by Ellie Hall
“I’m sorry for using the wrong technology terminology, Miss Tech Nerd. Messaged, emailed, whatever. It’s all the same to me. He sent you a digital love note, didn’t he?” Mila singsongs.
Just then, my phone pings with a notification.
Mila lunges for it. We scramble to look at the screen, not that she can guess my password.
“I’ll let you have the rest of the pancakes if you hand it over.”
She lets go instantly and grabs the fork, taking a gobbly bite.
I narrow my eyes. “You did that on purpose.”
“I claim innocence,” she says around a mouthful.
Maybe the pancakes are that good...or Mila is exceptionally hungry. She is a disaster in the kitchen, so I don’t think her standards are that high.
As I read the message, I actually feel the color drain from my face and imagine I now resemble what’s left of the whipped ricotta cheese. The excitement in my system at perfecting the pancake recipe and the earlier message from @PacManWizard disappears, replaced by dread.
“Is everything okay?” Mila asks.
My breath comes short when I start to answer. “The bad news. My company is merging with another. The good news is I didn’t lose my job, yet.”
“Is that really bad news? You’ve been talking about quitting your day job and becoming a full-time food blogger and photographer for ages.”
“You’ve been talking about that.”
She tilts her head. “Because you’re amazing and need a little nudge...or a shove. Either way.”
“Okay, fine, I’ve thought about it.” A lot. Not a day passes when I don’t consider stepping away from my job in the technology sector as a software tech engineer at AmTech. Yeah, it’s a lot of tech.
So much tech that sometimes when I’m going to sleep, I can still see the glow of the computer screen behind my eyes. (That’s why there’s no technology allowed in the kitchen. Well, except for my phone. Don’t want to miss those HUB notifications.)
So much tech that I developed carpal tunnel and a permanent kink in my neck.
So much tech that more than once, I thought about throwing my laptop out the window and then walking right out the door of the office.
It’s a high-pressure job that’s fast-paced and demanding. I work long hours and hardly have a social life, well, apart from the messages exchanged with @PacManWizard. Deep down, I wonder if he could be Mr. Right.
He’s funny and smart and thoughtful.
Doesn’t seem to mind if I look like a tro-gre—not that I do, but his comments suggest that looks aren’t everything. I wonder what he looks like, but his personality would make up for any odd features like a third eye, unibrow, or pasty skin—after all, Miranda finds Reed attractive.
We like the same kind of music, movies, and entertainment.
He seems adventurous and likes to travel.
That uncontrollable smile returns to my face.
“I know you’re thinking about job security and your 401K, but no way that smile on your lips is a result of future financial planning. I know you better than that.” Mila eyes my phone, knowing full-well it’s a result of my tie to @PacManWizard.
“Yes, I got another message from @PacManWizard earlier. But leaving my job?” The slow shake of my head returns. “It’s scary. I’m safe at AmTech with my 401k, health insurance, and gym membership.”
Mila wrinkles her nose. “Cora, you’ve never used it.”
“But I might someday, and you make me sound lazy.”
“Right, you go to barre class. Look at those guns.” Mila wiggles my arm to make me flex.
I reluctantly tighten my biceps. “No more noodle arms for this computer geek,” I say in a self-deprecating tone. The barre class is mostly to gain strength and mobility for my computing marathons.
But cooking is my real passion. I love nothing more than taking family classics and comfort food then adding my own flare. Styling the food on the plate, photographing it, then sharing my recipes with followers on social media is a joy—someday, I’d like to share it with my family. Not my mom, dad, and siblings. They already know about my “hobby.” I mean like, a family of my own with a husband and kids. It’s what gets me out of bed, and the fact that I have to eat, but that’s beside the point. I look forward to cooking, styling, and chatting with other foodies. There’s even a cookbook offer I haven’t quite adulted. If I strike out on my own, what if I fail? But more to the point, what if I lose my job and can’t afford my fancy cheese and chocolate? That’s my one indulgence. Okay, two, but still. Panic knots my stomach at the news both good and bad.
“It is scary and it’s okay to be scared, but that’s no reason not to pursue your dream. To be happy.” Mila and the rest of the Fabulous Five have been giving me pep talks since high school.
“Thanks,” I say, but before I can add anything else, my phone beeps again. Hope flutters in my belly. Nope, it’s not from @PacManWizard. I could really use a distraction and chat with him—since we’re in the same industry, he’d probably have some good advice.
Instead, it’s another email from work. As I read the content, my jaw slowly drops.
“What is it?” Mila asks.
I read aloud, “Because of the merger between DigiPower and AmTech, it’s a message about both companies embarking on a corporate survival retreat. Next week.”
“A what? Where?”
“The Amazon.” I glance at the email again, not sure if this is a prank—sometimes the guys in the office can be real rascals. Nope, this is from, Simon, the head of the company, and no way they hacked his account—one of my first assignments on the job was to make sure of that. I’m not in cyber-security, but I realized later that it was a newbie test of sorts.
Mila leans over my shoulder and reads, “Selva Survival Camp.”
“That sounds like my worst nightmare.”
“No, me eating your favorite double-dark midnight chocolate with flaked sea salt would be your worst nightmare.”
“Fair point.” I set the phone on the table before it can slip from my slightly shaky hands. Despite growing up in northern New Hampshire and on a lake, I’m not exactly the outdoorsy type. That’s where the nightmare comes in. My interest in and ability to program and code wasn’t because I was a tomboy—more like the girl who could always be found with a book and later online reading fanfiction. And since I was already online, I got curious and wanted to learn how “online” was made.
“My boss always says business is a jungle. I never thought he meant it literally,” I mumble.
As though picking up on my trepidation, Mila says, “Maybe you can get out of it.”
I wince. “He couldn’t fire us for doing so, but um, there’s a comment at the bottom about being a team player.”
“You can make a tropical vacation out of it. Just think, you’ll lay on the beach and get a tan on someone else’s dime.” Her expression is a mixture of pity and optimism. Pit-imism?
I go on to read the entire description from the email. “Prepare for the experience of a lifetime. You will be placed in a situation where you will have to rely on your wits, outdoor skills, and strength to survive daily challenges.” I swallow thickly. “Sounds like a regular Wednesday in the office, but I’ll be the woman alone in the wilderness.”
Mila points to the screen. “No, look. Keep reading. It says you’ll be partnered with a new person from the other company to get to know them and form alliances.”
“Oh, great. Shrimp cocktail and ice breakers in the middle of nowhere. We’ll probably have to spear the shrimp ourselves.”
Mila laughs her husky laugh.
I’ve been to several corporate retreats in the past to build office culture and get everyone on the “same page” or to “think out of the box”. All I heard were buzz words so we could “circle back” so we’d “strategize and optimize” in order to create “synergy and impact.”
IMHO (in my humble opinion), our time would’ve been more productively spent on eve
ryone doing their jobs instead of chatting around the water cooler. I’m not a stick in the mud, but events like that always felt forced. Never genuine. All I want are authentic connections with people—not employees performing the role they think they’re supposed to, so they're perceived as team players. Preferably if good food was involved. This company is different and more laid back. Once, in a meeting, someone used the term “optics” and had to spend the remaining twenty minutes of it blindfolded. It was funny and made a point. But if we merge, we might become one of those uptight, non-Taco-Tuesday types of offices.
“Maybe you’ll meet a guy. Your Marriage Match guy,” Mila says, taking another bite of the pancake.
“I did.” The warm fuzzies from the messages I received from @PacManWizard push against the trepidation over the retreat. “We’re very compatible.”
Mila rolls her eyes. “Ooh. But I’m not sure he counts. Unlike long-distance relationships, virtual marriages aren’t a thing.”
“It’s kind of like internet dating. -Ish. Sort of. I mean, maybe we’ll meet IRL someday.”
“English, please,” Mila reminds me to translate the online abbreviations.
“Oh, right. IRL. In real life.”
Mila grunts. “Come on, I’ll help you pack. You’ll have to bring your cutest swimwear and sundresses.”
“You sound like Blakely. There’s a suggested packing list attached to the email.”
I don’t bother reading it because apart from not being the outdoorsy type, it’ll also mean limited Wi-fi...so no messaging @PacManWizard, which leaves me feeling lonely already.
6
Shaw
It’s been a while since I was the last person in the office. I often stay late, but not this late. For years, I’d logged long hours and even slept in my desk chair more than once. But those were different times. After some serious burnout and being burned (figuratively), I’d scaled back but wasn’t any less a workaholic. My focus is internet and software security, and most would argue that it’s an around-the-clock job.
Lately, I’ve been here more often, making myself semi-useful between direct messages. However, this evening, I’m not shoring up firewalls or encrypting software. I’m waiting for the telltale ping from the messenger inside the HUB—it’s a geeky acronym that few know, but all that matters is that it connects people from various companies to form alliances, work cooperatively, and help each other. After the rapid changes in the last few decades, there’s no question whether technology will survive, but if it’s to thrive, people in the industry have to see each other as all working toward a common goal instead of being rivals.
In this business, guys and the handful of gals are brutally cutthroat, climbing their way to the top. Truth is, it’s lonely up there. I’d know. I jiggle my mouse to wake up my monitor, but the HUB dashboard is the same as before.
I spent the first part of my life at odds with my father. I don’t want the place I’ve sought refuge (internet technologies) to be the same alpha-male, power struggle that I worked hard to escape, so I created opportunities for collaboration.
Skimming through the message boards, I answer a few questions about programming and coding, check my regular email, and read an article about the future of artificial intelligence when the ping sounds.
A zing follows it. I look forward to this every day. Technically, for me, the only way to access the HUB is at work, which is why I’m still there. I used to have it on my laptop at home, but it compelled me to work even more. So a few years ago, I went on a digital detox for a week. When I came back, I forced myself to remove and block it from being reinstalled on my home computer.
Drastic measures, I know, but the internet can be addictive. So can chatting with @CookClickChick.
The low-wave electrical jolt ripples through me as I open the chat box.
@CookClickChick: Sorry for being so quiet over here. I’ve been swamped at work. If only I could control-alt-delete this week from the database.
@PacManWizard: Sorry to hear that. :-( Let’s see if I can find a workaround...
@CookClickChick: If you can come up with a way to alter the time-space continuum, I will see to it you get a special award. Nobel prize?
@PacManWizard: Nah. Too much responsibility. Where would I go from there? A mug with the words #1 Computer Geek will suffice.
@CookClickChick: No problem. I have my 3D printer right here and will whip one up. BRB.
I chuckle. BRB is short for be right back. She’s so cute. So funny. We use shorthand all the time. In the last few days, more than once, my fingers hovered over M4C which is short for meet for coffee. It’s doubtful we could do that in person, but we could web conference. It would be nice to at least put a face to the text.
I sigh. We don’t even know each other’s real names though. That’s a big step I’m not sure that I’m ready for so anonymous messaging remains.
All the same, I feel like I can be himself with her more than with anyone else. There’s no expectation that I write something clever because of my renown for having invented several crucial pieces of security software that made me millions. On the HUB, I’m just @PacManWizard. No strings. No pressure. No stress.
As for my background, I know how to protect online assets because I also know how to infiltrate them. That’s my dirty little secret—and goes deeper than my occasional dinner of spaghetti with ketchup. I left off the barbecue sauce part. I worried @CookClickChick would delete me. A few people in the tech world know my background, but it isn’t common knowledge.
However, @CookClickChick prompted the question I ask myself so often. What next? A lot of people play the lottery, hoping to win big then kick back...and do nothing. I’m not that kind of person. I coded my way out of extreme poverty, for better or worse, worked hard for over a decade and don’t plan to stop—even though I could retire financially comfortable today and never look back.
Lately, I’ve felt like I want a change. Be outdoors more. Get back to my roots. Not all the way back but spend more time in nature. Something like that.
My knee jitters. She hasn’t pinged again.
@PacManWizard: Did you get that mug ready? Because I’m over here waiting... Have I mentioned I love coffee?
I was going to add something flirty about having coffee together but hesitate. In one swift click of the enter button, I could ruin the thing we have with the added complication of meeting in person. We should remain online. Easier. Cleaner.
@CookClickChick: Sorry, I was just putting out an interdepartmental dumpster fire about a broken piece of HTML in the coding. How basic is that? Oh, and it’s the same one I already corrected twice this week. Please, delete the week. Please.
@PacManWizard: If you could do anything right now aside from putting out interdepartmental dumpster fires, what would it be?
@CookClickChick: Real-life or fantasy-virtual life?
@PacManWizard: Definitely virtual life.
This is a little game we started playing a few weeks ago. Real-life has to fit inside the parameters of what exists in our respective realities. In real life, we can’t teleport or have smell-o-vision. In virtual life, we can explore our wildest dreams...as we’ve gotten to know each other better, part of me wants to make those dreams come true for @CookClickChick. I have the resources, well, minus the ability to erase time since her week has been hard.
@CookClickChick: Remember the state-of-the-art kitchen I described?
@PacManWizard: I’m already at the table and it smells delicious.
She’s been on a breakfast kick for a while then popped in earlier this week with a description of some sandwiches. Anytime she talks about the food she makes, my mouth practically starts watering.
@CookClickChick: It’s a pasta kind of night. NO KETCHUP ALLOWED. Think alfredo sauce with broccoli and loads of parmesan. Grilled chicken, fresh basil, and garlic...
@PacManWizard: There is no such thing as too much cheese.
@CookClickChick: Phew. I’m so glad we can still be
best friends ;-) Had you said otherwise, I may have had to click escape.
Can a dude get butterflies? I let out a long breath, feeling bad and helpless about her week being so difficult. With a work trip coming up and a lot of changes at the office that requires everyone at their best to prepare, I can relate. It isn’t easy for anyone, but it’s like some of my coworkers are cyborgs. They do what they’re told (not a bad thing) but can’t shift gears until they upload new programming into their mainframe. @CookClickChick and I have discussed this extensively and even created avatars and names for each of them.
The dots on her chat box blink.
Again, my stomach flutters, reminding me of the times I’ve jumped out of airplanes. On those occasions, I had a parachute. I’m a bit of an adventure junkie. I gaze out my office window toward the sky and then drop to the horizon. It’s now or never. I have to take the leap.
@PacManWizard: Seeing as we both have work trips coming up and will be away from the HUB, do you want to exchange emails so we can stay in touch?
I’ve been hesitant to take the relationship out from behind the screen after being backstabbed by a lousy ex.
But moving from the HUB to email would still be relatively anonymous. The dots continue to blink.
I wait.
And wait.
My pulse doubles when I read her reply.
@CookClickChick: I thought you’d never ask.
7
Cora
For the next days, I’m busy as AmTech prepares for the week-long shut down for the retreat and doing double duty to make adaptations for the merger. However, I can hardly concentrate, have done little more at home than cook and bake and pour all my energy into perfecting a panini—basically a fancy grilled cheese—and refresh both the HUB app where @PacManWizard and I exchange messages and my email account.
