It was a dark and stormy night. Hector gazed wearily through his bloodshot eyes, through the black-rimmed corrective lenses, and through the haze of the fluorescent overhead lights at the phosphor-enriched display. Had it really been four months since he started the six-month project? Did his boss really threaten to fire him after seeing his progress? It seemed like all of those MS-DOS programs he had written for the company over the years meant nothing. Why did he promise to port the company’s main internal system to Windows? In a moment of despair, tears streamed down his cheeks, diluting his last remaining can of Jolt Cola.
It’s 8:00 a.m. A loud thump on Hector’s desk brings him suddenly out of his slumber, the drool still trickling from the corner of his mouth. What’s that? What’s that box on his desk? “V-i-s-u-a-l B-a-s-i-c?” A note on the box says to rewrite his code in “this.” Desperate to try anything, Hector installs the three floppy disks on his ’386 powerhouse.
Six weeks later, Hector has completed the project, ahead of schedule, feature-complete, and with the accolades of his boss and department. And it’s all due to Visual Basic. But VB didn’t just improve his programming life. Overall, he’s happier, has kicked the caffeine habit, is able to bench-press 300 pounds, no longer walks with a limp, has increased libido, and has whiter teeth. “Thank you, Visual Basic 1.0!”
It’s possible that I got a ...