The Show

PART1

1

I could feel the blood pressure in my veins; it dropped a notch after the dinging sound. The fasten seat belt sign went off, and the plane was now cruising at thirty-five thousand feet toward my new life.

I could barely wait to get there and meet the people already on the inside, the ones who’d made it. I was on my way to a new life in the rapidly growing tech industry, which was shaping the world after its own agenda. By working at the most powerful tech company in the world, SHOW, I would help shape that agenda.

It meant I now belonged to the best of the best. I would rub shoulders with the elite and be part of changing the world for the better. I was a dreamer. Although SHOW’s main business was online advertising, they were aiming for the stars, and so was I.

Hi there, sir. Coffee or tea? asked the flight attendant.

She smiled like it was her birthday, but her eyes looked stressed and angry. Her hair was messy, and I had never seen a woman blink as fast as she did. Maybe the clumps of mascara on the lashes of her left eye bothered her.

Whiskey on the rocks, I answered, giving her an even bigger smile.

Sorry, sir, we’re out of ice.

Already? Must have been some thirsty folks in the front rows.

Broken ice machine, she replied quickly.

Then I’ll have the whiskey without the rocks, please.

The lady in the leather seat on my left followed the glass with her eyes as the flight attendant leaned over her to hand me the drink. The flight attendant was no longer trying to smile. Her painted red lips made her seem like a sad clown that nobody was laughing at.

I took a sip of my straight Jack and gazed out the small round window at the clouds. They looked like soft cotton candy. Whenever I fly, I imagine how it would feel to walk out on the wingtip, step down, and stroll around on that cloudy cotton candy field with a drink in my hand while looking down at the world to see what humanity is doing. This time, I felt closer to the clouds than ever. I felt like a rock star, like someone more than special. I felt like God herself.

I decided to celebrate that feeling with another whiskey and pressed the Service button. The lady next to me glanced at me nervously. A few minutes later, the flight attendant was pouring more Jack into my glass. I examined her closely, wondering why she was doing this job. For some reason, her eyes made me think of a sleepy koala bear that had overdosed on eucalyptus and was as high as the Empire State Building. She clearly didn’t enjoy her work, so why did she do it? Why not have a career you love? Like the one I was headed toward. Maybe she had no choice. Maybe she had a kid to support and her husband had left her for another woman—or man. What a sad and miserable woman, wasting her life up in the sky serving Jack. At least the view was good.

My blood pressure skyrocketed, and I knew it was time. The fasten seat belt sign went on, and the plane started its descent toward the city of innovation, the city from which the world was being reshaped: San Francisco.

I chugged my whiskey as the lady next to me gave me a disappointed stare, the look she probably gave her drunk husband during Christmas dinner.

Cheers! I said loudly and buckled up.

The show was about to start, and I was certain it would be a good one.

2

I woke up in the middle of the night and looked around the room in a panic, trying to remember where I was. I was staying at the Hyatt, and the bed was so pillowy that I was afraid I’d drown in the mattress and miss my first day of work. I started to think about the clouds I’d seen through the airplane window, and I imagined they were my bed. As I came to my senses, I found the TV remote and flipped through a few channels, all showing reruns of shitty sitcoms from the late nineties.

I thought about the miserable flight attendant and her red lips, wondering if she could sleep. Maybe she was having martinis with the captain, searching for happiness. Maybe not. I didn’t really care. I sank back into the mattress and fell asleep.

I woke up again around six thirty, fought my way out of the squishy bed, and went to the bathroom. I checked myself out in the mirror and observed my facial hair for a couple of minutes before I started to shave. The disposable razor I’d bought at Ralphs back home in Los Angeles the other day was dull, making the experience slightly different from the TV commercials in which they get the perfect shave every single time. There was no fresh and cool feeling, no smooth, perfect skin, and definitely no sexy woman wiping my face with a clean, soft white cotton towel.

After a lousy shaving job, I showered and washed my hair using the tiny bottle of shampoo from the hotel bathroom. The white towel provided had clearly been washed too many times; it felt like sandpaper. I put my underwear on, combed my hair, and took out a blue shirt from my bag. I put it on without ironing it. It was wrinkled but good enough. In the tech world, you’re supposed to have an I don’t give a fuck attitude anyway, or so I’d read in magazines. I liked the fact that I didn’t have to become a suit guy like my friends who worked in corporate banking. I looked in the mirror and listened to You’re the Best by Joe Esposito on my iPhone while I eye-fucked myself.

This was it—they’d get what they’d get. I was ready to stride into that office and become a part of history. I was excited and proud and, at the same time, scared as fuck.

I left my room, took the elevator down to the lobby, and ventured out to the street. The sunlight was barely making it through the cloudy skies, and the fresh October breeze turned my combed hair into a wild bush.

It was Monday morning, and people on Market Street were struggling against the wind with determined steps—time for another week of work, another week of responsibilities. I kept going with a smile. On that Monday some cold wind would not mess with my mood.

After a twenty-minute walk southeast along Second Street toward South Park and Townsend Street, I saw it: the tall black building in which I would now spend my working days. I stopped for a moment to stare at it, and the hair on my arms stood like the quills of a scared hedgehog. The headquarters of SHOW. I could almost smell the success and innovation, the billions of dollars passing through the building. I started to move again, and my heart pounded faster and faster the closer I got. Once outside the main entrance, I checked that my fly was closed and dragged my hand through my messy hair. I glanced at the silver watch on my left arm, which I’d gotten from my father as a gift just four months before when I graduated from Harvard. The time was 8:59 a.m. I approached the big glass doors, and they opened automatically. I took a deep breath and stepped through.

Inside, I saw a lot of people standing next to the bloodred front desk, which stood in one corner of the spacious lobby, just as the welcome e-mail from my recruiter had instructed me to do. They were all new hires waiting for the first orientation day to start. Just behind the desk hung a huge black SHOW logo. I quickly looked around at the group, which seemed to be made up of about forty people. Most of them appeared to be in their midtwenties. It was our first day, and we were all a part of SHOW now—together. It felt like my first day at Harvard, full of unknown people and fresh opportunities.

Some of the new hires stood by themselves in the corner of the lobby, like they were afraid of what would happen. Others were chitchatting, while one guy went around hitting on all the women. There were a lot of attractive women in the group—more than I would have imagined in the tech world.

I noticed a guy standing alone by the main door, observing the group from a distance. He had a thick dark beard and was dressed all in black, which distinguished him from the rest. He just stood there and watched, stroking his chin from time to time. Our eyes met and he nodded, so I walked over to introduce myself.

Hey, I’m Victor. What’s up? I said and reached out my hand.

Oh, hi. I’m Hank. So many people. Didn’t really know what to expect. It’s like a whole football team.

Sure is. The Pro Bowl team. We’re a part of it now, man. Aren’t you excited?

Yeah, I guess. The office is cool at least. Did you see the swimming pool when you were here before?

No, I said. Too bad I hate swimming. Back and forth in a pool filled with chlorinated water, like a goldfish looking for a way out.

I really did hate swimming, but the guy probably thought I was a cynical asshole for being so negative about it. My father always tried to force me to go swimming when I visited him in New York as a kid, but I refused and started to hate it. I usually did the opposite of what he wanted me to do. He thought it would be good for me to swim around like a goldfish. Maybe he was right, maybe not. I had decided he was not.

But I guess some people will really enjoy the pool, I said in a nice tone, trying to save face.

A man with big round glasses began speaking in a loud voice. I didn’t see where he came from, and I didn’t know who he was. He told us to line up and collect our employee badges from the security personnel sitting behind the front desk. After I’d signed my contract, my recruiter had asked me to send a photo of myself to her. Now I saw that very same photo on a square badge with my name on it. With two lines, the process did not take long, and soon everyone had collected their badges. The guy in glasses told us we had to wear the badges at all times when in the office and that they should always be visible, otherwise security personnel would stop us for an identity check. He added that the badges served as key passes to all doors and gates in the building.

He started heading toward the glass gates blocking the way to a bay with six elevators, and we trailed behind. He said his name was Antonio and that he was the employee onboarding manager. He would give us a tour of the office before we got to the practical things, such as receiving our laptops and meeting our new team of colleagues. He placed his badge on a black sensor, the gate to the elevators opened, and he went through. Everyone followed him.

Because we were a big group, we took the stairs to the second floor. There, Antonio showed us the gym and the swimming pool. Then we tramped up to the fourth floor, which held one of the four restaurants that served breakfast, lunch, and dinner to SHOW employees—all complimentary.

Antonio told us to grab some breakfast and meet by the stairs in forty-five minutes to continue the tour. There was food in excess, including everything I could imagine for breakfast: scrambled eggs, boiled eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, fries, fruits, bread, ham, cheese, black beans, pancakes, granola, yogurt, juice, and coffee. A big juice machine squeezed fresh orange juice. I saw a line forming by a counter and went to see what it was for. Once I got closer, I saw that there were four chefs making omelets on demand. The smell made me smile.

I wasn’t sure what to eat and in what order, so I took some scrambled eggs, bacon, bread, and ham. I saw a table filled with croissants and donuts and grabbed a chocolate donut. Finally, I filled a glass with fresh-squeezed orange juice.

I saw Hank sitting alone at a table by the large windows with a panoramic view of the bay. I walked over and took the free seat opposite him. He was having only a bowl of fruit and a croissant. A cup of coffee sat in front of him. He lifted it slowly so it wouldn’t spill and took a sip. His lips made a strange movement, and he stuck his tongue out.

Shit. This coffee is shit. Wise of you to skip it. He wiped his mouth with a napkin.

Is it? I’m not so demanding when it comes to coffee. I hardly taste the difference, I said.

I’m sure you’ll notice this coffee is shit no matter how bad your taste buds are. At least the melon is really good and juicy.

I guess I’ll have to try the coffee later today and see for myself. I ate a bite of eggs before asking, So, what did you do before joining SHOW?

Worked with marketing at a fashion start-up here in San Francisco. Ben, one of the two cofounders, cheated on his wife with an intern during a company party. The intern turned out to be the daughter of Ben’s wife’s yoga teacher in Sausalito. The wife found out; they got divorced. She got the money, and the company went bankrupt. So, here I am. Hank stuck his fork in the last piece of melon.

When we finished our food, we made our way toward the meeting point by the stairs to continue the office