Apologies for missing my deadline for last issue's column -- I've been back on crunch.
Strange, but I don't remember ever hearing the term "crunch" before joining the software industry. I'd worked in businesses that did a lot of overtime before ("paper" game publishing runs as much behind deadline as electronic game publishing!)...well, it seemed like a lot of overtime then, but nothing really compares to CRUNCH in the computer game industry.
In most businesses, it's not uncommon to work late a few days to meet some crucial deadline. Doing that is just part of being a professional. So when I was first recruited into computer gaming, I was rather surprised at the emphasis they put on warning me about overtime...
Now, Mr. Armintrout, you realize that this is not a nine-to-five type of job.
Not a problem, sir. Whatever it takes to get the job done.
You may need to work overtime now and again. I don't want this to come as a surprise.
Well, I understood you the first time, sir. Overtime, sometimes. I get it. I can do it. Not a problem.
Then I'm sure you'll work out well here, Mr. Armintrout...
My first clue should have come from the tour of the facilities. As a new employee, I was given a glimpse of happy designers, writers and programmers working in their tiny offices.
Glad to meet you. Are you our new programmer?
Well, I program some, but I'm primarily a writer.
You'll like it here. They give us all kinds of creative freedom.
I can see that by the way you've decorated your office. There are Communist countries where posters like these are banned.
We're very proud of our offices. Most people have lives. Instead, we have offices.
Seems like everyone has their own refrigerator. Most companies wouldn't allow that, due to the electricity cost.
The fridge is a necessity. Otherwise, we'd starve. Who has time to go home?
The more subtle clue, which I entirely missed at first, was the large number of couches. Every office had a couch. And those that didn't, had futons. Or at least sleeping bags. (Aha! You follow my drift...)
Eventually I was placed on my first project. In my memory, it seems that every team and every project begins with some Big Meeting. In this case, it was the gathering of the Producer with his "core team" (a director, a designer, and two programmers). I really had no idea what they were talking about.
...and I can promise you that there will be no overtime on this project. We've seen what happened on PROJECT X, and the company has decided this will never happen again.
They tell us this at the start of every project...
No, we really mean it this time. We've hired a scheduling expert for the department. I'll be getting a secretary to help with the paperwork. We'll track this project on a day by day, task by task basis. Tell them, Jeff.
Miguel is telling you straight. I've prepared a task chart that shows every step required to produce this game...
But nobody asked me how long it will take.
Don't worry, you'll get your chance to make changes. The important thing is that we'll have this schedule. This process guarantees that there will be no crunch on this project.
But what about bonus pay?
Bonus pay has nothing to do with it. Sure, in the past, the size of your project bonus was linked to how hard you killed yourself to get the game done. We don't do that anymore. A bonus is for working smart, not hard.
And so we began work on the Great Game Project. Several months down the road, we hit a stumbling block, and so we redesigned the game from scratch. And then one of our new programmers left to work for a spreadsheet outfit. Then they told us we had to double our frame rate. Oddly enough, the deadline didn't move.
And so we reached the day...
We're running behind schedule. That looks bad for our careers. I'm going to start working 10-hour days until I catch up.
Kid, you'll never catch up. You'll just burn yourself out.
You don't understand. I'm a night person. I LIKE staying up all night.
Pretty soon, we were all working 50-hour weeks. Or more. On a voluntary basis. Because we felt good about our game, and we wanted it to come out right. Even though we weren't getting paid for the extra time.
Yet that slippery schedule kept sliding away from us.
I don't think we can make that Alpha version date, Miguel.
Sure, we can. Watch what I can do with this Project Management software. I just CLICK on this GANT Chart here, and slide this line over to there...
You've just cut my two weeks of testing the audio system.
We can do that in Beta. And who needs spell checking -- tell the writers not to worry about it. Our customers can't spell either!
I'd be willing to work a little harder, if it would mean getting this game out.
Great. In fact, here's my offer -- if you work 12 hours, you get a free meal, paid for by the company. We'll set up an account with an all-night deli.
Can I get free food too?
Anyone on the team qualifies. Just sign this slip, pledging to be here for a full twelve hours. And those have to be real work hours, not just hanging around the office hours...
Months pass. The game is coming together. All of the major coding tasks are done. Much of the art is done. The audio... um, whatever happened to that composer we were supposed to get when SEQUEL GAME Z was done? But there are trillions of tiny tasks left to be done.
I've called you all here to discuss the seriousness of our situation. This game must be completed on schedule.
There is no way that can be done, sir.
We're transferring three new programmers from BIG PRODUCTION GAME XX to our team for three weeks. They will help us catch up.
Why can't we just finish the game right? Why these arbitrary deadlines?
Son, this company is run on a budget. Time is money. Do you know what our investors will say if this game ships two weeks after the quarter?
As of this minute, everyone on this team is on mandatory six-days-per-week, 60-hours-per-week schedules. Does anyone have a problem with this?
What about my vacation to Bali, sir? I have airline tickets.
We'll buy them back.
So, does everyone agree that we can make these new deadlines?
We've been working very hard for a long time...
I'll pay a thousand dollars to anyone who will sign their name to this paper. It says that you will promise to do everything you can to make the new deadline.
All we have to do is promise to TRY?
Yes. Plus we'll pay a bonus as a reward for all the extra hours.
Sign us up!
And so REAL CRUNCH begins. Mandatory hours. Never seeing daylight, either because (a) you arrive at dawn, and go home after sunset, or (b) you sleep in the day, and work at night. (Programmers seem to prefer "b.")
The company moves bunk beds into the spare room. Someone is always sleeping in there, so the games of hall football have to be moved to another hall.
Every effort is made to help us work as many hours as possible. Breakfast is the enemy. Workers are wasting time eating breakfast at home, when they could be eating at work. A breakfast bar is set up in the Producer's office. Lots of boxes of cereal, and a gallon of milk in the fridge. Out of tradition, one of the boxes is Captain Crunch.
The Producer, who has little to do on the project except "manage," volunteers to help out. He starts doing laundry for the programmers.
And every week, the screws draw a little tighter. Mandatory 12-hour days. Higher bonuses for a 70-hour week. The lead programmer works a 202-hour week, living now in his office, showering in the company bathroom. The programmers all have that vampire pallor from never seeing the sun. None of the men are shaving (shaving takes time from coding).
Until, finally, when the team is exhausted beyond endurance, the game ships. Is it done? The Producer says it is. Everyone else just crosses their fingers and watches the Internet for the reaction. Did we really fix all the crucial bugs, or did we rationalize not fixing something that now will bite us?
The project is over. We've spent eighteen months on a one-year project. A year of overtime. Six months of mandatory overtime. Even, in the end, an entire month without a day off.
Now they let us have 3 days of free vacation as a reward. Most of us just go home to sleep.
Most team members move on to other projects. A veteran programmer decides to transfer to working on the code libraries -- "less pressure over there," he says. Somebody else immediately transfers to another project on crunch. ("I can do crunch standing on my head," he says. "Besides, I've got a new car to pay off.") And somebody else quits, saying that it's just not worth it.
Meanwhile, on the Net, we read the praise and criticism of that game we finished a month ago. "Such and such bug is the fault of LAZY PROGRAMMERS. If they really cared about their work, they wouldn't have let such-and-such feature..." (Actually, it was a design bug, but to the customer, everyone who works on a game must be a programmer, right?) And somebody else writes: "I don't see how they get away with not supporting MY PARTICULAR SOUND CARD. If they only worked a little harder..."
Harder? Harder! The mystery is not how to make us work harder, but why we work like this at all.
Game design and game production and game management are an unknown art. We never know how long it will take to make a game (unless it's a no-tech brain-dead sequel, and there are fewer of those than you might think). So we always say we can do it in X number of months, and the producer adds 6 months as a safety net, and we still finish it 3 months late.
So next time, we add more fudge time, but this next project is even more immense and ambitious than the last one, and so we run over again...
Besides, nobody who is any good wants to work on the kind of games that come out on time. Everyone wants to make GREAT games. And great games are built on blood. Our design teams bleed into every box.
Why do we do it? It's not the money (we could make twice the dough at some word processor software house). It's not even the lifestyle, though it's great to work at a company where you can dress and talk and decorate your office any way you like.
We do it because designing games is the greatest adventure on the planet. And we'll keep on doing it until it kills us.
And when we're dead or worn out, there'll be some green kid to take our places. "Sure, I'd love to make computer games! Overtime? Why, I don't mind a little hard work..."
Bill Armintrout has been a professional game designer since 1978. He most recently worked on Ultima VII, Part II: The Serpent Isle.
This article is Copyright (C) 1993 by Bill Armintrout for Game Bytes Magazine. All rights reserved.