The office 'fridge was growing progressively riper, so our receptionist sent an email asking us to triage anything that might be ours. I found, to my chagrin, that the bagels I'd popped in there bore a March expiration date. Which didn't disturb me nearly so much as the fact that they showed no signs of mold. Which in turn didn't disturb me nearly so much as the fact that I'd actually eaten these things. Normally, stale bread feeds the birds & such at home, but consigning them to the landfill seemed the more responsible option, under the circumstances.
That was Wednesday. Given no improvement in the smell, our office manager laid down the law and bravely did battle with the 'fridge in the late afternoon. I thanked her for her courage, and joked that if we let it go another week, we'd have to call in Bruce Campbell. No sooner had my fingers typed that than I thought, "How cool would that be???"
Welcome to Geekhood. Never mind that the end result would be a new 'fridge--maybe even new breakroom--after the shotgun and chainsaw and toxic alien guts took their toll: The trash-talk alone would be worth it.
But since then I've been noodling why geeks are stereotypically attracted to B-movies, in particular apocalyptic stuff featuring zombies and alien invasions and mega-monsters. (Naturally--nerdery being nerdery--busting Sam Raimi's chops for substituting "verata" for "barada"--thereby corrupting generations of nerds to come--just goes with the territory.)
It can't necessarily be identification with the protagonists. Simon Pegg's character in Shaun of the Dead, for instance, is a good bloke, but not exactly the sharpest dart in the board. He's loyal to his small social circle--which, admittedly has a lot of pull with we naturally introverted types. Ash Williams' encounters with the evil dead over the course of a few days seven centuries apart bring out his inner boor. But, hey, this is the kind of guy who keeps science books in the back of his car--even on a romantic getaway weekend.
One twist, though, is that, in most Japanese monster flicks that I've seen, at least one monster is more or less the protagonist. When I were but wee lass honing my reading skillz on those English subtitles, that struck me as more than a little counter-intuitive. I mean, weren't monsters and those who fought them supposed to be as black and white as the films themselves? (Now it makes much more sense. Godzilla 2000 is a good example of why.)
I think, ultimately, it comes down to the fact that disasters simply cut to the chase. There is no room for politicking. No having to wheedle buy-off from the design committee. No having to account for your time in half-hour increments. No issue-tracking. No source control. No writing use cases. Just pure problem-solving, really--although "QA" does tend to become a life-or-death matter. For once.
Most importantly, though, you know who your friends are...even when they've been turned against you. Which is why you risk everything to bring them back to themselves. After all, not having anyone else around to laugh about the whole thing when it's over is a shameful waste of a perfectly good apocalypse.
