Virtual Break Room
What it feels like to work for Meta, Google, Apple, etc.
I walked by the myriad of motivational posters on my way to the nap pod, overdue for my daily reset. Framed posters with signs like "Keep going" "Teamwork makes the dream work" and "Hang in there" mock my exhaustion. Three straight days of coding and content moderation has left me empty and withered.
The fluorescent lights seem to flicker despite the building's high tech and intense security. At this level of exhaustion the white of the walls is so abrasive I feel my brain smoothing.
I have another orientation meeting for the newest team in 90 minutes. Forty-five minutes of sleep, then 45 for a smoke break and food (I'm still scorned for old fashioned cigarettes despite the wide proliferation of Juuls and vapes). I haven't been home in almost four days, the projects keep piling up and everytime I try to leave there's "one more thing."
I reach the sheer white swivel chair complete with a phone charger and LED reading light, spin it around and fall into the snug pod.
I'm woken up by a soft knock on the top of the pod.
"James, we need you for the content sync," Marissa says. Her voice is shrill but she's quite nice, just horribly overworked.
"Need food and a smoke," I whisper with one eye open.
"Hurry, they moved the meeting up."
I check my phone, a solid 18 minute nap.
I meander outside for a smoke, waving at Hank, the kindly security guard at the side door by my module, on my way out. I haven't seen the sky today, blue with those wispy cotton candy clouds.
Oh God the cigarette feels good. It stings my lips and I get a little light headed so I sit down on the brushed steel bench adjacent to the brushed steel trash can.
"This job fucking sucks," I say to my cigarette.
"Why don't you do something about it?" comes a mischievous reply from somewhere behind me.
What the fuck? I'm so sleep deprived I'm hallucinating now?
"You could do something about it if you wanted to, but you're scared. Scared of what?"
I'm getting a little freaked out now, I stand up and start peering through the shrubs behind. Take a look down the trash can, nothing.
"Under here you schmuck"
Under ... the bench? What in the fuck?
I crouch down with the dwindling cigarette in hand and look under the bench to find a small, miniscule even, gnome.
Yeah like the garden gnome.
He's tiny, no more than 6 inches tall with his hat on. He's wearing an old Warriors jersey, Jason Richardson by the look of it, and a Giants hat. His tiny red beard stretches down past the numbers. He's got these acid washed jeans with all the NBA team logos on them.
Honestly great fit even if it's tiny.
"If you hate it so much why don't you do something about it?" The little guy yaps at me again.
I'm laying on the ground at this point staring at this gnome thinking I need a doctor or a lobotomy or another cigarette.
He's got the tiniest little boots on, light brown Timberlands. I stare with my mouth open while he struts a little closer.
"Close your fucking mouth and listen." His tiny hands push my slack jack back into place, his hands smell smokey and faintly of weed.
"Why don't you go back in there and DO something about it?"
I'm still aghast. At this point I'm sure I need a doctor.
"What...what would I... are you even real? What is this?"
"I'm just as real as you and I would stop debating it and just listen before Marissa comes out for you."
"JAMES?!" I hear her high pitched tone from the door. I'm due back for the sync.
"Put me in your shirt pocket! Quickly!" the little guy yaps at me. Without a second thought I scoop the guy up and drop him into my breast pocket, stub out my Marlboro on the side of the metallic trash can, toss the butt (because I care about the fish) and briskly head back to the door.
Marissa looks frantic (as usual) and holds the door for me.
"They're really eager to get started and they need you. Ew you reek, go wash your hands and clean up quickly. We're by the pingpong table," she says.
On my way to the bathroom I reflect briefly on the weird hallucination on the bench.
I'm washing up in the bathroom and Gnomey hops out of my breast pocket and startles me. Water splashes on the mirror and all across the sink. I splash some cool water on my face hoping the hallucination will stop.
"Now's your chance! The server room is right next door!" He chirps up at me, he gestures wildly with his tiny arms and the Richardson jersey billows.
"What the fuck are you talking about? I can't get in there"
"Maybe YOU can't, but I can," he says, stretching his little legs and kicking his booted foot with excitement, "Come on!" He grabs my lapel and swings into the breast pocket again. As I'm walking out he whispers "Stop!"
He climbs out of the pocket and slides down my left arm, hangs on my index finger staring at me.
"Gonna let me down or?"
"Oh oh yeah okay" I say and drop him by the server room door. He kicks off the little timberlands, lays them in front of me and says "Keep those safe, dead stock." He then pulls his jersey off and folds it nicely leaving it in the same place. I pick up both and put them in the breast pocket.
He lays on his belly and the tiny little gnome slides under the narrow gap in the doorway. I hear some kind of clatter from the inside followed shortly by the door popping open.
Without a second thought I grab the handle and follow the little guy in.
They definitely have cameras in here and I don't even know what I'm doing.
"Alright, we need some music," Gnomey says.
Disoriented and kind of excited I start to meander around the rows of servers. The end of each row has an older desktop, presumably to assess any issue, on a very small table.
There's another desktop in the right hand corner with two small Sony speakers on either side. Gnomey is hopping from key to key searching for some song.
What the fuck am I doing in here? They'll definitely fire me for this. If not jail me for this. What the FUCK am I doing?!
Abruptly, I hear a drum thump from the speakers to the right. One, two, three, One badumdum
"Woah woah woah woah woah woahhhhh"
"DO YOU KNOW THE WAY TO SAN JOSE? IVE BEEN AWAY SO LONG I MAY GO WRONG AND LOSE MY WAY " Dionne Warwick's beautiful voice blares out of the speakers.
We're fucked. I know they heard that. We're fucked I'm going to jail. Fuck.
"HELP ME WITH THIS!" Gnomey yells at the base of a chair to the right. "PUT THIS UP AGAINST THE DOOR IT'LL SLOW THEM DOWN"
Fucked I'm fucked I'm hallucinating and I'm fucked. I'm sure they've seen me on the cameras already. Inexplicably I set the chair up against the door, ensuring maybe an additional minute of safety until security gets here.
Without any further instructions from Gnomey, I pick up the monitor in front of the server row next to me.
Ripping the power cord and ethernet cable out.
In one fluid motion I throw the monitor into the glass housing the first station of servers. The glass shatters, the monitor crumbles down and shatters into hundreds of different pieces.
Suddenly I'm ripping the cables and terabytes of storage out of each server station.
"WOAHWOAHWOAHWOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH. LA IS A GREAT BIG FREEWAY. PUT A HUNDRED DOWN AND BUY A CAR," Warwick's sonnet is the soundtrack to the destruction.
I'm tearing cables out with both hands and using the housings to break more glass, shattering everything I can reach.
"OPEN UP IN THERE! WHATS GOING ON?" Someone's at the door, now. Maybe a couple someone's.
Anything that can be outfitted as a battering ram has been repurposed for destruction.
I'm walking down each row of servers shattering glass, blood's caked on my hands and covering the power ports.
"FAME AND FORTUNE IS A MAGNET IT CAN PULL YOU AWAY FROM HOME" she's seemingly louder now.
I've made it to the third full row, shattering glass and turning the infrastructure of this monstrous tech development against itself. If nothing else, it's worth the fun. If only for a moment.
They’re shouldering the door yelling for me to open up. I have maybe a minute left
I grab loose power cords to really pick up speed, shattering more glass every second as I move from row three to four to five.
"IVE GOT LOTS OF FRIENDS IN SAN JOSE," Warwick sings as I hear the lock of the door crumble and security rush in.
I smash as many on the last row as I can before they tackle me. A brutish pig, smelling like bacon grease, puts his knee on my head but not before I whip one last power cord into a server box and the glass shatters once more.
"WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAHHHHWOAHHHH. CANT WAIT TO GET BACK TO SAN JOSE. WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAHS WOAH WOAH '' the thump of the drums fade out as they cuff me and lift me up.
Blood is pouring from my hands, my face is scratched and my nose is dripping blood on the scattered microchips and server components.
I can't stop smiling