My Code, My Call Chapter 1

"The first name on the layoff list was mine."

Helen from HR slid the paper across the desk toward me. Her nail tapped the surface. "Lydia, just sign it. We're giving you N+1 months' pay. It's more than fair."

I glanced down.

Employee ID 0217, Lydia. Position: Highly replaceable.

The project was worth over a million dollars. I had written all 470,000 lines of code myself.

"Okay." I picked up the pen and signed my name.

Helen blinked, probably surprised by how easily I agreed. "Well... about the handover. Please get it done as soon as possible."

"Okay."

I stood up and smiled.

What she didn't know was this: all the code was on my machine. The variable names were in abbreviated Spanish. The comments were lines from obscure poetry.

* * *

When I joined the company three years ago, there were only two people on this project team.

Me and Mark.

Back then, Mark wasn't the team lead. Our desks were next to each other. He handled the front-end, and I handled the back-end.

The project was called the "CloudStow Warehouse System," a major contract for the company. The client was the largest logistics firm in the region, and the deal was worth just over a million dollars.

"Lydia, how's your Java?"

That was the first thing Mark ever asked me.

"It's alright."

"How alright is 'alright'?"

I thought for a moment. "I've probably written around two hundred thousand lines."

Mark's eyes lit up. "Great. You take the core modules."

"And you?"

"I'll handle the product meetings, nail down the requirements."

At the time, it seemed perfect. He wasn't great at coding, and I wasn't great at dealing with people. We complemented each other.

It was only later I understood that "complementing each other" was just another way of saying: you do the work, he takes the credit.

In the first month, I wrote thirty thousand lines of code.

Mark wrote a PowerPoint deck.

The first slide read: CloudStow System Technical Architecture Report — Mark.

I asked him, "Shouldn't my name be on there too?"

Mark said, "You're so good at coding, the execs will definitely remember you. The PowerPoint is just a formality."

I believed him.

The second month, the CTO came to check on our progress.

Mark stood in front of the projector, speaking with animated enthusiasm.

He threw around terms like "architecture decoupling," "high-availability design," and "microservices decomposition."

He said the words more smoothly than I ever could.

When he finished, the CTO nodded. "Good work, Mark."

Then he turned to him. "Do you need more people on the technical side?"

Mark said, "No need. I can handle it."

I was sitting right there.

The CTO didn't even glance in my direction.

At the time, I thought, It's fine. I'm a tech person. I don't need the spotlight. As long as the code is good, that's what matters.

Looking back, I was so naive.

The third month, the team expanded. Two new graduates joined us.

HR told me, "Lydia, you're our best developer. Could you mentor the new hires?"

I said sure.

Their names were Sam and Rick. Fresh out of college, they still had that spark in their eyes.

Sam asked me, "Lydia, are you the lead on this project? The code is beautiful."

I smiled. "Not the lead. It's a team effort."

"But I checked the Git history. You made 80% of the commits."

Mark happened to be walking by and overheard.

He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "A lot of commits doesn't mean a lot of contribution, understand? Writing code is the basic work. The hard part is the architectural design and project management."

Sam looked at him, then back at me, and didn't say another word.

The fourth month, the project went live.

During the client acceptance meeting, Mark wore a suit and stood at the head of the conference room, confidently addressing a room full of people.

I was in my plaid shirt, sitting in the back row, debugging the system.

The client asked, "What happens if we see a huge spike in concurrent users?"

Mark replied, "Don't worry, we've implemented a comprehensive load-balancing design."

The client asked again, "What's the data backup strategy?"

Mark said, "Incremental backups with off-site disaster recovery."

Every single term he used was something I had written in the technical documentation.

The night we got sign-off, the department went out for dinner.

Our director raised his glass. "For this project, Mark's contribution was indispensable."

Mark lifted his glass, all humility. "It was mainly good teamwork. I just did a bit of coordination."

No one mentioned my name.

I drank a lot that night.

On the way home, my roommate asked, "Why so much to drink? Did you get a promotion?"

"No."

"A raise?"

"No."

"Then what are you celebrating?"

I stood under a streetlight, looking at my own shadow.

"I don't know."

The fifth month, the company went through a reorganization.

Mark was promoted to team lead.

The reason given was his "outstanding performance and management potential demonstrated on the CloudStow project."

He got his own office, a better desk, and an extra five hundred dollars a month in a management stipend.

I was still in the same corner, at a desk not much bigger than an intern's.

HR sat me down for my annual review. "Lydia, your salary increase this year is 3%."

I asked, "What about Mark?"

HR paused. "I'm... not at liberty to disclose that."

I later heard from Sam that Mark got a 12% raise.

I wrote 80% of the code and got a 3% raise.

He wrote 100% of the PowerPoints and got a 12% raise.

Seemed fair.

The sixth month, another new grad, Chris, joined.

HR told me, "Lydia, you're on."

So I mentored him.

The first day, I showed him how to set up his development environment.

The second day, I taught him how to read the codebase.

The third day, he asked me, "Lydia, how much do you make?"

I said, "Why do you ask?"

"My offer was for $95k. I'm just curious what I can expect to make after three years."

I went quiet for a moment.

I made $92k.

A fresh graduate was making more than me.

That night, for the first time, I couldn't sleep.

At three in the morning, staring at the ceiling, I asked myself: What am I even doing this for?

I was the best programmer. I wrote the most code. I mentored the most people.

But when it came to promotions, I was overlooked. For raises, I was forgotten. They didn't even invite me to the team-building events.

I remembered the team outing last week. Sam posted pictures on Instagram. A dozen people from the department at a barbecue joint in the countryside.

Mark had his arm around a new intern, smiling broadly.

I asked Mark about it. "Why wasn't I invited to the team thing?"

Mark said, "Weren't you fixing that bug? I figured you were busy, so I didn't want to bother you."

"Just let me know next time."

"Sure, sure. Next time, definitely."

Next time was always next time.