by Marc Jedel
I’ll never understand salespeople.
Raj leaned over to whisper, “Is this what your sister does?”
I whispered back, “I hope not.” Did Laney do an HR training that had upset someone? I could see someone getting annoyed at Emily for being too perky. Laney, however, had never been perky. Anyway, why would someone try to kill their HR trainer for being annoying?
The room fell into uncomfortable silence other than Cassandra’s continued, self-satisfied hoots. She hadn’t grasped that there were no winners in this exercise. After her oversharing, Cassandra certainly hadn’t won anything from this crowd today.
Emily pushed herself up from her chair and made a game attempt to move on. With a brittle smile pasted on her face, she looked around the room trying to pick someone very different from Cassandra. She picked me. “Why don’t you go ahead?” This time she perched on the edge of her seat.
I started to sweat because I’d only come up with two of the three required statements. “Ok. I’m Marty. Let’s see …” I considered announcing that Sergeant Mace Jackson needed my help to solve a case, but I didn’t want to explain everything. “I ate spaghetti tacos for dinner last night. I met Jean Rollag, the founder of DroneTech, yesterday. And, um, I like romance novels.” I’d admit my third statement wasn’t the best lie in the world, but it was the first thing that came to my mind at the moment. Although I might not win the exercise, at least I wouldn’t be embarrassed.
My feeling of minor accomplishment and lack of embarrassment lasted for about a second.
“Why would an engineer meet with the founder of DroneTech unless he’s trying to get a job there? Are you leaving Rover, Marty?” challenged someone I didn’t know.
“Hey, Marty’s not wearing a Hawaiian shirt and shorts. Maybe he really is interviewing,” said another person.
The whole reason for wearing the same outfit every day was to avoid the challenge of figuring out what to wear. Ever since Steve Jobs, the co-founder of Apple, had popularized the concept, lots of engineers, at least male engineers, had followed suit. Preferring cheerful, bright colors to his all-black, I kept a closet full of Hawaiian shirts that I wore most days.
Another person at the end of the table spoke. “No, that’s not it. He paused before the last sentence because he needed to make up something. No way a guy likes romance novels.”
The woman to my left asked, “What’s wrong with a man liking romance novels?”
“What’s a spaghetti taco?” came another voice.
Distracted by thinking about Laney and Meghan, I’d been foolish. If I admitted I’d really met Rollag, everyone would think I had interviewed at DroneTech. I needed to claim my lie as the truth and fast before this spiraled any further out of control.
I fake laughed. “I guess I won too. I only read an interview about Rollag. That was my lie.”
Small titters sounded across the room. I caught some odd looks thrown my way. The woman sitting to my left leaned over. “So, what’s your favorite romance novel?”
Oh, great. Not quite as embarrassing as Cassandra, but I hadn’t won this exercise either.
Emily interrupted with a polite clap as she stood. “Ok. Thank you, Marty, for playing.” Her smile had returned now that we’d started playing her game properly. “For our last one, how about you go next?” She pointed at Bruce.
Bruce barely fit between the armrests of his chair. His upper body overflowed onto the chairs of the people next to him. Bruce spent his day on the phone handling customer support calls and snacking. We didn’t talk much beyond the occasional passing courtesies. I was impressed I’d remembered his name.
“Everything I say is protected, right?”
“Why, yes.” Emily nodded. She continued nodding, making meaningful eye contact with everyone as she looked around the room, pausing and doing a double nod to me. “Remember we all agreed that this would be a safe place. Go ahead. Tell us your three statements.” Emily sat again.
I wondered when we would get to the actual training so we could get back to work. Work didn’t usually take second place to other activities during my week and I needed to catch up. I needed to call Mace too. I’d forgotten to ask him to increase security for Laney. Sneaking a glance around the room, I saw quite a few people glancing at their phones or gazing off into space. Only a handful appeared engaged, looking attentively at Bruce.
Bruce settled himself. “Hi, I’m Bruce and I’m an alcoholic. And a drug addict. And a compulsive overeater.” He paused like he was waiting for the ritualistic response from the room.
Startled, everyone jerked to attention. We weren’t a twelve-step support group and no one had expected this.
Emily leaned forward in her chair. “I’m not sure if this is the right place for —”
“Oh, I’m sorry if I didn’t play the game right,” interrupted Bruce. “My therapist told me I should never lie while I’m in recovery.”
Awkward silence again. Emily’s mouth was open, but no words came out.
Bruce plowed ahead with a nervous tic that caused his left eye to twitch. “Well, the Overeaters Anonymous part would technically be a lie. I did try it for a while. Then I had to drop out. Is that considered a lie or not?”
It was like sitting back and eating popcorn while watching a movie with an out-of-control freight train. Weird that I thought I could actually smell the popcorn.
Bruce didn’t wait for a response. “All three programs have twelve steps to remember. It’s crazy hard to keep track of all of them. That’s like, twenty-eight steps to remember.”
Raj and I exchanged glances. I’m sure we’d be discussing the poor math skills of American students sometime soon. I realized that I did smell popcorn, coming from the break room next door. Who’d want to microwave popcorn at ten thirty in the morning?
“It was so hard to stop. I met my drug dealer next to this awesome place, Restaurante El Salvador.” Bruce was building up steam and continued, “Their chicken special is to die for.”
I recognized the restaurant name from Meghan Emerson this morning. She’d planned to meet Laney there for lunch. Was Fernando the drug dealer that Bruce met? Why would Laney get involved with a drug dealer in the first place? Maybe she liked the chicken special too. Or, maybe Bruce wasn’t kidding when he said it was to die for.
Bruce was so absorbed in his own story that he didn’t notice the room’s reaction. “That made the food and the drugs part of the same trip. I’d eat there all the time. It’s a really popular place —”
Emily found her tongue. “Bruce, this might not be the best time —”
The freight train chugged on, unstoppable. “It’s not my fault I dropped out. It’s my mother’s.”
Sucked into Bruce’s vortex, Cassandra couldn’t help herself. “Your mother’s?”
Emily tried again to interrupt, however, Bruce’s momentum rolled on. “Yea. I live with my mom. Well, technically, I guess I don’t. I mean I have my own door now that we converted the garage into my room. She cooks for me though.”
Watching this unfold, I felt like I was at a theater. Bruce’s emotional outburst had captivated this audience like any award-winning drama. It even smelled like one. Movie theaters sometimes have that rancid, burnt smell from overcooked popcorn. Sniffing, I thought I smelled that odor here as well. Then, the woman next to me sniffed a few times also, so I knew it wasn’t my fanciful imagination.
Bruce powered on, “I can come and go as I like. Well, I guess as long as I let my mom know … And she doesn’t need me for anything … And I won’t be out too late.”
Emily’s smile had disappeared, frightened away by the onrushing train. She took a step toward Bruce. “We should —”
The fire alarm blared. That stopped Bruce.
Saved by the bell.
Awakened from Bruce’s theatrical spell, everyone stood and started streaming out the door. The woman to my left leaned in and whispered, “I had no idea you liked romance novels also. You should join our office boo
k club.”
“Ah, sure, that sounds fun.” Like hitting my head against the wall. Maybe she’d forget. With a gentlemanly nod, I waved her ahead of me. I decided to be extra courteous and allowed more people to get between her and me.
As Raj and I jostled down the stairs, he asked, “That was very interesting. Do you think your sister did any training for her clients?”
“I hope not.”
As we emerged outside into the parking lot, Raj asked, “Do you want to know what I would say for my two truths and a lie?”
“I don’t think so. Not after those others.”
He ignored me. “I speak three languages. I acted in a Bollywood movie. I am traveling home to India next month to get married.”
Despite not wanting to play, I paused to consider. I already knew he spoke three languages. He had also told me he had a trip home to India planned for next month. Although he hadn’t mentioned anything about getting married, that did happen on a regular basis with single Indian men in the Valley. They’d go home to India on a vacation after living in the U.S. for a while and return with a wife, arranged by their families. I’ve worked with three or four other engineers who’d gotten married this way. The Bollywood line had to be the lie. Raj designed code, not acted.
“Should I say congratulations on your upcoming wedding?” I reached out to shake his hand, feeling clever for outguessing Raj.
Raj chortled. “You silly Americans. You always think Indians get married when they go home for a visit. That is my lie. When I was a kid, I was an extra in a crowd scene in a Bollywood movie. I appeared in the movie, although you can barely see me.”
I had to laugh. “Yes, I guess I am a silly American.” In the distance, I heard fire truck sirens approaching. Ridiculous. We had a little smoke from some idiot putting their popcorn in the microwave for too long. Now we’d have to wait forever for the firefighters to tromp through the building and confirm that nothing had happened, except we employed an idiot. I wouldn’t get anything done the rest of this morning before I needed to leave for my lunch at DroneTech.
Today’s training had been an even bigger waste than I’d expected. At least I got a good idea of where to take the girls for dinner tonight.
16
Thursday Lunch
The Rover car made it to DroneTech in near-record time during the late morning time period after rush hour and let me out right in front of their huge headquarters. After explosive growth for the last decade, DroneTech had built a new campus after tearing down an older complex of buildings from another tech company that had missed the next technology wave and gotten swamped into bankruptcy.
After I texted Daniel, he met me in the lobby. He came out the elevator rather than using the curving yellow slide from the third floor. Ironically for a company famous for rigorous protection of their own intellectual property, they’d stolen the slide design idea from an earlier startup in the Valley.
All around us, fresh-faced and nimble employees whooped as they flew down the slide and connected with co-workers to head for lunch. What happens to older workers in the Valley has started to perplex me in recent years. Tech company employees seem to get younger and younger every year. Perhaps the secret society of middle-aged software engineers will soon contact me and let me know where I’m supposed to report for duty.
Daniel’s lush, brown hair, smooth skin, and fashionable outfit, which my kids called metro chic, proved that he did more than merely forward all those self-improvement articles. He walked with the erect, strong gait of an athlete, although he spent his days peering at a computer screen. Perhaps I’d have to go back and read those articles he sent me after all.
Daniel gave a wide smile which revealed bright white teeth as he approached and shook my hand. “Marty. It’s been a long time. How are you doing?” He paused to consider my appearance more closely. “Are you exercising? It looks like you need to follow that skin care regimen I recommended.”
I remembered why it had been a long time. In light of my priorities to dig up dirt on Rollag and get a job at DroneTech, I ignored his last comment. “Fine. I’m glad you could make lunch.”
Daniel clapped me on the back. “Come on, you’ll like our cafeteria. Everyone does.” He signed me in and handed me a badge that I clipped to the belt on my jeans under my untucked dress shirt. The long sleeve shirt had better impress any potential DroneTech hiring manager. It was most uncomfortable compared to my normal Hawaiian shirts. Although I liked my job at Rover well enough, I’d have to be crazy not to accept an offer at a hot company like DroneTech.
I followed him past security into a long hallway crowded with people heading in both directions. Along the way, we passed a door on the right with a sign reading “Meditation.” Across the hall was a door with the sign “Yoga.” The label on next door down read “Bikram Yoga.”
“Wow, you have a meditation room and two dedicated yoga rooms?”
Daniel’s chin lifted as he started to lecture. “DroneTech believes a healthy body and spirit make for a better employee. That’s why I love working here.”
And those stock options.
He seemed to wait for a follow-up question. I let out a silent sigh. “Do you do yoga?”
“All the time. It’s a great way to strengthen your core. I alternate between the hot and regular yoga. How about you?”
“I yogurt often.”
Daniel looked bewildered before becoming distracted as we dodged the growing crowd flowing back and forth from the cafeteria. A sign above the door read, “Bistro Tech.” Fancy names for company cafeterias in Silicon Valley satisfied the egos of the employees, or the executives. The one near our office had some odd name too. Maybe the marketing and HR people needed something to do while they waited for the engineers to finish the next product.
Daniel badged into the cafeteria and held the door for me. I never quite understood why companies put badge access controls on their cafeteria doors. You never have to badge out so it’s not like the company is keeping track of how long their employees spent at lunch. Perhaps DroneTech docked the pay of employees who visited their cafeteria too often during the day.
We walked inside. A huge colored banner with sparkling LED lights around the edges hung across the extra high ceiling. I had arrived in time to celebrate “Pecan Month.” Pecans weren’t my thing, yet I could eat pistachios every day for a whole month.
Different food serving areas dotted the massive room. Large monitors above each area announced the food served at each station, including Asian, Indian, Latin, Southern, Salad, and others I couldn’t see from the entrance.
“Here we are.” Daniel swept his arm out in a dramatic move that almost hit several co-workers carrying plates of food.
“Wow. You sure have a lot of choices. I’ll bet you still get bored though, with the same choices every day.”
“The options change daily. Although salad’s always an option. Oh, look, they have the chicken tortilla soup at the Latin station. I’m going to get that. It’s awesome. Want to join me?”
“No thanks. You go ahead. I’ll wander around and pick something. Meet you at the cashiers?” I looked around for the cashiers.
“There aren’t any cashiers. Everything’s free here.”
“Wow. I should come back for dinner.”
He gave me another odd look and headed off to the Latin station. Despite the stories I’d heard about DroneTech’s cafeteria, this blew me away. Rover’s too little to have our own cafeteria, but the building next door to us had a small one with a few pre-made sandwiches and salads. I felt fortunate if I got one of the sandwiches before they sold out.
A printed page in an acrylic stand stood at the end of the Indian line like a menu. Except this page took two paragraphs to explain the one option at this station. These were squash, corn, and pecan dumplings with lavender floral notes that blended the sweet flavor with the earthy vegetable tones into an autumnal homage, yet without foliage. It took me longer to read the description than eating
the food would take.
I walked over to the Southern station expecting to find fried chicken or barbecue ribs. Nope. Nothing would be simple at Bistro Tech. According to the menu, the Southern lunch option included basil-infused, pecan cornbread with honey from DroneTech’s own beehives. I hoped the bees were kept outside the building. The cornbread accompanied a beautiful rockfish with a textured crust formed by crushed, mixed pecans, walnuts, and almonds. The description took so long to read that I had to start over to remember what it was.
I glanced up and saw Daniel waiting for me, shifting from one foot to the other, with his hot soup and a side salad already in hand. Browsing time was over. Even though I’m not sure how they knew a beautiful rockfish from an ugly one, I took what the guy handed me. Carefully plated with a swirl of some decorative, green oil, the fish looked a lot better than my normal lunch of tuna salad on stale sourdough wrapped in plastic.
I’d have to suffer for the sake of the investigation.
We grabbed an open table overlooking a patio full of more tables. On the patio, a small waterfall ran into a pond filled with lily pads and surrounded by colorful flowers. Little LED lights ran up the sides of the waterfall and changed colors in rhythm with the mood music.
I pointed to the waterfall with a question on my lips.
Daniel knew what I was thinking. “Oh, it’s not wasting water. They ran a whole story about it on our internal homepage. We’re using recycled gray water from the bathroom sinks that are filtered on site and stored in an underground cistern. The water recirculates and the waterfall and solar panels generate enough electricity to run the pond off the grid.” The pride in his company flowed through his words and left me feeling saturated.
“Wow.” As this had been my main contribution to our conversation today, I started eating instead of repeating myself again.
A few minutes later, I asked, “What’s Rollag like?”
Daniel flinched. Perhaps I hadn’t interjected that question into the conversational flow as smoothly as I’d thought.
