Priorty Interrupt by Steve Ciarcia Banking on Bugs

I really have to be more careful about destroying my image. After all, if perception is 99% of reality, why mess with people's perception? It all started at a party.

It was your basic, eat, drink, and be merry, business-acquaintance get-together where people split off into little groups to discuss subjects that typically require a two-cocktail prologue.

"So, Steve, I'm told you're a magazine publisher?" I'm not sure what smelled stronger, the smoke from the London broil on the grill or his martini breath. The problem with all these "get to know ya" business parties is that inevitably you are asked a question about professional rank by a person who can't conceivably understand the answer. When you've been self-employed as long as I have, you can pretty much call yourself anything you want-President, Engineer, Salesman, Publisher, Editorial Director, even Janitor. When an investment banker has had a couple martinis and asks if you're a magazine publisher, you definitely have to be careful.

Just like there are people who think food comes from grocery stores, there are professional people who use computers every day without ever considering how they're designed or manufactured. Experience has taught me that these people associate the word publishing with McGraw-Hill, Time, and Rupert Murdock. Ultimately, It's counter-productive to shatter their lofty image with cold reality.

I'd love to say (even just once), "I'm the janitor," but usually I cop out and simply say, "I'm involved a bit in publishing, but I really prefer to think of myself as a design engineer." Thankfully, the information age has educated bankers so that I no longer have to add, "and, I don't build bridges." Of course, now they think we're all computer engineers (whatever that is), and to them, "computer" only means PCs!

The conversation went back and forth a few times as I tried to explain about embedded control (definitely a mistake). He admitted that PCs certainly weren't in everything, but he just couldn't grasp the concept of single-chip computers in things like toasters and power tools. At this point, mere explanation was becoming a challenge. I passed my basting brush to the person closest to the grill and said to the banker, "Obviously, the only way is to show you. I have a microcontroller design over in the shop. Come on."

A half dozen people ended up trekking over to the workshop. As we descended the stairs a couple of them hesitated. I chose not to tell them why this project was located here and not in the Circuit Cellar. I didn't want to confuse the issue. Soon it would become clear to them.

The mixed clutter of electronic equipment, power tools, and carpentry devices presented an air of eclectic insanity. I could sense they were reconsidering their descent into the dungeon.

"It's OK, just step over that stuff. And, watch out for those wires! They're probably live!" (They weren't, but there are times when it's just fun to say that, especially to bankers).

We walked around a workbench and stopped in front of an equipment cart pilled high with electronics. An assortment of pulse generators, oscillators, and amplifiers were intertwined to produce a complex signal, which appeared as a rapidly changing sweep frequency on the brightly lit oscilloscope. (I didn't even consider trying to explain sweep frequencies or oscilloscopes to them). They seemed hypnotized by the pulsating hum of the electronics combined with the strobe-like rhythm of the oscilloscope. That was, until one of the ladies yelled, "It's full of insects!"

Immediately, they jumped back. The banker looked at the 7¢ plexiglass enclosure that was indeed full of six-legged critters. His startled expression said it all. Embedded control designers must be real fruitcakes.

"No! You don't understand. Yes, the case is full of insects! In fact we used a bunch of rodents before that…." I could sense the hole getting deeper…. "That's what we're designing! Wait, that's not what I mean!"

I moved quickly to block their exit and explain, "A while ago we designed a commercial device that repels rodents. Inside it, there's a microcontroller." I held out a tiny chip in my hand. At least now I had their attention.

"All this equipment simulates the signal that we squashed down into this chip. [Of course, you all know better but sometimes you have to lay it on thick for bankers.] Testimonials from customers said that it did work on rodents, but it also seemed to drive out the insects. We decided to test it." There was a silent pause as everyone gazed at the festering fleas.

"Don't worry. They can't escape [I hope]." Suddenly, my choice of location was clear to them. Who wants 600 fleas in the house?

Having assured them of the enclosure's security, they began to relax a bit. They even conceded that testing a product was a commercial necessity. But as bankers and financial people, they just didn't seem to grasp the significance of a dedicated microcontroller or the value in it. That was until the investment banker added, "So, does anybody buy this thing?"

I looked at him and grinned, "How does 50,000 a month strike you!" It was like a universal language translator had just been introduced to the communication. Embedded microcontrol was instantly understood as high volume and big bucks. Added explanation was unnecessary.

As we walked back to the party, the banker seemed a little more animated. Obviously, my not being a publishing tycoon was acceptable. He smiled as he elbowed a little closer and whispered, "So, Steve, you need any money?"

steve.ciarcia@circuitcellar.com

Published: October-1998