by Dave Eggers
“Shit,” she said.
By ten p.m., she’d made her way through all the intra-company messages and alerts, and now turned to her own OuterCircle account. She hadn’t visited in six days, and found 118 new notices from that day alone. She decided to plow through, newest to oldest. Most recently, one of her friends from college had posted a message about having the stomach flu, and a long thread followed, with friends making suggestions about remedies, some offering sympathy, some posting photos meant to cheer her up. Mae liked two of the photos, liked three of the comments, posted her own well wishes, and sent a link to a song, “Puking Sally,” that she’d found. That prompted a new thread, 54 notices, about the song and the band that wrote it. One of the friends on the thread said he knew the bassist in the band, and then looped him into the conversation. The bassist, Damien Ghilotti, was in New Zealand, was a studio engineer now, but was happy to know that “Puking Sally” was still resonating with the flu-ridden. His post thrilled all involved, and another 129 notices appeared, everyone thrilled to hear from the actual bassist from the band, and by the end of the thread, Damien Ghilotti was invited to play a wedding, if he wanted, or visit Boulder, or Bath, or Gainesville, or St. Charles, Illinois, any time he happened to be passing through, and he would have a place to stay and a home-cooked meal. Upon the mention of St. Charles, someone asked if anyone from there had heard about Tim Jenkins, who was fighting in Afghanistan; they’d seen some mention of a kid from Illinois being shot to death by an Afghan insurgent posing as a police officer. Sixty messages later the respondents had determined that it was a different Tim Jenkins, this one from Rantoul, Illinois, not St. Charles. There was relief all around, but soon the thread had been overtaken by a multiparticipant debate about the efficacy of that war, U.S. foreign policy in general, whether or not we won in Vietnam or Grenada or even WWI, and the ability of the Afghans to self-govern, and the opium trade financing the insurgents, and the possibility of legalization of any and all illicit drugs in America and Europe. Someone mentioned the usefulness of marijuana in alleviating glaucoma, and someone else mentioned it was helpful for those with MS, too, and then there was a frenetic exchange between three family members of MS patients, and Mae, feeling some darkness opening its wings within her, signed off.
Mae could no longer keep her eyes open. Though she’d only made it through three days of her social backlog, she shut down and made for the parking lot.
Tuesday morning’s chute was lighter than Monday’s, but the activity on her third screen kept her in her chair for the day’s first three hours. Before the third screen, there had always been a lull, maybe ten or twelve seconds, between when she’d answered a query and when she knew whether or not the answer had been satisfying; she’d used the time to memorize the boilerplates and do a few follow-ups, every so often to check her phone. But now that became more challenging. The third-screen feed dropped forty new InnerCircle messages every few minutes, fifteen or so OuterCircle posts and zings, and Mae used every available moment of downtime to quickly scroll through, make sure there was nothing that demanded her immediate attention, and then come back to her main screen.
By the end of the morning, the flow was manageable, even exhilarating. The company had so much going on, so much humanity and good feeling, and was pioneering on all fronts, that she knew she was being improved just by being in the Circlers’ proximity. It was like a well-curated organic grocery store: you knew, by shopping there, that you were healthier; you couldn’t make a bad choice, because everything had been vetted already. Likewise, everyone at the Circle there had been chosen, and thus the gene pool was extraordinary, the brainpower phenomenal. It was a place where everyone endeavored, constantly and passionately, to improve themselves, each other, share their knowledge, disseminate it to the world.
By lunchtime, though, she was wiped out, and very much looking forward to sitting, with her cerebral cortex removed, for an hour, on the lawn, with Annie, who had insisted on it.
At 11:50, though, a second-screen message from Dan appeared: You got a few mins?
She told Annie she might be late, and when she arrived to Dan’s office, he was leaning against the doorjamb. He smiled sympathetically at Mae, but with a raised eyebrow, as if there was something about Mae that was perplexing him, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He extended his arm into the office, and she slipped past him. He closed the door.
“Sit down, Mae. You know Alistair, I assume?”
She hadn’t seen the man sitting in the corner, but now that she saw him, she knew she didn’t know him. He was tall, in his late twenties, with a careful swirl of sandy brown hair. He was positioned diagonally against a rounded chair, his thin frame resting stiffly, like a two-by-four. He didn’t stand to meet her, so Mae extended her hand to him.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
Alistair sighed with great resignation and extended his hand as if he were about to touch something washed ashore and rotting.
Mae’s mouth went dry. There was something very wrong.
Dan sat down. “Now, I hope we can make this right as soon as possible,” he said. “Would you like to start, Mae?”
The two men looked at her. Dan’s eyes were steady, while Alistair’s look was hurt but expectant. Mae had no idea what to say, no idea what was happening. As the silence festered and grew, Alistair blinked furiously, holding back tears.
“I can’t believe this,” he managed to say.
Dan turned to him. “Alistair, c’mon. We know you’re hurting, but let’s keep it in perspective.” Dan turned to Mae. “I’ll point out the obvious. Mae, we’re talking about Alistair’s Portugal brunch.”
Dan let the words linger, expecting Mae to jump in, but Mae had no idea what those words meant: Alistair’s Portugal brunch? Could she say she had no idea what that meant? She knew she couldn’t. She’d been late to the feed. This must have something to do with that.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She knew she would have to tread water until she could figure out what all this was about.
“That’s a good start,” Dan said. “Right, Alistair?”
Alistair shrugged.
Mae continued fumbling. What did she know? There had been a brunch, that much was certain. And clearly she had not been there. The brunch was planned by Alistair, and now he was hurt. All this was reasonable to assume.
“I wish I could have been there,” she ventured, and immediately saw slight signs of confirmation in their faces. She was onto something. “But I wasn’t sure if …” Now she took a leap. “I wasn’t sure if I was welcome, being so new here.”
Their faces softened. Mae smiled, knowing she’d hit the right note. Dan shook his head, happy to have his assumption—that Mae was not an inherently bad person—confirmed. He got up from his chair, came around his desk and leaned against it.
“Mae, have we not made you feel welcome?” he asked.
“No, you have! You really have. But I’m not a member of Alistair’s team, and I wasn’t quite sure what the rules were about, you know, members of my team attending the brunches of more seasoned members of other teams.”
Dan nodded. “See, Alistair? I told you it was easily explained.” Now Alistair was sitting upright, as if ready to engage again.
“Well of course you’re welcome,” he said, patting her knee playfully. “Even if you’re a little oblivious.”
“Now Alistair …”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and took a deep breath. “I’ve got it under control now. I’m very happy.”
There were a few more statements of apology and laughs about understandings and misunderstandings, and communications and flow and mistakes and the order of the universe, and finally it was time to let it go. They stood.
“Let’s hug it out,” Dan said. And they did, forming a tight scrum of newfound communion.
By the time Mae was back at her desk, a message was waiting for her.
Thanks again for coming to meet Alistair and me today. I think th
at was very productive and helpful. HR knows about the situation, and to close it out they always like to get a statement together. So I typed this up. If it sounds good, just sign it on-screen and send it back.
Glitch No. 5616ARN/MRH/RK2
Day: Monday, June 11
Participants: Mae Holland, Alistair Knight
Story: Alistair of the Renaissance, Team Nine, held a brunch for all staffers who had demonstrated an interest in Portugal. He sent out three notices about the event, none of which Mae, of the Renaissance, Team Six, answered. Alistair became concerned that there was no RSVP or communication of any kind from Mae. When the brunch occurred, Mae did not attend, and Alistair understandably was distressed about why she would not respond to repeated invitations, and then fail to attend. This was non-participation in a classic sense.
Today a meeting was held between Dan, Alistair and Mae, where Mae explained that she was not sure that she was welcome at such an event, given it was being hosted by a member of a different team, and she was in her second week of life at the company. She feels very bad about causing worry and emotional distress to Alistair—not to mention threatening the delicate ecology of the Renaissance. Now all is worked out and Alistair and Mae are great friends and feel rejuvenated. All agree a fresh start is warranted and welcome.
There was a line below the statement where Mae was to sign, and she used her fingernail to sign her name on the screen. She submitted it, and instantly received a thank you from Dan.
That was great, he wrote. Alistair is obviously a little sensitive, but that’s only because he’s such a fiercely committed Circler. Just like you, right? Thank you for being so cooperative. You were great. Onward!
Mae was late, and hoped Annie would still be waiting. The day was clear and warm, and Mae found Annie on the lawn, typing on her tablet with a granola bar dangling from her mouth. She squinted up at Mae. “Hey. You’re tardy.”
“Sorry.”
“How are you?”
Mae made a face.
“I know, I know. I followed the whole thing,” Annie said, chewing extravagantly.
“Stop eating like that. Close your mouth. You did?”
“I was just listening while I worked. They asked me to. And I’ve heard much worse. Everyone has a few of those early on. Eat fast, by the way. I want to show you something.”
In quick succession, two waves passed over Mae. First, profound unease that Annie had been listening without her knowledge, followed by a wave of relief, knowing her friend had been with her, even if remotely, and could confirm that Mae would survive.
“Did you?” she asked.
“Did I what?”
“Ever get called on the carpet like that? I’m still shaking.”
“Of course. Once a month maybe. I still do. Chew fast.”
Mae ate as quickly as she could, watching a game of croquet being played on the lawn. The players seemed to have made up their own rules. Mae finished her lunch.
“Good, get up,” Annie said, and they made their way toward TomorrowTown. “What? Your face still has a question protruding from it.”
“Did you go to that Portugal brunch?”
Annie scoffed. “Me? No, why? I wasn’t invited.”
“But why was I? I didn’t sign up for it. I’m not some Portugal freak.”
“It’s on your profile, isn’t it? Didn’t you go there once?”
“Sure, but I never mentioned it on my profile. I’ve been to Lisbon, but that’s it. That was five years ago.”
They approached the TomorrowTown building, fronted by a wall of ironwork that looked vaguely Turkish. Annie waved her pass over a wall-mounted pad and the door opened.
“Did you take pictures?” Annie asked.
“In Lisbon? Sure.”
“And they were on your laptop?”
Mae had to think a second. “I guess so.”
“Then that’s probably it. If they were on your laptop, now they’re in the cloud, and the cloud gets scanned for information like that. You don’t have to run around signing up for Portugal interest clubs or anything. When Alistair wanted to do his brunch, he probably just asked for a search of everyone on campus who had visited the country, took pictures or mentioned it in an email or whatever. So then he automatically gets a list, and sends his invitation out. It saves about a hundred hours of nonsense. Over here.”
They stopped in front of a long hallway. Annie’s eyes were alight with mischief. “Okay. You want to see something surreal?”
“I’m still weirded out.”
“Don’t be. Get in here.”
Annie opened a door to a beautiful room, some cross between a buffet and a museum and a trade show.
“How crazy is this?”
The room looked vaguely familiar. Mae had seen something like this on TV.
“It’s like one of those gift bag places for celebrities, right?”
Mae scanned the room. There were products spread all over dozens of tables and platforms. But here, instead of jewelry and pumps there were sneakers and toothbrushes and a dozen types of chips and drinks and energy bars.
Mae laughed. “I’m guessing this is free?”
“For you, for very important people like you and me, yes.”
“Jesus Christ. All of this?”
“Yup, this is the free sample room. It’s always full, and this stuff needs to get used one way or the other. We invite rotating groups in—sometimes it’s programmers, sometimes CE people like you. Different group every day.”
“And you just take whatever you want?”
“Well, you have to zap your ID on anything you’re taking so they know who’s taken what. Otherwise some idiot takes home the whole room.”
“I haven’t seen any of this stuff yet.”
“In stores? No, none of this stuff is in stores yet. These are prototypes and test runs.”
“These are actual Levi’s?”
Mae was holding a pair of beautiful jeans, and she was sure they did not yet exist in the world.
“They might be a few months till market, maybe a year. You want those? You can ask for a different size.”
“And I can wear them?”
“As opposed to what, wiping your ass with them? Yeah, they want you to wear them. You’re an influential person working at the Circle! You’re a style leader, early adopter, all that.”
“These are actually my size.”
“Good. Take two. You have a bag?”
Annie retrieved a cloth bag with the Circle logo on it and gave it to Mae, who was hovering over a display of new phone covers and accessories. She picked up a beautiful phone shell that was sturdy as stone, but with a chamois-smooth surface.
“Crap,” Mae said. “I didn’t bring my phone.”
“What? Where is it?” Annie asked, astounded.
“I guess at my desk.”
“Mae, you are incredible. You’re so focused and together, but then you have these weird spacy lapses. You came to lunch without your phone?”
“Sorry.”
“No. It’s what I love about you. You’re like part human, part rainbow. What? Don’t get upset.”
“I’m just getting a lot of input today.”
“You’re not still worried, are you?”
“You think it’s okay, that meeting with Dan and Alistair?”
“It’s definitely okay.”
“He’s just that sensitive?”
Annie rolled her eyes. “Alistair? Beyond all reason. But he writes great code. The guy is a machine. It’d take a year to find and train someone to do what he does. So we have to deal with the crazy. There are just some nuts here. Needy nuts. And there are those, like Dan, who enable the nuts. But don’t worry. I don’t think you’ll overlap much—with Alistair at least.” Annie checked the time. She had to go.
“You stay till that bag is full,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”
Mae stayed, and filled her bag with jeans, and food, and shoes, and a few new covers for her phon
e, a sports bra. She left the room, feeling like a shoplifter, but encountered no one on the way out. When she got back to her desk, there were eleven messages from Annie.
She read the first: Hey Mae, realizing I shouldn’t have gone off on Dan and Alistair that way. Wasn’t very nice. Not Circly at all. Pretend I didn’t say it.
The second: You get my last msg?
The third: Starting to freak out a little. Why aren’t you answering me?
Fourth: Just texted you, called you. Are you dead? Shit. Forgot you forgot your phone. You suck.
Fifth: If you were offended by what I said about Dan don’t go all silent-treatment. I said sorry. Write back.
Sixth: Are you getting these messages? It’s v. important. Call me!
Seventh: If you’re telling Dan what I said you’re a bitch. Since when do we tattle on each other?
Eighth: Realizing you might just be in a meeting. True?
Ninth: It’s been 25 mins. What is UP?
Tenth: Just checked and see that you’re back at your desk. Call me this instant or we’re through. I thought we were friends.
Eleventh: Hello?
Mae called her.
“What the hell, spaz?”
“Where were you?”
“I saw you twenty minutes ago. I finished in the sample room, used the bathroom, and now I’m here.”
“Did you tell on me?”