The Sarcastic Brit has been working diligently on the new sealing method for our sample holder. This brought on a visit from the host of projects past. Somehow, I never remember how brilliant people were. At least not at the Mecca. Perhaps that is because the inexplicably stupid seems to reign supreme. Perhaps it's just the brilliant engineering doesn't make for very good stories.
Back in the early days(before we realized how bad Captain Fantastic actually was), I remember having many discussions regarding the sealing film that had to go over the sample to prevent evaporation. Our sample is mostly water, which boils at 100C, last I checked. We are heating it to 95 degrees, which is pretty close to boiling. For those of you not keeping track, that means that the the water vapor is exerting nearly an atmosphere (15PSI) worth of pressure on the inside of the sample holder. In addition, there is a bunch of air dissolved in the sample, which is good for an additional 5PSI, or so - I don't remember the exact numbers. When you work it all out, you get a total of about 20 pounds per square inch pushing from the inside of the sample holder.
Captain Fantastic didn't see this as a problem. Apparently, the fact that each well in the sample holder was only 0.0001 square inches meant that the sealing film would definitely hold. After all, that means that each well only sees 0.0015 pounds (or about 0.7 g) of pressure meant that there was no way that the glue would fail to hold.
Strangely enough, every other instrument uses a great big plate to hold the film to the top of their sample holders, with hundreds of pounds of pressure. Apparently, Captain Fantastic forgot to count the wells. The design called for 33,000 of them in the sample holder. By my math, even at 0.0015 square inches per well, works out to 52 pounds of force pushing on a 3.5 by 5 inch piece of tape.
Not only that, but people use hot water vapor to remove adhesive. They rent things called wallpaper strippers. Hmmm... steam. How about removing stamps from envelopes? Hmmm... steam. I bet that hot steam would be pretty effective at removing the adhesive from the top of the sample holder too.
We mentioned this to Captain Fantastic, and he started going on about "peel" stress, and how the glue was really strong in tension, but not in "peel". As far as I have been able to determine, there is no such thing as "peel force". And, of course, the plastic blew off the sample holder the first time we tried it.
It was OK though, both the Captain and Slimy Indian Barbapapa were convinced that the glue would hold. The CTO was backing them up. We must have tried fifty glues of various types. It should have been no problem to find a glue that was transparent, chemically inert, non-fluorescent, and able to give a totally airtight bond capable of withstanding 20PSI of hot water vapor. Of course, we never found one. Every now and then, however, I am asked why the instrument is designed as it is. My response is always "because the glue will hold of course."
As an interim solution, I found a way to hold the seal on a sample holder 1/6 the size. That means that I only had to push down with about 50 pounds of force. No problem, right? And, it had to be designed to fit into the instrument without significant modifications, and it had to be finished in less than three weeks. No problem. Not impossible, but definitely improbable. I accomplished the improbable. Did I get a medal for fixing another one of Captain Fantastic's spectacular derailments? Nah - nobody even noticed that there was ever a problem.
Showing posts with label Captain Fantastic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Captain Fantastic. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Saturday, December 5, 2009
If it's too good to be true...
Ahh... back to Captain Fantastic. This one is by request. I'm sure that there are better Captain Fantastic stories, but this one is easy to tell, although I am sad to admit does not involve him threatening to punch anybody in the mouth for calling him a liar.
Imagine that you want to create a dish composed of several thousand smaller dishes. This is what we were trying to do at the mecca. The idea is to put one sample into each of these holes do a bunch of chemical reactions in each of the holes and then see which samples glow when you shine light on them. It sounds easy, right? However, when you have many thousands of holes, and each one is less than 1/2mm in diameter, it becomes somewhat trickier.
Captain Fantastic had the perfect solution. There is this process by which you fill a pan with goo that polymerizes when you shine light on it. If you put a very thin layer of goo into the pan, and then shine the light through a mask, you can make a very nice pattern of holes in a thin sheet of plastic. If you cover the top of that piece of plastic with a thin layer of goo and do it again, you get a thicker sheet of plastic with holes in it. If you do it thousands of times, and then glue a bottom on it, you get the sample holder. No problem. Right?
Captain Fantastic had EVERYBODY at the Mecca sold on this great technology. Of course, he hadn't actually tested it. Like many great ideas, it looked better on paper than it did in reality. Somehow, the Sarcastic Brit, the Mad Man from Down South, and I didn't believe that it would be that easy. In fact, we were so sure that it wouldn't be that we set up a horse race outside of the Brit's cubicle. On his wall we pinned up pictures of horses where each one represented one of the techniques for making the sample holder. We scribbled the names of each technique at the bottom of the picture and started them all out together. Every time we got promising results from a technique, that horse was moved to the front. Every time we reached a setback, that horse was moved back in the race.
Captain Fantastic put his horse out front. It would work. It was perfect. The first thing we noticed was that the material glowed more brightly than the sample. This isn't surprising... the material polymerizes when you shine light on it. Of course it's photo-reactive. Captain Fantastic had ways of dealing with it (although he never disclosed them to the rest of us, or even demonstrated that these ideas were more viable than "paying off the Pixies to prevent them from making the crap glow")
We moved his horse back a bit. He moved it back out front. After all, it was only a minor setback.
Next, imagine cutting a hole in a bunch of sheets of plastic, layering them up and then pouring water down the hole. You will quickly have a puddle on the table, as the water runs between the sheets. If the sheets are really thin... it gives you more places for them to leak.
Back with the horse. Of course, Captain Fantastic moved it forward again. This was also only a minor setback. We would coat the plastic with a thin layer of metal. That would seal the layers together and keep the material dark, so it wouldn't react to the light or the sample.
One problem: Most metals will also react with the sample.
No problem, we will just cover the metal with another layer of plastic. Really? This is starting to become pretty complicated. Did I mention that the material needs to be thermally conductive as well? Seems like we can't cover that problem up (either literally or figuratively).
Despite these setbacks, Captain Fantastic kept insisting that this stuff would work. Even after months of samples, and not a single successful experiment, he would not relent. We went so far as to turn his horse upside down and write R.I.P. on it. Undeterred, he would flip the horse over and put it at the finish line. It was finished alright... I believe that the correct expression is "beating a dead horse".
The strangest thing is that even six months after it was generally accepted that Captain Fantastic was delusional, and had been sacked for as much, Swiper was asking the Sarcastic Brit when we would be ready to start producing these wonderful photo-polymerized sample holders.
Perhaps he never got the memo.
Imagine that you want to create a dish composed of several thousand smaller dishes. This is what we were trying to do at the mecca. The idea is to put one sample into each of these holes do a bunch of chemical reactions in each of the holes and then see which samples glow when you shine light on them. It sounds easy, right? However, when you have many thousands of holes, and each one is less than 1/2mm in diameter, it becomes somewhat trickier.
Captain Fantastic had the perfect solution. There is this process by which you fill a pan with goo that polymerizes when you shine light on it. If you put a very thin layer of goo into the pan, and then shine the light through a mask, you can make a very nice pattern of holes in a thin sheet of plastic. If you cover the top of that piece of plastic with a thin layer of goo and do it again, you get a thicker sheet of plastic with holes in it. If you do it thousands of times, and then glue a bottom on it, you get the sample holder. No problem. Right?
Captain Fantastic had EVERYBODY at the Mecca sold on this great technology. Of course, he hadn't actually tested it. Like many great ideas, it looked better on paper than it did in reality. Somehow, the Sarcastic Brit, the Mad Man from Down South, and I didn't believe that it would be that easy. In fact, we were so sure that it wouldn't be that we set up a horse race outside of the Brit's cubicle. On his wall we pinned up pictures of horses where each one represented one of the techniques for making the sample holder. We scribbled the names of each technique at the bottom of the picture and started them all out together. Every time we got promising results from a technique, that horse was moved to the front. Every time we reached a setback, that horse was moved back in the race.
Captain Fantastic put his horse out front. It would work. It was perfect. The first thing we noticed was that the material glowed more brightly than the sample. This isn't surprising... the material polymerizes when you shine light on it. Of course it's photo-reactive. Captain Fantastic had ways of dealing with it (although he never disclosed them to the rest of us, or even demonstrated that these ideas were more viable than "paying off the Pixies to prevent them from making the crap glow")
We moved his horse back a bit. He moved it back out front. After all, it was only a minor setback.
Next, imagine cutting a hole in a bunch of sheets of plastic, layering them up and then pouring water down the hole. You will quickly have a puddle on the table, as the water runs between the sheets. If the sheets are really thin... it gives you more places for them to leak.
Back with the horse. Of course, Captain Fantastic moved it forward again. This was also only a minor setback. We would coat the plastic with a thin layer of metal. That would seal the layers together and keep the material dark, so it wouldn't react to the light or the sample.
One problem: Most metals will also react with the sample.
No problem, we will just cover the metal with another layer of plastic. Really? This is starting to become pretty complicated. Did I mention that the material needs to be thermally conductive as well? Seems like we can't cover that problem up (either literally or figuratively).
Despite these setbacks, Captain Fantastic kept insisting that this stuff would work. Even after months of samples, and not a single successful experiment, he would not relent. We went so far as to turn his horse upside down and write R.I.P. on it. Undeterred, he would flip the horse over and put it at the finish line. It was finished alright... I believe that the correct expression is "beating a dead horse".
The strangest thing is that even six months after it was generally accepted that Captain Fantastic was delusional, and had been sacked for as much, Swiper was asking the Sarcastic Brit when we would be ready to start producing these wonderful photo-polymerized sample holders.
Perhaps he never got the memo.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Captain Fantastic and the Amazing Dew Point Controller
I don't have any extra special new material tonight, except for my unofficial promotion to instrument assembly tech - watch out Jar Jar! I thought that I would go back to my tales of Captain Fantastic. Tonight, I will explore the tale of the dew point control system.
Early in my time at the Biotech Mecca, the Captain had chosen a dispenser to put the samples into the sample holders. Given the fact that the sample is a very small amount of liquid, and the holder has a whole lot of tiny holes, this is not a trivial feat. The Captain knew what he wanted and bought two of them with confidence. That's a quarter of a million dollars spent without any real qualification to see if it would work. In fact, after two or three man years of effort, we determined that the technology was not suitable, and it was a dumb idea that should have never gotten off of the ground. The crappy design of the dispenser itself isn't what I want to talk about though.
The Captain was charged with finding a way to deal with the fact that it took so long to dispense the whopping 1/2ml of liquid (in 5 million individual drops) that the first wells were completely dried out before the last wells were even dispensed. There is a technique for dealing with this that is well known. If you balance the sample temperature and humidity, you can keep the water from evaporating. Most companies include a dew point controller. The people who made this device thought that keeping the sample hydrated was a dumb idea and did neither. We would have to add that capability to the dispenser. Captain Fantastic, however didn't want to void the warranty by adding water. Apparently, adding a thermoelectric cooler and control electronics, a PLC, some wiring, and a new sample stage would have no effect on the warranty.
The first step was to find a PLC. The only requirements were that it had to be able to interpret the data from the humidity sensor and, if possible, fit in the already full dispenser chassis. Never one to miss the critical requirements, Captain Fantastic found a PLC that fit into the chassis. Apparently, the fact that the sensor response was logarithmic, and the PLC had no log function did not matter.
The Captain contracted his favorite consultant to write the code. Unfortunately, Smee had no idea how to program the PLC. So, she hired a consultant to do the programming for her. Unfortunately, the consultant couldn't figure out how to get the communications to the thermoelectric controller to work, so he hired another consultant to do that work for him. So... the Captain hired a consultant, who hired a consultant, who hired a consultant. This seemed a bit odd to me, but he assured me that it was "the Silicon Valley Way."
And then, there was the hardware. For several weeks the Captain had the mechanical designer (Buffalo Bill's predecessor - and successor) design parts and have them made overnight, only to find that they still didn't fit the next day, and repeat the cycle. Our best machine shops will occasionally do us a favor and turn parts around in a couple of days. I wouldn't dream of asking a shop to turn multiple pieces around over night. I would be even less inclined to go back to them the next day and admit that I screwed up and asked for something that was just wrong. And, can you please forsake your family again tonight to make even more parts that will just be scrapped tomorrow morning anyway. Not so for the Captain. The customer is always right, even when he is a stupid jackass.
Eventually, the modified dispenser was due to ship. This was after I suggested to the electrical engineer that the reason why he kept blowing up thermoelectric coolers was because he was running a 12V part at 24V. Apparently, the Captain didn't read the package before handing the specs to the electrical engineer. Who would have figured.
We shipped out the dispenser (to a test sight on the other side of the continent), and the Mad Man from Down South was sent to install it. I guess he drew the short straw. He took some very lovely pictures of the device with things sticking up at funny angles. He commented on how the thing was put together and was stunned that it had worked at all. The Captain was very quick to site "tampering". Really? The VP of engineering went to our first alpha site and screwed with the device? What had he to gain? I don't know, but Captain Fantastic stuck to his guns.
When the Mad Man from Down South came back armed with pictures and props, the story changed. Then, it was blamed on "high frequency vibrations during shipping that vibrated all of the pieces apart". Really? I don't think that I will ever fly again. What keeps all of the bolts from falling out of the plane? Apparently, it's very common. I must admit that I have never hear of such a thing, and I coordinated service for what was possibly the world's most (strike that... second most) ill conceived device. Those things failed in may ways, but they never once failed because the bolts fell out during air travel. I have heard however, that the change in pressure during the flight can screw up pressure sensors. I find that one only slightly more plausible.
After several weeks of the Captain ordering more parts overnight and visiting the customer site himself (on a one-way ticket), the dew point control system kind of worked. Not that it mattered, the dispenser was unable to successfully put the liquid in the holes anyway.
The Mad Man called Captain fantastic a liar. This hurt the Captain's feelings. Nothing hurts like the truth... so they say.
Early in my time at the Biotech Mecca, the Captain had chosen a dispenser to put the samples into the sample holders. Given the fact that the sample is a very small amount of liquid, and the holder has a whole lot of tiny holes, this is not a trivial feat. The Captain knew what he wanted and bought two of them with confidence. That's a quarter of a million dollars spent without any real qualification to see if it would work. In fact, after two or three man years of effort, we determined that the technology was not suitable, and it was a dumb idea that should have never gotten off of the ground. The crappy design of the dispenser itself isn't what I want to talk about though.
The Captain was charged with finding a way to deal with the fact that it took so long to dispense the whopping 1/2ml of liquid (in 5 million individual drops) that the first wells were completely dried out before the last wells were even dispensed. There is a technique for dealing with this that is well known. If you balance the sample temperature and humidity, you can keep the water from evaporating. Most companies include a dew point controller. The people who made this device thought that keeping the sample hydrated was a dumb idea and did neither. We would have to add that capability to the dispenser. Captain Fantastic, however didn't want to void the warranty by adding water. Apparently, adding a thermoelectric cooler and control electronics, a PLC, some wiring, and a new sample stage would have no effect on the warranty.
The first step was to find a PLC. The only requirements were that it had to be able to interpret the data from the humidity sensor and, if possible, fit in the already full dispenser chassis. Never one to miss the critical requirements, Captain Fantastic found a PLC that fit into the chassis. Apparently, the fact that the sensor response was logarithmic, and the PLC had no log function did not matter.
The Captain contracted his favorite consultant to write the code. Unfortunately, Smee had no idea how to program the PLC. So, she hired a consultant to do the programming for her. Unfortunately, the consultant couldn't figure out how to get the communications to the thermoelectric controller to work, so he hired another consultant to do that work for him. So... the Captain hired a consultant, who hired a consultant, who hired a consultant. This seemed a bit odd to me, but he assured me that it was "the Silicon Valley Way."
And then, there was the hardware. For several weeks the Captain had the mechanical designer (Buffalo Bill's predecessor - and successor) design parts and have them made overnight, only to find that they still didn't fit the next day, and repeat the cycle. Our best machine shops will occasionally do us a favor and turn parts around in a couple of days. I wouldn't dream of asking a shop to turn multiple pieces around over night. I would be even less inclined to go back to them the next day and admit that I screwed up and asked for something that was just wrong. And, can you please forsake your family again tonight to make even more parts that will just be scrapped tomorrow morning anyway. Not so for the Captain. The customer is always right, even when he is a stupid jackass.
Eventually, the modified dispenser was due to ship. This was after I suggested to the electrical engineer that the reason why he kept blowing up thermoelectric coolers was because he was running a 12V part at 24V. Apparently, the Captain didn't read the package before handing the specs to the electrical engineer. Who would have figured.
We shipped out the dispenser (to a test sight on the other side of the continent), and the Mad Man from Down South was sent to install it. I guess he drew the short straw. He took some very lovely pictures of the device with things sticking up at funny angles. He commented on how the thing was put together and was stunned that it had worked at all. The Captain was very quick to site "tampering". Really? The VP of engineering went to our first alpha site and screwed with the device? What had he to gain? I don't know, but Captain Fantastic stuck to his guns.
When the Mad Man from Down South came back armed with pictures and props, the story changed. Then, it was blamed on "high frequency vibrations during shipping that vibrated all of the pieces apart". Really? I don't think that I will ever fly again. What keeps all of the bolts from falling out of the plane? Apparently, it's very common. I must admit that I have never hear of such a thing, and I coordinated service for what was possibly the world's most (strike that... second most) ill conceived device. Those things failed in may ways, but they never once failed because the bolts fell out during air travel. I have heard however, that the change in pressure during the flight can screw up pressure sensors. I find that one only slightly more plausible.
After several weeks of the Captain ordering more parts overnight and visiting the customer site himself (on a one-way ticket), the dew point control system kind of worked. Not that it mattered, the dispenser was unable to successfully put the liquid in the holes anyway.
The Mad Man called Captain fantastic a liar. This hurt the Captain's feelings. Nothing hurts like the truth... so they say.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Miracle FET
First of all, for those of you who have watched too many Star Wars movies, and/or are not familiar with electronics, this has nothing to do with Boba Fett, The Force, or the Death Star. Although Darth Vader could teach the senior management at the Biotech Mecca a thing or two about motivational techniques. Do not fail me Admiral.
Captain Fantastic brought in his electronics wizard as a consultant. He constantly reminded us that his man had twenty five years experience (f**king it up) in Silicon Valley. In fact, the man had some skill. He managed to take the Mecca for $50,000 and only delivered a board cut at a 15° angle.
Anyhow, the instrument has a heater that draws in the neighbourhood of 20A of current. We wished to switch the heater with a Field Effect Transistor (FET). Unfortunately, the circuit that this Silicon Valley Veteran had conceived kept blowing the FET. It seems that even a small junction resistance turns into a lot of power when you have a high current. The Sarcastic Brit mentioned that this may be what was causing the FETs to burn up. There's nothing like the smell of burned plastic in the morning. The consultant insisted that the FETs didn't dissipate any power. I'm reminded of the Simpsons "In this house, young lady, we OBEY the laws of thermodynamics."
Captain Fantastic stepped in at this point. His addition to the discussion was that nobody at the Mecca was an electrical engineer, so we should all just trust his man, who had been doing things right in Silicon Valley for over 25 years.
That's right, Captain Fantastic's consultant had managed to defy the laws of physics and produce Miracle FETs.
A couple of days later, the Sarcastic Brit got a voice mail from the consultant. It went something like this:
I was... um... looking at the data sheet for that FET... and... um... It looks like it does have a pretty high junction resistance... um... It looks like... um... it would probably... um... dissipate quite a bit of power at 20A. I don't think... um... that it will handle that much current.
For weeks after that, the Sarcastic Brit would play that message on his speaker phone and just grin. He would also occasionally forward a copy of it to Captain Fantastic. I think that it was the saddest day of his life when he learned that the phone system deletes old messages after two months.
Shortly after the phone message we had an engineering team meeting to discuss what everybody was working on. It turns out that of the six members of the engineering team at that time, exactly half of the team was composed of electrical engineers. In addition we discovered that the Sarcastic Brit was just waiting until the appropriate time to inform Captain Fantastic that he was one of those three electrical engineers.
Inconceivable.
Captain Fantastic brought in his electronics wizard as a consultant. He constantly reminded us that his man had twenty five years experience (f**king it up) in Silicon Valley. In fact, the man had some skill. He managed to take the Mecca for $50,000 and only delivered a board cut at a 15° angle.
Anyhow, the instrument has a heater that draws in the neighbourhood of 20A of current. We wished to switch the heater with a Field Effect Transistor (FET). Unfortunately, the circuit that this Silicon Valley Veteran had conceived kept blowing the FET. It seems that even a small junction resistance turns into a lot of power when you have a high current. The Sarcastic Brit mentioned that this may be what was causing the FETs to burn up. There's nothing like the smell of burned plastic in the morning. The consultant insisted that the FETs didn't dissipate any power. I'm reminded of the Simpsons "In this house, young lady, we OBEY the laws of thermodynamics."
Captain Fantastic stepped in at this point. His addition to the discussion was that nobody at the Mecca was an electrical engineer, so we should all just trust his man, who had been doing things right in Silicon Valley for over 25 years.
That's right, Captain Fantastic's consultant had managed to defy the laws of physics and produce Miracle FETs.
A couple of days later, the Sarcastic Brit got a voice mail from the consultant. It went something like this:
I was... um... looking at the data sheet for that FET... and... um... It looks like it does have a pretty high junction resistance... um... It looks like... um... it would probably... um... dissipate quite a bit of power at 20A. I don't think... um... that it will handle that much current.
For weeks after that, the Sarcastic Brit would play that message on his speaker phone and just grin. He would also occasionally forward a copy of it to Captain Fantastic. I think that it was the saddest day of his life when he learned that the phone system deletes old messages after two months.
Shortly after the phone message we had an engineering team meeting to discuss what everybody was working on. It turns out that of the six members of the engineering team at that time, exactly half of the team was composed of electrical engineers. In addition we discovered that the Sarcastic Brit was just waiting until the appropriate time to inform Captain Fantastic that he was one of those three electrical engineers.
Inconceivable.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
We do our drop tests from 30,000 feet
Back to Captain Fantastic. His name comes up routinely at the Biotech Mecca, despite the fact that it's been almost a year since his demise.
Captain Fantastic recommended an industrial designer that he had "worked with" at a previous company. The industrial designer was actually very good (as opposed to all of the Captain's other top notch consultants). The industrial designer defended himself with a statement much like Bruce Campbell's statement regarding Henry the Red in Army of Darkness. "Look man, you gotta realize - I've never seen these assholes before." The industrial designer had worked with the Captain, but in a different group. He was sure to point out that they had never worked "together", and they certainly were not what you would call "friends".
The Captain would stop by the designer's desk to look at what he was up to (and waste his time - something that the Captain excelled at). Since the industrial designer never called Captain Fantastic a lying weasel to his face, the Captain felt that they had a good rapport.
As we were getting ready to ship the Alpha prototype, the topic of shipping crates came up, as well as the necessary testing to ensure that the unit would survive the perils of being shipped by courier.
Captain Fantastic: At my last company, we used to drop things 20 meters to make sure they would survive shipping.
Harbinger of Doom: I have never heard of anybody dropping a crate more than six feet as a shipping test.
Captain Fantastic: I tell you that at my last company, the drop test was 20 meters.
Industrial Designer: That was a special test to ensure that hazardous material would not be released in the event of a catastrophe. It was such a big deal that the whole company came out to watch.
Captain Fantastic: No, I tell you that was the standard drop test.
Industrial Designer: If you say so.
'Nough said?
Captain Fantastic recommended an industrial designer that he had "worked with" at a previous company. The industrial designer was actually very good (as opposed to all of the Captain's other top notch consultants). The industrial designer defended himself with a statement much like Bruce Campbell's statement regarding Henry the Red in Army of Darkness. "Look man, you gotta realize - I've never seen these assholes before." The industrial designer had worked with the Captain, but in a different group. He was sure to point out that they had never worked "together", and they certainly were not what you would call "friends".
The Captain would stop by the designer's desk to look at what he was up to (and waste his time - something that the Captain excelled at). Since the industrial designer never called Captain Fantastic a lying weasel to his face, the Captain felt that they had a good rapport.
As we were getting ready to ship the Alpha prototype, the topic of shipping crates came up, as well as the necessary testing to ensure that the unit would survive the perils of being shipped by courier.
Captain Fantastic: At my last company, we used to drop things 20 meters to make sure they would survive shipping.
Harbinger of Doom: I have never heard of anybody dropping a crate more than six feet as a shipping test.
Captain Fantastic: I tell you that at my last company, the drop test was 20 meters.
Industrial Designer: That was a special test to ensure that hazardous material would not be released in the event of a catastrophe. It was such a big deal that the whole company came out to watch.
Captain Fantastic: No, I tell you that was the standard drop test.
Industrial Designer: If you say so.
'Nough said?
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Captain Fantastic
I was cleaning out some boxes lying around my cubicle and I stumbled upon a couple of old business cards. They have forced me to come about to starting the story of one of the most interesting characters to have graced the halls of the Biotech Mecca.
I have not yet written about the "engineer" known as Captain Fantastic because I have been unsure regarding where to begin. On the surface the Captain was not only likable, but also capable and creative. Unfortunately, that outward appearance was merely the facade of one who was willing to use flattery, deceit and antagonism to cover up his inability to get the job done. I realize that this judgment seems a wee bit harsh, but alas, I was forced to draw this conclusion based on the observations of nearly a full year.
The story starts after I interviewed to go work at the Biotech Mecca, but before I actually started. (Remembering that the intervening period was nearly eight months.) The Mad Man (former VP of Engineering) had hired the Sarcastic Brit, who had decided that he was tired of trying to find the proverbial fifth leg of the cat.
The former CTO (remember the guy who can't engineer his way out of a wet paper bag with a chain saw?) informed the Mad Man that he had "a really good guy" coming over for an interview. This guy would be the Director of Engineering, and would be starting immediately. By the way, he would be arriving in about ten minutes and you don't need to see his resume. Really?
Needless to say, the job interview was somewhat pointless. Captain Fantastic was in the door. Now, we fast forward to my first week of work. I had just towed a trailer across the continent in my poor old Nissan. My child had screamed the whole way. I was living in a hotel and had the movers calling daily, threatening to drop my family's belongings on the street if I didn't have a place to live by the time the truck arrived in town with our stuff. Needless to say, I was not at my best. My first task was to help Captain Fantastic try to find various pieces of strange equipment: a miniature vacuum forming machine, a platen press... I forget the others. I had never used any of this crap before. I certainly had no idea of where to find it, or even what he wanted it for.
At the end of the first week, my boss (the Mad Man from down south) informed me that Captain Fantastic had approached him to let him know that I was slow. I think that the Mad Man was more upset about it than I was. He had carefully recruited me from Canada, where I had worked for him for three years. He was pretty sure that I had not suffered from massive brain damage in the intervening time, and hence was probably not slow. At least one person had given me a vote of confidence.
The Captain spoke constantly of "when I had my company", which was apparently a very successful automation company, which he claimed he sold because it was just too much work. I often wondered why a guy who had operated and sold a successful company was driving a Honda Civic of 10+ years vintage. Perhaps 1998 was a particularly good year for Civics. Perhaps he had other vices than cars. I discovered that it certainly wasn't clothing - between the hawaiian shirts and the mohair suit.
One thing the captain had in spades was ready consultants. There was the electronics guy (Miracle FET) with "25 years experience", which the Sarcastic Brit soon revised to "F**king it up for 25 years in Silicon Valley. Miracle FET is worth a couple of postings on his own though, so I will save that for later. There was the Captain's sidekick, Smee, who later got a job teaching statistics at a local university. (Made all the more scary because I tried to explain some simple stats to her - only to be told that I was pontificating). Of course, this consultant wasn't up to the job she was given, and had to hire her own consultant to help out. I believe that her consultant actually brought in a consultant of his own as well. Again, this project is worth it's own post, or perhaps even two or three of them.
But... I digress.
After a short period of time, the Mad Man decided to split the project team into two sub teams: one doing optics, and the other working on the mechanics. In the interest of expediency, he decided that I would work with him on the optics, leaving the Sarcastic Brit to work with Captain Fantastic. The Sarcastic Brit seemed a little bit embittered by this. I later found out it was because he had already caught Captain Fantastic passing the Sarcastic Brit's ideas off as his own.
One of my first tasks was design of filter wheels. I started out with a nice simple design that had a couple of screws with washers to hold in the filters. Captain Fantastic told me that it was very poor practice to do that. You had to minimize the number of parts in the BOM. Those bolts and screws are just extra items in the Bill of Materials. They need to be removed. The proper way to do it is to machine springs into the aluminum. Presto - the filters are held in place and you only have one part in the Bill of Materials. I was dubious. He offered to model it up in Solid Works for me to show me how it was done. Perhaps he had a low opinion of me, but at least he was willing to teach me from his great fount of knowledge.
Unfortunately, he was much too busy to help me right then, but I dutifully followed his advice (being a Director and all) and tried to come up with a design with those machined springs. That design (the concept - not the implementation) has been the source of much mocking from every mechanical design guy that has walked in the door since. Apparently, that was only the way it was done in his head.
Next, we move on to the limit switches. I had selected nice, inexpensive ($6) limit switches. They were of a type that I had used before in other projects without incident. Captain Fantastic informed me that they would not work. He would know, afterall, he routinely bolted the limit switches onto instruments as they were going onto the truck. He picked out better switches. I believe he meant easier to use. I looked a the price - yikes, they were $60 each. Then, I did a quick tally: 11 limit switches in the instrument. I decided that it was time the Captain learned to use the cheap switches. Fortunately, the Mad Man and the Sarcastic Brit saw things my way.
Next, we move on to the selection of the motor. We had a problem with "ringing" of the filter wheel on the motor. Oddly enough, the wheel, coupled with the electromagnetic forces of the stepper motor makes a very nice pendulum. The Captain told me that I didn't understand. I told him that if we increased the torque of the motor the spring constant would go up, making the frequency of the oscillations higher and the amplitude lower. I had calculations that modled things, and the numbers worked. He still insisted that I had no clue. I reminded him that I have a degree in physics and may have some clue about how pendulums work. He told me that he had a three year degree (where I come from real degrees take four years) in mathematics from Santa Clara University. That's sort of like Stanford, right? Apparently I knew nothing.
Even after I switched to a higher powered motor and completely solved the problem, he insisted that the filter wheel needed to be redesigned. It just didn't work. I'm not sure how. It moved the filters into position and held them there. I think that sums up the functional requirements for a filter wheel quite nicely.
Now that I have started, there is so much to write about. There is "the drawer", that delayed the instrument prototype for three months. There is the "inconceivable" failure of the pressure sensitive adhesive, begging the draftsman to alter drawing dates, the accusations of sabotage, the lies, the threats, the yelling, the screaming, the backstabbing. Sorry... got out of control there. Looks like I have plenty of material for the next posting or 20.
By the way, you may want to check out this Captain Fantastic video from Do Not Adjust Your Set.
I have not yet written about the "engineer" known as Captain Fantastic because I have been unsure regarding where to begin. On the surface the Captain was not only likable, but also capable and creative. Unfortunately, that outward appearance was merely the facade of one who was willing to use flattery, deceit and antagonism to cover up his inability to get the job done. I realize that this judgment seems a wee bit harsh, but alas, I was forced to draw this conclusion based on the observations of nearly a full year.
The story starts after I interviewed to go work at the Biotech Mecca, but before I actually started. (Remembering that the intervening period was nearly eight months.) The Mad Man (former VP of Engineering) had hired the Sarcastic Brit, who had decided that he was tired of trying to find the proverbial fifth leg of the cat.
The former CTO (remember the guy who can't engineer his way out of a wet paper bag with a chain saw?) informed the Mad Man that he had "a really good guy" coming over for an interview. This guy would be the Director of Engineering, and would be starting immediately. By the way, he would be arriving in about ten minutes and you don't need to see his resume. Really?
Needless to say, the job interview was somewhat pointless. Captain Fantastic was in the door. Now, we fast forward to my first week of work. I had just towed a trailer across the continent in my poor old Nissan. My child had screamed the whole way. I was living in a hotel and had the movers calling daily, threatening to drop my family's belongings on the street if I didn't have a place to live by the time the truck arrived in town with our stuff. Needless to say, I was not at my best. My first task was to help Captain Fantastic try to find various pieces of strange equipment: a miniature vacuum forming machine, a platen press... I forget the others. I had never used any of this crap before. I certainly had no idea of where to find it, or even what he wanted it for.
At the end of the first week, my boss (the Mad Man from down south) informed me that Captain Fantastic had approached him to let him know that I was slow. I think that the Mad Man was more upset about it than I was. He had carefully recruited me from Canada, where I had worked for him for three years. He was pretty sure that I had not suffered from massive brain damage in the intervening time, and hence was probably not slow. At least one person had given me a vote of confidence.
The Captain spoke constantly of "when I had my company", which was apparently a very successful automation company, which he claimed he sold because it was just too much work. I often wondered why a guy who had operated and sold a successful company was driving a Honda Civic of 10+ years vintage. Perhaps 1998 was a particularly good year for Civics. Perhaps he had other vices than cars. I discovered that it certainly wasn't clothing - between the hawaiian shirts and the mohair suit.
One thing the captain had in spades was ready consultants. There was the electronics guy (Miracle FET) with "25 years experience", which the Sarcastic Brit soon revised to "F**king it up for 25 years in Silicon Valley. Miracle FET is worth a couple of postings on his own though, so I will save that for later. There was the Captain's sidekick, Smee, who later got a job teaching statistics at a local university. (Made all the more scary because I tried to explain some simple stats to her - only to be told that I was pontificating). Of course, this consultant wasn't up to the job she was given, and had to hire her own consultant to help out. I believe that her consultant actually brought in a consultant of his own as well. Again, this project is worth it's own post, or perhaps even two or three of them.
But... I digress.
After a short period of time, the Mad Man decided to split the project team into two sub teams: one doing optics, and the other working on the mechanics. In the interest of expediency, he decided that I would work with him on the optics, leaving the Sarcastic Brit to work with Captain Fantastic. The Sarcastic Brit seemed a little bit embittered by this. I later found out it was because he had already caught Captain Fantastic passing the Sarcastic Brit's ideas off as his own.
One of my first tasks was design of filter wheels. I started out with a nice simple design that had a couple of screws with washers to hold in the filters. Captain Fantastic told me that it was very poor practice to do that. You had to minimize the number of parts in the BOM. Those bolts and screws are just extra items in the Bill of Materials. They need to be removed. The proper way to do it is to machine springs into the aluminum. Presto - the filters are held in place and you only have one part in the Bill of Materials. I was dubious. He offered to model it up in Solid Works for me to show me how it was done. Perhaps he had a low opinion of me, but at least he was willing to teach me from his great fount of knowledge.
Unfortunately, he was much too busy to help me right then, but I dutifully followed his advice (being a Director and all) and tried to come up with a design with those machined springs. That design (the concept - not the implementation) has been the source of much mocking from every mechanical design guy that has walked in the door since. Apparently, that was only the way it was done in his head.
Next, we move on to the limit switches. I had selected nice, inexpensive ($6) limit switches. They were of a type that I had used before in other projects without incident. Captain Fantastic informed me that they would not work. He would know, afterall, he routinely bolted the limit switches onto instruments as they were going onto the truck. He picked out better switches. I believe he meant easier to use. I looked a the price - yikes, they were $60 each. Then, I did a quick tally: 11 limit switches in the instrument. I decided that it was time the Captain learned to use the cheap switches. Fortunately, the Mad Man and the Sarcastic Brit saw things my way.
Next, we move on to the selection of the motor. We had a problem with "ringing" of the filter wheel on the motor. Oddly enough, the wheel, coupled with the electromagnetic forces of the stepper motor makes a very nice pendulum. The Captain told me that I didn't understand. I told him that if we increased the torque of the motor the spring constant would go up, making the frequency of the oscillations higher and the amplitude lower. I had calculations that modled things, and the numbers worked. He still insisted that I had no clue. I reminded him that I have a degree in physics and may have some clue about how pendulums work. He told me that he had a three year degree (where I come from real degrees take four years) in mathematics from Santa Clara University. That's sort of like Stanford, right? Apparently I knew nothing.
Even after I switched to a higher powered motor and completely solved the problem, he insisted that the filter wheel needed to be redesigned. It just didn't work. I'm not sure how. It moved the filters into position and held them there. I think that sums up the functional requirements for a filter wheel quite nicely.
Now that I have started, there is so much to write about. There is "the drawer", that delayed the instrument prototype for three months. There is the "inconceivable" failure of the pressure sensitive adhesive, begging the draftsman to alter drawing dates, the accusations of sabotage, the lies, the threats, the yelling, the screaming, the backstabbing. Sorry... got out of control there. Looks like I have plenty of material for the next posting or 20.
By the way, you may want to check out this Captain Fantastic video from Do Not Adjust Your Set.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
