Microsoft SQL For Aliens, ADHD and Absolute Idiots PART ONE

I am that absolute idiot, and also the ADHD part.

Okay here’s the deal. I’ve been given the title of Reporting Analyst by my boss. Did he interview for this position? Yes. Did I apply? No. Did he ask me to take it on and assure me I was smart enough to do it? Yes. Did I believe him? No, but I pretended to and took the pay increase. Now I’m stuck with Microsoft SQL, the bane of my existence.

Now, I’ve tried - and this isn’t my first rodeo with SQL. About 20 years ago I went through an official SQL certification course. I wasn’t expected to be certified, as I wasn’t an IT person, but I was expected to absorb some sort of knowledge and be able to apply that knowledge into a functional ability. Yeah. Okay.

So for those of you who are new to SQL, let me give you my version of the Dummies book that should be written for people with brains like mine.

What is SQL?

Officially, it’s a collection of servers and databases and tables with all the information your company has about anything and everything. Kind of like if you had 100 recipe boxes divided by all categories imaginable, not just type of food, but who gave you the recipe, all recipes with brown ingredients, date the food was first discovered on earth, etc. If you want to find a recipe for chocolate cake, you need to weed through all of this junk to find what you want. It’s so organized, it’s impossible to find anything.

PART ONE - How to Navigate SQL

The best way to explain how to get around in SQL is to imagine that an alien abducts you and transports you to a neighborhood where you’ve never been at 3:00 AM and drops you off in the middle of the street. The power is out, and there’s barely enough moonlight to see the rooflines of the houses.

“To get back home,” the alien says, “I need you to find me three things.” He holds up his index finger. “First, a potato with five eyes.” A second finger goes up. “Second, a red Bic ink pen. And finally,” he flicks up a third finger, “A Celine Dion poster from 1992.”

You wonder if he’s only asking for three things because he only has three fingers. Regardless, none of this makes any sense. These items don’t seem to go together, but that’s what your boss, I mean, the alien, asks of you and you’re not getting out of this pitch black neighborhood until you find all of these items.

Let’s fast forward through the endless, mind-numbing, hours-long journey of searching in the dark that you embark upon to find these items and get to the good part where you’ve finally succeeded in finding each one. The potato is in the kitchen of the blue house on the corner, the poster is in the basement of the Tudor house on Main Street, and the pen is in the desk in the office of the brown ranch behind you. “I found them all!” You shout into the air, triumphantly.

“Wonderful,” the alien says. “Now all you need to do to bring them to me is to write me a riddle.”

He can’t be serious. “A riddle?”

“Yes, and it must be formatted and written in special SQL alien code.”

Swallowing the urge to scream or punch something, you turn back toward the houses.

“Where are you going?” your boss, I mean the alien, asks.

You sigh and shake your head. “We both know I live here now.”