Date: January 30, 2025

  Let’s skip the morning pleasantries. Today started with a small existential crisis when I realized I’d accidentally replaced a production database table with the wrong one. Classic rookie move—but also, how did I even have the permissions to do that?

  But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s break this day down chronologically, because the chaos deserves to be documented in all its messy glory.

  Disaster Strikes at 10:47 a.m.

  It all began when I was tasked with updating some customer analytics tables for a report. Simple enough, right? Just write the script, verify it in the staging database, and deploy to production.

  Somewhere in the process, I fat-fingered the table name in my script. Instead of updating the analytics table, I ran the script on a completely different production table.

  One that held live order data.

  At first, I didn’t even notice. The script ran successfully, and I sat back in my chair, feeling a little too proud of myself for how efficiently I had finished the task.

  Then Slack exploded.

  “Why is the order table showing customer analytics data?”

  “Did someone overwrite the production table?!”

  “Who did this???”

  My stomach plummeted. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, frozen.

  No. No, no, no, no.

  My brain short-circuited between fix it and resign immediately, before settling on a third, equally humiliating option: sit there in silent horror and process the slow-motion wreckage of my career.

  Leo, ever the witness to my worst moments, leaned against my desk, coffee in hand. “Ada, you okay?”

  I barely turned my head, unable to move, unable to breathe. “I think I just replaced a production table,” I whispered.

  Leo blinked, his usual smirk flickering into something more serious. “You what?”

  I swallowed hard. “I… I replaced the order table. With the wrong data.”

  For a moment, he just stared at me. I braced myself for laughter, a snarky remark, anything to make this feel less catastrophic.

  But instead, Leo exhaled and placed his coffee cup down on my desk.

  “Alright,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. His voice was softer than usual, steady in a way that made me feel a little less like I was about to have an out-of-body experience. “Let’s fix this.”

  That threw me off more than anything.

  Leo was many things—annoying, smug, the human embodiment of chaos—but comforting? That was new.

  Teamwork (With a Side of Chaos)

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Leo’s “help” was a mix of teasing and laser-focused efficiency. He pulled up the database logs, scanning through the snapshots like he did this sort of thing for fun.

  “You’re lucky,” he said, typing rapidly. “Backup snapshots run every 15 minutes. Otherwise, we’d be drafting your resignation letter right now.”

  I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

  “Nope,” he said, sparing me a glance. Then, in a rare moment of mercy, he added, “But I’ll keep it light. You’re already freaking out enough.”

  That… was unexpected.

  I peeked at him through my fingers, but his focus was already back on the screen. There was something about the way he said it—teasing, yes, but also oddly considerate. It made the panic in my chest settle just a little.

  Then, just as we restored the table and sighed in relief, Ethan appeared—because of course my bad luck demanded that he witness my failure.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone deceptively neutral. He cast a quick glance at Leo before turning to me, his sharp eyes taking in the situation way too quickly.

  Leo leaned back in his chair, stretching. “Oh, nothing. Ada just replaced the production order table.”

  Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Ambitious.”

  “It’s fine,” I said quickly, trying to salvage what was left of my dignity. “We’ve got it under control.”

  Ethan didn’t move. His calm demeanor was starting to make me more nervous than Leo’s teasing.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “You didn’t double-check the table name before running the script?”

  I winced. “No. I panicked.”

  Without a word, Ethan stepped in, pulling up my code. He pointed at the offending line and said, “Next time, add a confirmation step so this doesn’t happen again.”

  His tone was firm but not unkind, and for a second, I thought I saw a flicker of something—concern?—before he stepped back.

  “I will,” I muttered, feeling both relieved and humiliated.

  “Good,” Ethan said, his voice softer now. “And stop panicking. It’s fixable.”

  Leo grinned, leaning back in his chair. “You’re lucky Ethan showed up. Otherwise, I’d still be roasting you.”

  “Still might,” Ethan added, glancing at me one last time before walking away.

  I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to scream into my keyboard or crawl under my desk.

  The Aftermath

  It took me another twenty minutes to fully accept that I wasn’t getting fired today.

  The realization came in slow waves. First, the Slack messages died down. Then, the database logs confirmed everything was back to normal.

  Then, finally, I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.

  I was still employed.

  But the whole ordeal had left a sour taste in my mouth. How had I been so careless?

  I wasn’t new to SQL. I wasn’t a complete idiot. But I had panicked, rushed, and made a rookie mistake that could have cost me everything.

  I had to be better.

  An Unexpected Compliment

  The afternoon was relatively uneventful—just a lot of debugging and pretending I wasn’t still embarrassed about earlier.

  Around 4 p.m., Ethan walked by my desk and paused.

  “You’re improving,” he said.

  I looked up, confused. “What?”

  “Your scripts,” he clarified. “They’re getting cleaner. That one was close to being perfect—just needed better table validation.”

  Was that… a compliment? From Ethan?

  “Thanks,” I said cautiously.

  He nodded, then added, “Just don’t panic next time.”

  And with that, he walked away, leaving me both annoyed and weirdly proud of myself.

  I frowned at my screen, pretending I wasn’t replaying the conversation in my head. Why did his approval even matter?

  Maybe because he was annoyingly competent, or maybe because I had some twisted need to prove myself to the most intimidating person in the office.

  Either way, it was fine. Totally fine.

  It wasn’t like Ethan had actual human emotions or anything.

  Evening Reflections

  As I sit here typing this, I can’t help but laugh at how chaotic this job has already been.

  I’ve only been here a week, and I’ve managed to:

  1. Overwrite a production table.

  2. Develop a reputation for collecting spoons. (Why, why, why?)

  3. Become a cautionary tale for all new grads on why you shouldn't blab on about your ideas before a big presentation

  But you know what? It’s not all bad.

  Leo’s humor keeps the stress manageable, Samantha’s positivity is infectious, and Ethan… well, his smugness is still a bit of a pain, but his subtle way of stepping in to help is undeniably reassuring when it matters most.

  I reached for my phone, hovering over my messages before stopping on my brother’s name.

  [Me: If I get fired in my first week, do I have to move back home?]

  Hiro’s response was instant.

  [Hiro: You’re an idiot.]

  I smiled. Fair.

  Here’s hoping tomorrow is just a little less eventful.

  Until next time,Ada W.