In Search of a Bug

Last night, I dreamed that the Mariner café was flooded because of a bug in my code controlling the water faucets. Everyone was looking at me critically—I felt like I was on the Tour de France again. What a relief when I woke up. I spent a lot of time at Mariner with Milica during high school; I wouldn’t want to sink that place. I’ll write to her about my dream. She’s not online. I’ll send her an email instead:

You’re not online—must be out having some wild fun. I dreamed Mariner was flooded, and it was my fault.

Milica replied:

My sister was here, sharing stories from her work. Now she’s gone to bed. She was at a party with her coworkers, had a bit to drink, and came home in good spirits. We talked for two hours. She mentioned drinking some “union beer” and listening to a band with two keyboards and a singer. 🙂

Her first impression: “Do you know what kind of customs these events have nowadays? They play the ‘classic’ repertoire, and then near the end, there’s a set of five or six kinda alternative songs, with keyboards and that same voice. It’s meant to break up the monotony, I guess, and for those who really love that kind of music—especially if they’ve had a bit to drink—it’s their moment to shine.” (My sister tonight, from what I gather, hehehe).

Then she told me about her coworkers—alcohol loosens the tongue—and mostly about Dr. Mandić, a surgeon. Apparently, he got drunk, danced, and mingled with the nurses.

When she was a junior doctor on his surgical team, she saw how he operated: finishing hour-long procedures in fifteen minutes. He ignored standard protocols, making rough incisions, completing the operation in minutes, and stitching the inner layers before leaving the skin suturing to someone else. Those quick inner sutures often caused complications, visible in later exams. Many of his patients ended up with ventral hernias. She once had to stitch up a patient whose anesthesia was wearing off. As the man regained consciousness and began moving, the internal sutures gave way. Her hands were on his skin, and she felt the slight internal pressure reverberate against her palms. Everyone on the ward knew about his shortcuts, and the patient records reflected it—statistics don’t lie.

Tonight, though, Dr. Mandić danced joyfully to The Partybreakers¹ at the union party: “Be the same, be unique, be free…”² He’s certainly unique, and the fact that he is still free, well, the song suit him perfectly. However, he was so miserably contrasting the song spirit.

I always imagined surgeons differently. Certain events shaped my perceptions. I was briefly hospitalized in elementary school. At night, I could see a small room in the opposite wing of the building from my window. The windows were mostly covered, but I could glimpse inside. One evening, several doctors were gathered around a table. Their heads and shoulders were visible, all focused downward. It looked like they were performing surgery. I don’t remember if there were any bright lights or other details of the interior.

They worked for hours, and in the end, they started hugging each other. Even with their masks on, I could tell they were elated—like volleyball players celebrating a point. I assumed their operation was a success, that they had saved someone’s life.

It’s such a faint memory. I’d need to go back to that ward and ask someone who has worked there for fifteen or sixteen years to confirm whether that wing had operating rooms. If it did, then everything I thought might be true.

My sister doesn’t know where that could be. I can’t explain where I stayed; I don’t remember. But if I went there, I’d know. I remember a large, dirty balcony we weren’t allowed to use. Nobody went out there.

Milica’s email stayed on my mind for a long time.

In the game, progress was slow. Meanwhile, Ian made some changes, and now there’s no damage when shooting. It’s like everyone’s firing blanks—nothing breaks, and no one loses health. We’re wondering if he did it intentionally because he dislikes conflict. Now we’re searching for the bug.

1Partybreakers (Serbian: Partibrejkers) – Alternative rock band from Serbia.

2The lyrics from Partybreakers song.