you. Indeed, since
the project started, you have not been able to get a single meeting with marketing, which has provided a never-ending stream of changing and contradictory requirements documents.
While one team has been spinning endlessly on
the use case document, another team has been working out
the domain model. Endless variations of UML documents are pouring out of this team. Every week,
the model is reworked.
The team members can't decide whether to use <<interfaces>> or <<types>> in
the model. A huge disagreement has been raging on
the proper syntax and application of OCL. Others on
the team just got back from a 5-day class on catabolism, and have been producing incredibly detailed and arcane diagrams that nobody else can fathom.
On March 27, with one week to go before analysis is to be complete, you have produced a sea of documents and diagrams but are no closer to a cogent analysis of
the problem than you were on January 3.
****
And then, a miracle happens.
****
On Saturday, April 1, you check your e-mail from home. You see a memo from your boss to BB. It states unequivocally that you are done with
the analysis!
You phone your boss and complain. "How could you have told BB that we were done with
the analysis?"
"Have you looked at a calendar lately?" he responds. "It's April 1!"
The irony of that date does not escape you. "But we have so much more to think about. So much more to analyze! We haven't even decided whether to use <<extends>> or <<precedes>>!"
"Where is your evidence that you are not done?" inquires your boss, impatiently.
"Whaaa . . . ."
But he cuts you off. "Analysis can go on forever; it has to be stopped at some point. And since this is
the date it was scheduled to stop, it has been stopped. Now, on Monday, I want you to gather up all existing analysis materials and put them into a public folder. Release that folder to Prudence so that she can log it in
the CM system by Monday afternoon. Then get busy and start designing."
As you hang up
the phone, you begin to consider
the benefits of keeping a bottle of bourbon in your bottom desk drawer. They threw a party to celebrate
the on-time completion of
the analysis phase. BB gave a colon-stirring speech on empowerment. And your boss, another 3 mm taller, congratulated his team on
the incredible show of unity and teamwork. Finally,
the CIO takes
the stage to tell everyone that
the SEI audit went very well and to thank everyone for studying and shredding
the evaluation guides that were passed out.
Level 3 now seems assured and will be awarded by June. (Scuttlebutt has it that managers at
the level of BB and above are to receive significant bonuses once
the SEI awards level 3.)
As
the weeks flow by, you and your team work on
the design of
the system. Of course, you find that
the analysis that
the design is supposedly based on is flawedno, useless; no, worse than useless. But when you tell your boss that you need to go back and work some more on
the analysis to shore up its weaker sections, he simply states, "
The analysis phase is over.
The only allowable activity is design. Now get back to
it."
So, you and your team hack
the design as best you can, unsure of whether
the requirements have been properly analyzed. Of course, it really doesn't matter much, since
the requirements document is still thrashing with weekly revisions, and
the marketing department still refuses to meet with you.
The design is a nightmare. Your boss recently misread a book named
The Finish Line in which
the author, Mark DeThomaso, blithely suggested that design documents should be taken down to code-level detail.
"If we are going to be working at that level of detail," you ask, "why don't we simply write
the code instead?"
"Because then you wouldn't be designing, of course. And
the only allowable activity in
the design phase is design!"
"Besides," he continues, "we have just purchased a companywide license for Dandelion!
This tool enables 'Round
the Horn Engineering!'
You are to transfer all design diagrams into this tool. It will automatically generate our code for us! It will also keep
the design diagrams in sync with
the code!"
Your boss hands you a brightly colored shrinkwrapped box containing
the Dandelion distribution. You accept it numbly and shuffle off to your cubicle. Twelve hours, eight crashes, one disk reformatting, and eight shots of 151 later, you finally have
the tool installed on your server.
You consider
the week your team will lose while attending Dandelion training. Then you smile and think, "Any week I'm not here is a good week."
Design diagram after design diagram is created by your team. Dandelion makes it very difficult to draw these diagrams. There are dozens and dozens of deeply nested dialog boxes with funny text fields and check boxes that must all be filled in correctly. And then there's
the problem of moving classes between packages.
At first, these diagram are driven from
the use cases. But
the requirements are changing so often that
the use cases rapidly become meaningless.
Debates rage about whether VISITOR or DECORATOR design patterns should be used. One developer refuses to use VISITOR in any form, claiming that it's not a properly object-oriented construct. Someone refuses to use multiple inheritance, since it is
the spawn of
the devil.
Review meetings rapidly degenerate into debates about
the meaning of object orientation,
the definition of analysis versus design, or when to use aggregation versus association.
Midway through
the design cycle,
the marketing folks announce that they have rethought
the focus of
the system. Their new requirements document is completely restructured. They have eliminated several major feature areas and replaced them with feature areas that they anticipate customer surveys will show to be more appropriate.
You tell your boss that these changes mean that you need to reanalyze and redesign much of
the system. But he says, "
The analysis phase is system. But he says, "
The analysis phase is over.
The only allowable activity is design. Now
get back to it."
You suggest that it might be better to create a simple prototype to show to
the marketing folks and even some potential customers. But your boss says, "
The analysis phase is over.
The only allowable activity is design. Now get back to it."
Hack, hack, hack, hack. You try to create some kind of a design document that might reflect
the new requirements documents. However,
the revolution of
the requirements has not caused them to stop thrashing. Indeed, if anything,
the wild oscillations of
the requirements document have only increased in frequency and amplitude.
You slog your way through them.
On June 15,
the Dandelion database gets corrupted. Apparently,
the corruption has been progressive. Small errors in
the DB accumulated over
the months into bigger and bigger errors.
Eventually,
the CASE tool just stopped working. Of course,
the slowly encroaching corruption is present on all
the backups.
Calls to
the Dandelion technical support line go unanswered for several days. Finally, you receive a brief e-mail from Dandelion, informing you that this is a known problem and that
the solution is to purchase
the new version, which they promise will be ready some time next quarter, and then reenter all
the diagrams by hand.
****
Then, on July 1 another miracle happens! You are done with
the design!
Rather than go to your boss and complain, you stock your middle desk drawer with some vodka.
****
They threw a party to celebrate
the on-time completion of
the design phase and their graduation to CMM level 3. This time, you find BB's speech so stirring that you have to use
the restroom before it begins.
New banners and plaques are all over your workplace. They show pictures of eagles and mountain climbers, and they talk about teamwork and empowerment. They read better after a few scotches. That reminds you that you need to clear out your file cabinet to make room for
the brandy.
You and your team begin to code. But you rapidly discover that
the design is lacking in some significant areas. Actually, it's lacking any significance at all. You convene a design session in one of
the conference rooms to try to work through some of
the nastier problems. But your boss catches you at it and disbands
the meeting, saying, "
The design phase is over.
The only allowable activity is coding. Now get back to it."
****
The code generated by Dandelion is really hideous. It turns out that you and your team were using association and aggregation
the wrong way, after all. All
the generated code has to be edited to correct these flaws. Editing this code is extremely difficult because it has been instrumented with ugly comment blocks that have special syntax that Dandelion needs in order to keep
the diagrams in sync with
the code. If you accidentally alter one of these comments,
the diagrams will be regenerated incorrectly. It turns out that "Round
the Horn Engineering" requires an awful lot of effort.
The more you try to keep
the code compatible with Dandelion,
the more errors Dandelion generates. In
the end, you give up and decide to keep
the diagrams up to date manually. A second later, you decide that there's no point in keeping
the diagrams up to date at all. Besides, who has time?
Your boss hires a consultant to build tools to count
the number of lines of code that are being produced. He puts a big thermometer graph on
the wall with
the number 1,000,000 on
the top.
Every day, he extends
the red line to show how many lines have been added.
Three days after
the thermometer appears on
the wall, your boss stops you in
the hall. "That graph isn't growing quickly enough. We need to have a million lines done by October 1."
"We aren't even sh-sh-sure that
the proshect will require a m-million linezh," you blather.
"We have to have a million lines done by October 1," your boss reiterates. His points have grown again, and
the Grecian formula he uses on them creates an aura of authority and competence.
"Are you sure your comment blocks are big enough?"
Then, in a flash of managerial insight, he says, "I have it! I want you to institute a new policy among
the engineers. No line of code is to be longer than 20 characters. Any such line must be split into two or more preferably more. All existing code needs to be reworked to this standard. That'll get our line count up!"
You decide not to tell him that this will require two unscheduled work months. You decide not to tell him anything at all. You decide that intravenous injections of pure ethanol are
the only solution. You make
the appropriate arrangements.
Hack, hack, hack, and hack. You and your team madly code away. By August 1, your boss, frowning at
the thermometer on
the wall, institutes a mandatory 50-hour workweek.
Hack, hack, hack, and hack. By September 1st,
the thermometer is at 1.2 million lines and your boss asks you to write a report describing why you exceeded
the coding budget by 20 percent.
He institutes mandatory Saturdays and demands that
the project be brought back down to a million lines. You start a campaign of remerging lines.
Hack, hack, hack, and hack. Tempers are flaring; people are quitting; QA is raining trouble reports down on you. Customers are demanding installation and user manuals; salespeople are demanding advance demonstrations for special customers;
the requirements document is still thrashing,
the marketing folks are complaining that
the product isn't anything like they specified, and
the liquor store won't accept your credit card anymore. Something has to give.
On September 15, BB calls a meeting.
As he enters
the room, his points are emitting clouds of steam. When he speaks,
the bass overtones of his carefully manicured voice cause
the pit of your stomach to roll over. "
The QA manager has told me that this project has less than 50 percent of
the required features implemented. He has also informed me that
the system crashes all
the time, yields wrong results, and is hideously slow. He has also complained that he cannot keep up with
the continuous train of daily releases, each more buggy than
the last!"
He stops for a few seconds, visibly trying to compose himself. "
The QA manager estimates that, at this rate of development, we won't be able to ship
the product until December!"
Actually, you think it's more like March, but you don't say anything. "December!" BB roars with such derision that people duck their heads as though he were pointing an assault rifle at them. "December is absolutely out of
the question. Team leaders, I want new estimates on my desk in
the morning.
I am hereby mandating 65-hour work weeks until this project is complete. And it better be complete by November 1."
As he leaves
the conference room, he is heard to mutter: "Empowermentbah!"
* * *
Your boss is bald; his points are mounted on BB's wall.
The fluorescent lights reflecting off his pate momentarily dazzle you.
"Do you have anything to drink?" he asks.
Having just finished your last bottle of Boone's Farm, you pull a bottle of Thunderbird from your bookshelf and pour it into his coffee mug.
"What's it going to take to get this project done? " he asks.
"We need to freeze
the requirements, analyze them, design them, and then implement them," you say callously.
"By November 1?" your boss exclaims incredulously. "No way! Just get back to coding
the damned thing." He storms out, scratching his vacant head.
A few days later, you find that your boss has been transferred to
the corporate research division. Turnover has skyrocketed. Customers, informed at
the last minute that their orders cannot be fulfilled on time, have begun to cancel their orders. Marketing is re-evaluating whether this product aligns with
the overall goals of
the company. Memos fly, heads roll, policies change, and things are, overall, pretty grim.
Finally, by March, after far too many sixty-five hour weeks, a very shaky version of
the software is ready. In
the field, bug-discovery rates are high, and
the technical support staff are at their wits' end, trying to cope with
the complaints and demands of
the irate customers. Nobody is happy.
In April, BB decides to buy his way out of
the problem by licensing a product produced by Rupert Industries and redistributing it.
The customers are mollified,
the marketing folks are smug, and you are laid off.
Rupert Industries: Project Alpha
Your name is Robert.
The date is January 3, 2001.
The quiet hours spent with your family this holiday have left you refreshed and ready for work. You are sitting in a conference room with your team of professionals.
The manager of
the division called
the meeting.
"We have some ideas for a new project," says
the division manager. Call him Russ. He is a high-strung British chap with more energy than a fusion reactor. He is ambitious and driven but understands
the value of a team. Russ describes
the essence of
the new market opportunity
the company has identified and introduces you to Jane,
the marketing manager, who is responsible for defining
the products that will address it.
Addressing you, Jane says, "We'd like to start defining our first product offering as soon as possible. When can you and your team meet with me?"
You reply, "We'll be done with
the current iteration of our project this Friday. We can spare a few hours for you between now and then. After that, we'll take a few people from
the team and dedicate them to you. We'll begin hiring their replacements and
the new people for your team immediately."
"Great," says Russ, "but I want you to understand that it is critical that we have something to exhibit at
the trade show coming up this July. If we can't be there with something significant, we'll lose
the opportunity."
"I understand," you reply. "I don't yet know what it is that you have in mind, but I'm sure we can have something by July. I just can't tell you what that something will be right now. In any case, you and Jane are going to have complete control over what we developers do, so you can rest assured that by July, you'll have
the most important things that can be accomplished in that time ready to exhibit."
Russ nods in satisfaction. He knows how this works. Your team has always kept him advised and allowed him to steer their development. He has
the utmost confidence that your team will work on
the most important things first and will produce a high-quality product.
* * *
"So, Robert," says Jane at their first meeting,
"How does your team feel about being split up?"
"We'll miss working with each other," you answer, "but some of us were getting pretty tired of that last project and are looking forward to a change. So, what are you people cooking up?"
Jane beams. "You know how much trouble our customers currently have . . ." And she spends a half hour or so describing
the problem and possible solution.
"OK, wait a second" you respond. "I need to be clear about this." And so you and Jane talk about how this system might work. Some of her ideas aren't fully formed. You suggest possible solutions. She likes some of them. You continue discussing.
During
the discussion, as each new topic is addressed, Jane writes user story cards. Each card represents something that
the new system has to do.
The cards accumulate on
the table and are spread out in front of you. Both you and Jane point at them, pick them up, and make notes on them as you discuss
the stories.
The cards are powerful mnemonic devices that you can use to represent complex ideas that are barely formed.
At
the end of
the meeting, you say, "OK, I've got a general idea of what you want. I'm going to talk to
the team about it. I imagine they'll want to run some experiments with various database structures and presentation formats. Next time we meet, it'll be as a group, and we'll start identifying
the most important features of
the system."
A week later, your nascent team meets with Jane. They spread
the existing user story cards out on
the table and begin to get into some of
the details of
the system.
The meeting is very dynamic. Jane presents
the stories in
the order of their importance. There is much discussion about each one.
The developers are concerned about keeping
the stories small enough to estimate and test. So they continually ask Jane to split one story into several smaller stories. Jane is concerned that each story have a clear business value and priority, so as she splits them, she makes sure that this stays true.
The stories accumulate on
the table. Jane writes them, but
the developers make notes on them as needed. Nobody tries to capture everything that is said;
the cards are not meant to capture everything but are simply reminders of
the conversation.
As
the developers become more comfortable with
the stories, they begin writing estimates on them. These estimates are crude and budgetary, but they give Jane an idea of what
the story will cost.
At
the end of
the meeting, it is clear that many more stories could be discussed. It is also clear that
the most important stories have been addressed and that they represent several months worth of work. Jane closes
the meeting by taking
the cards with her and promising to have a proposal for
the first release in
the morning.
* * *
The next morning, you reconvene
the meeting. Jane chooses five cards and places them on
the table.
"According to your estimates, these cards represent about one perfect team-week's worth of work.
The last iteration of
the previous project managed to get one perfect team-week done in 3 real weeks. If we can get these five stories done in 3 weeks, we'll be able to demonstrate them to Russ. That will make him feel very comfortable about our progress."
Jane is pushing it.
The sheepish look on her face lets you know that she knows it too. You reply, "Jane, this is a new team, working on a new project. It's a bit presumptuous to expect that our velocity will be
the same as
the previous team's. However, I met with
the team yesterday afternoon, and we all agreed that our initial velocity should, in fact, be set to one perfectweek for every 3 real-weeks. So you've lucked out on this one."
"Just remember," you continue, "that
the story estimates and
the story velocity are very tentative at this point. We'll learn more when we plan
the iteration and even more when we implement it."
Jane looks over her glasses at you as if to say "Who's
the boss around here, anyway?" and then smiles and says, "Yeah, don't worry. I know
the drill by now."Jane then puts 15 more cards on
the table. She says, "If we can get all these cards done by
the end of March, we can turn
the system over to our beta test customers. And we'll get good feedback from them."
You reply, "OK, so we've got our first iteration defined, and we have
the stories for
the next three iterations after that. These four iterations will make our first release."
"So," says Jane, can you really do these five stories in
the next 3 weeks?"
"I don't know for sure, Jane," you reply. "Let's break them down into tasks and see what we get."
So Jane, you, and your team spend
the next several hours taking each of
the five stories that Jane chose for
the first iteration and breaking them down into small tasks.
The developers quickly realize that some of
the tasks can be shared between stories and that other tasks have commonalities that can probably be taken advantage of. It is clear that potential designs are popping into
the developers' heads. From time to time, they form little discussion knots and scribble UML diagrams on some cards.
Soon,
the whiteboard is filled with
the tasks that, once completed, will implement
the five stories for this iteration. You start
the sign-up process by saying, "OK, let's sign up for these tasks."
"I'll take
the initial database generation." Says Pete. "That's what I did on
the last project, and this doesn't look very different. I estimate it at two of my perfect workdays."
"OK, well, then, I'll take
the login screen," says
Joe.
"Aw, darn," says Elaine,
the junior member of
the team, "I've never done a GUI, and kinda wanted to try that one."
"Ah,
the impatience of youth," Joe says sagely, with a wink in your direction. "You can assist me with it, young Jedi." To Jane: "I think it'll take me about three of my perfect workdays."
One by one,
the developers sign up for tasks and estimate them in terms of their own perfect workdays. Both you and Jane know that it is best to let
the developers volunteer for tasks than to assign
the tasks to them. You also know full well that you daren't challenge any of
the developers' estimates. You know these people, and you trust them. You know that they are going to do
the very best they can.
The developers know that they can't sign up for more perfect workdays than they finished in
the last iteration they worked on. Once each developer has filled his or her schedule for
the iteration, they stop signing up for tasks.
Eventually, all
the developers have stopped signing up for tasks. But, of course, tasks are still left on
the board.
"I was worried that that might happen," you say, "OK, there's only one thing to do, Jane. We've got too much to do in this iteration. What stories or tasks can we remove?"
Jane sighs. She knows that this is
the only option. Working overtime at
the beginning of a project is insane, and projects where she's tried it have not fared well.
So Jane starts to remove
the least-important functionality. "Well, we really don't need
the login screen just yet. We can simply start
the system in
the logged-in state."
"Rats!" cries Elaine. "I really wanted to do that."
"Patience, grasshopper." says Joe. "Those who wait for
the bees to leave
the hive will not have lips too swollen to relish
the honey."
Elaine looks confused.
Everyone looks confused.
"So . . .," Jane continues, "I think we can also do away with . . ."
And so, bit by bit,
the list of tasks shrinks. Developers who lose a task sign up for one of
the remaining ones.
The negotiation is not painless. Several times, Jane exhibits obvious frustration and impatience.
Once, when tensions are especially high, Elaine volunteers, "I'll work extra hard to make up some of
the missing time." You are about to correct her when, fortunately, Joe looks her in
the eye and says, "When once you proceed down
the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny."
In
the end, an iteration acceptable to Jane is reached. It's not what Jane wanted. Indeed, it is significantly less. But it's something
the team feels that can be achieved in
the next 3 weeks.
And, after all, it still addresses
the most important things that Jane wanted in
the iteration.
"So, Jane," you say when things had quieted down a bit, "when can we expect acceptance tests from you?"
Jane sighs. This is
the other side of
the coin. For every story
the development team implements,
Jane must supply a suite of acceptance tests that prove that it works. And
the team needs these long before
the end of
the iteration, since they will certainly point out differences in
the way Jane and
the developers imagine
the system's behaviour.
"I'll get you some example test scripts today," Jane promises. "I'll add to them every day after that. You'll have
the entire suite by
the middle of
the iteration."
* * *
The iteration begins on Monday morning with a flurry of Class, Responsibilities, Collaborators sessions. By midmorning, all
the developers have assembled into pairs and are rapidly coding away.
"And now, my young apprentice," Joe says to Elaine, "you shall learn
the mysteries of test-first design!"
"Wow, that sounds pretty rad," Elaine replies. "How do you do it?" Joe beams. It's clear that he has been anticipating this moment. "OK, what does
the code do right now?"
"Huh?" replied Elaine, "It doesn't do anything at all; there is no code."
"So, consider our task; can you think of something
the code should do?"
"Sure," Elaine said with youthful assurance,
"First, it should connect to
the database." "And thereupon, what must needs be required to connecteth
the database?"
"You sure talk weird," laughed Elaine. "I think we'd have to get
the database object from some registry and call
the Connect() method. "Ah, astute young wizard. Thou perceives correctly that we requireth an object within which we can cacheth
the database object."
"Is 'cacheth' really a word?"
"It is when I say it! So, what test can we write that we know
the database registry should pass?"
Elaine sighs. She knows she'll just have to play along. "We should be able to create a database object and pass it to
the registry in a Store() method. And then we should be able to pull it out of
the registry with a Get() method and make sure it's
the same object."
"Oh, well said, my prepubescent sprite!" "Hay!"
"So, now, let's write a test function that proves your case."
"But shouldn't we write
the database object and registry object first?"
"Ah, you've much to learn, my young impatient one. Just write
the test first."
"But it won't even compile!"
"Are you sure? What if it did?"
"Uh . . ."
"Just write
the test, Elaine. Trust me." And so Joe, Elaine, and all
the other developers began to code their tasks, one test case at a time.
The room in which they worked was abuzz with
the conversations between
the pairs.
The murmur was punctuated by an occasional high five when a pair managed to finish a task or a difficult test case.
As development proceeded,
the developers changed partners once or twice a day. Each developer got to see what all
the others were doing, and so knowledge of
the code spread generally throughout
the team.
Whenever a pair finished something significant whether a whole task or simply an important part of a task they integrated what they had with
the rest of
the system. Thus,
the code base grew daily, and integration difficulties were minimized.
The developers communicated with Jane on a daily basis. They'd go to her whenever they had a question about
the functionality of
the system or
the interpretation of an acceptance test case.
Jane, good as her word, supplied
the team with a steady stream of acceptance test scripts.
The team read these carefully and thereby gained a much better understanding of what Jane expected
the system to do.
By
the beginning of
the second week, there was enough functionality to demonstrate to Jane. She watched eagerly as
the demonstration passed test case after test case.
"This is really cool," Jane said as
the demonstration finally ended. "But this doesn't seem like one-third of
the tasks. Is your velocity slower than anticipated?"
You grimace. You'd been waiting for a good time to mention this to Jane but now she was forcing
the issue. "Yes, unfortunately, we are going more slowly than we had expected.
The new application server we are using is turning out to be a pain to configure. Also, it takes forever to reboot, and we have to reboot it whenever we make even
the slightest change to its configuration."
Jane eyes you with suspicion.
The stress of last
Monday's negotiations had still not entirely dissipated. She says, "And what does this mean to our schedule? We can't slip it again, we just can't. Russ will have a fit! He'll haul us all into
the woodshed and ream us some new ones."
You look Jane right in
the eyes. There's no pleasant way to give someone news like this. So you just blurt out, "Look, if things keep going like they're going, we're not going to be done with everything by next Friday. Now it's possible that we'll figure out a way to go faster. But, frankly, I wouldn't depend on that. You should start thinking about one or two tasks that could be removed from
the iteration without ruining
the demonstration for Russ. Come hell or high water, we are going to give that demonstration on
Friday, and I don't think you want us to choose which tasks to omit."
"Aw forchrisakes!" Jane barely manages to stifle yelling that last word as she stalks away, shaking her head.
Not for
the first time, you say to yourself, "Nobody ever promised me project management would be easy." You are pretty sure it won't be
the last time, either.
Actually, things went a bit better than you had hoped.
The team did, in fact, have to drop one task from
the iteration, but Jane had chosen wisely, and
the demonstration for Russ went without a hitch.
Russ was not impressed with
the progress, but neither was he dismayed. He simply said, "This is pretty good. But remember, we have to be able to demonstrate this system at
the trade show in July, and at this rate, it doesn't look like you'll have all that much to show." Jane, whose attitude had improved dramatically with
the completion of
the iteration, responded to Russ by saying, "Russ, this team is working hard, and well. When July comes around, I am confident that we'll have something significant to demonstrate. It won't be everything, and some of it may be smoke and mirrors, but we'll have something."
Painful though
the last iteration was, it had calibrated your velocity numbers.
The next iteration went much better. Not because your team got more done than in
the last iteration but simply because
the team didn't have to remove any tasks or stories in
the middle of
the iteration.
By
the start of
the fourth iteration, a natural rhythm has been established. Jane, you, and
the team know exactly what to expect from one another.
The team is running hard, but
the pace is sustainable. You are confident that
the team can keep up this pace for a year or more.
The number of surprises in
the schedule diminishes to near zero; however,
the number of surprises in
the requirements does not. Jane and
Russ frequently look over
the growing system and make recommendations or changes to
the existing functionality. But all parties realize that these changes take time and must be scheduled.
So
the changes do not cause anyone's expectations to be violated.
In March, there is a major demonstration of
the system to
the board of directors.
The system is very limited and is not yet in a form good enough to take to
the trade show, but progress is steady, and
the board is reasonably impressed.
The second release goes even more smoothly than
the first. By now,
the team has figured out a way to automate Jane's acceptance test scripts.
The team has also refactored
the design of
the system to
the point that it is really easy to add new features and change old ones.
The second release was done by
the end of June and was taken to
the trade show. It had less in it than Jane and Russ would have liked, but it did demonstrate
the most important features of
the system. Although customers at
the trade show noticed that certain features were missing, they were very impressed overall. You, Russ, and
Jane all returned from
the trade show with smiles on your faces. You all felt as though this project was a winner.
Indeed, many months later, you are contacted by Rufus Inc. That company had been working on a system like this for its internal operations.
Rufus has canceled
the development of that system after a death-march project and is negotiating to license your technology for its environment.
Indeed, things are looking up!
