The Sore Spot

On a fog-laden night, a neon glow from a digital billboard flickers outside the large glass panes of the office. The city’s hum is barely audible over the synchronized dance of raindrops and the whirring thoughts of a weary Product Manager trying to get to the end of another late day.

His bloodshot eyes stare unblinkingly at an aging laptop, practically burning a hole in his app’s interface. Rain drums against the windows, keeping time with the pulsing pain of his overused mind and he picks at the scab of a sore spot in the UI that’s as rundown as a dive bar in a hipster village.

Every stakeholder, every employee, every damned intern knows about it. It’s whispered about in hushed tones during hasty coffee breaks and gnawed on constantly during the endless drone of planning sessions.

The universe and its cruel jokes. The sore spot isn’t bleeding green, isn’t burning through cash. No lost customers, no declining revenues. The clients? They adapt. But every time The Product Manager encounters this virtual hangnail, his blood boils. He experiences a visceral anger, raw and pure.

Yeah, there’s a toll. Hours spent stewing in the dim light, gnawing on the problem like a cheap cigar, letting it fester in the back alley of the mind. But slapping a price tag on those restless thoughts? That’s like trying to count the shadows in a smoke-filled room. It’s part of the business underworld, woven into its fabric, as elusive as nailing a mob boss who’s either always in the limelight or perpetually lurking in the shadows.

The app has its priorities, he knows that, hey it’s his job to set them. And in the grand scheme of revenues and profit margins, this little imperfection doesn’t figure. It’s a scratch on a clean car, a sore toe, it’s fine– but god DAMN it to hell.

The Product Manager leans back, the leather chair groaning under his weight, fingertips pressing at the bridge of his nose. He gives himself a little pep talk: “This isn’t your legacy in the world. This software—it’s transient. Your professional mark, no matter how profound, is ephemeral.”

A sigh, heavy with the weight of compromise and restraint, escapes him. The developers, designers, all those bright minds out there—they dream of flawless creation. But is the end game beauty or a fat bottom line? There’s art in this tech labyrinth, but who gets to frame it? The ones with the ideas or the ones with the checkbooks? Yeah, he knows the answer to that one.

The fog thickens, and the city fades into obscurity, and The Product Manager knows he’s but a cog in the machinery. Hell, some days that fact actually gets him through the day. His neck twists, a pop of momentary relief echoing in the room.

The cruel truth? That faulty digital corner may or may not get its due, might remain a perpetual glitch or one day be transformed into seamless perfection. Who knows. Because the universe? It’s indifferent. Apathetic– and it doesn’t owe him a damned thing.