Nobody (Draft 0)

Written 55-E20 [2023-11-29], Edited 55-E20 [2023-11-29]

Image credit: Twitter Twemoji

The lock screen of Ada’s phone told her it was February 2021, and that she had a notification from the LinkedIn app.

“Hey Ada, guess what?” asked a LinkedIn message from Patty.

“What is it Patty?” Ada texted back, despite having other things on her mind.

“I got the part-time job at Deployt during the school term, and you didn’t,” texted Patty. “Well, I guess that shows that Matthew liked me more.”

“Congratulations,” Ada texted, responding to the facts and straining herself trying to ignore the insults.

“Yeah, good luck finding a job at some other boring place, while I help Matthew build empires,” texted Patty.

Ada didn’t respond, she just doubled checked her inbox for her own part-time job offer. An offer Ada had not accepted.

Ada pulled her eyes away from her phone and sighed while staring at some programming assignment. She started typing “Hi Matthew, I have some questions about the upcoming product launch” into her code editor. Then she cursed, held her delete key, and reminded herself that her day in the sun was yet to come.

Soon I will be free from all this abstract academic nonsense, she thought. Soon, I’ll be making real products for real clients paying real money for real work. Soon, I will be the empire-builder.

Days, weeks, and months passed. Snow and ice turned to mud and slush. Barren branches sprouted green buds, which grew into full leaves. The geese flew back home from their migration to the south, or perhaps they flew away from their home by migrating to the north. New mutations of the coronavirus were identified, and their names spread through minds while their specimens spread through nostrils. Armies swarmed across Eurasia, testing the air with their antennae but not yet crushing the flesh with their mandibles. The University issued midterms, exams, group assignments and degrees, all without keeping two humans in the same room. Even though the world sometimes seemed like it was spinning backwards, people still worked and played, ate and drank, slumbered and wandered, loved and hated. And somewhere in this maelstrom of bark and skin and water and wire, a full time job offer was delivered to Ada’s university email inbox.

Ada briefly looked at her phone lock screen before she entered the corner office. Her lock screen told her it was April 2021, and that she had a notification from the calendar app. When Ada opened the door to the room she saw a tall, clean-shaven, muscular man with a dark grey suit and light grey hair. He stared at a 4K screen while loudly clacking on a mechanical keyboard. His face was unmasked, in clear violation of social distancing guidelines. When he heard the creak of the door, the man stood up and smiled at Ada.

“Hey Ada, good to see you again,” said Matthew, the CEO of Deployt.

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Ada.

“That Patty, real motor mouth am I right?” said Matthew. He smirked while picking up a pen. “Always bitching, that one. Impossible to work with.”

Ada laughed while opening and closing her hands, imitating a talking mouth.

Matthew fidgeted with the pen a bit before speaking again.

“Yeah on a more serious note, sorry about the mix up at HR. We were supposed to give you a full time offer, not send you through the interview process all over again.” said Matthew.

Ada looked into Matthew’s eyes. She briefly felt adrift in his dilated pupils and his dark brown irises. She shook her head to focus as Matthew continued.

“We need you Ada. We need someone with your drive, your ingenuity, your work ethic, your passion for configuring IBM internet services with interfaces designed in 2003, and most of all, your creativity.” Matthew continued. “If, after all this, you are still willing to work with us, I and the rest of the team would be eternally grateful.”

Ada accepted the full time offer and immediately after the meeting, headed to her desk and began getting her workspace set up. She placed small portraits of her favorite dictators and business titans under the dual monitors. She adjusted the height of her office chair and changed her desktop background to a motivational quote. The onboarding was practically a formality: partly because Ada had seen it all before as a co-op student, and partly because Deployt was a small startup not yet fattened by layers of opulent bureaucracy.

At the end of her seven hours of official work and three hours of unpaid overtime, Ada noticed a Post-It note on the floor. It was face down, and initially all Ada could see was the dust and hair stuck to the adhesive strip.

Ada picked up the Post-It and saw a message written in cursive with multiple colours.

I’ll miss you, Patty!

Ada felt a surge of glee when she threw the Post-It in the trash.

Days, weeks and months passed. Mud and slush turned to dirt and grass. The chirping of songbirds gave way to the buzzing of insects. Flocks of geese waddled around, guarding their goslings. New booster shots were injected, and new fears were peddled from Washington and Moscow. High schoolers prepared for an online University experience, while graduates looked for jobs in an economy on life support. At least FAANG paid well, or was the acronym now MAGMA, or MAAMA? And where FAANG failed, there was always the blockchain. Even though the world sometimes seemed like a loud, vibrating bell people still worked and played, ate and drank, slumbered and wandered, loved and hated. And somewhere in this typhoon of chitin and bone and carbon and silicon, a message labelled “URGENT PRODUCT MEETING” appeared in Ada’s workplace Teams calendar.

The bottom corner of Ada’s desktop screen told her it was August 2021. She closed some windows containing the initial designs of a product that was projected to increase Deployt revenue by 33%. Then she walked to the empty conference room and sat at the right of Matthew’s spot. Minutes later, other employees dragged their feet as they shambled into the room. Ada noticed that her colleagues had bags under their eyes and slouching backs. But they brightened their faces and straightened their spines when Matthew walked in.

“Hey guys, I’m sorry to say that Thomas has left Deployt,” Matthew began. “We had to let him go because unlike you guys, he was just too lazy. He didn’t have the grit and determination we need to make Deployt succeed.”

Ada briefly remembered that Thomas suffered a heart attack a couple weeks ago. But after his recovery, he wasn’t willing to work overtime like everyone else.

“Guys like Thomas,” continued Matthew, “just don’t care enough about the product, about the clients, about the rest of the Deployt family. He betrayed us by slacking off and making us all clean up his messes.”

A couple of Ada’s colleagues nodded, dimly aware that Matthew would appreciate some kind of response.

“We’re a family here at Deployt. We help each other, we put in all the effort humanly possible because we care about each other and we all want the company to succeed. But guys like Thomas, they just don’t get that, they don’t understand the value of hard work, they don’t understand loyalty, they don’t have what it takes to support the company. You guys, you are the special few, the people who really deserve to be part of Deployt. I know you guys would do whatever it takes to keep this community alive, through good times and bad.”

An intern gulped, but Matthew ignored it and continued.

“And good times are coming, Ada and the product team are working on a new configuration for IBM’s SAAS platform, optimized for the chemical sector. This is a multimillion-dollar opportunity, if we can just push a little bit harder, if we can just fulfill all our current commitments and get this product out the door, we’ll be golden, it’ll be a new dawn for the Deployt family, we’ll all be rich!”

Ada smiled at the mention of her name, and at the mention of a “product team” composed of just herself and junior developer. She forgot about Thomas, and steeled her nerves. It was time to turn ten-hour workdays into eleven-hour workdays.

Weeks, months, and an entire year passed. The planet travelled 940 million kilometers, only to end up where it began. Trees dropped their leaves, only to grow them again. Goslings grew into fledglings and flew across latitudes, only return to their birthplace, and lay new eggs with new goslings. Lockdowns were lifted, and empty streets became choked with people and vehicles. Yesterday’s printed money became tomorrow’s inflated prices. The Big Tech and blockchain markets imploded, causing strife for greybeards and graduates alike. In the bowels of the Old World, the gears of war turned, burning kerosene, twisting steel, piercing skulls, and stopping hearts. Even those parts of the world outside the carnage seemed like they might be turning inside out. All the same, people still worked and played, ate and drank, slumbered and wandered, loved and hated. And somewhere in the hurricane of feathers and hair and soil and smoke, a termination letter was being printed with Ada’s name on it.

Ada looked at the letter on Matthew’s desk with tears in her eyes. According to the date at the bottom of the letter, it was August 2022.

“I can’t deal with this anymore Ada!” Matthew shouted. “You released three products and that’s great and all, but you’re impossible to deal with, you know that? First there’s the whole rejected promotion thing that you just won’t forget about.”

Ada said nothing, and Matthew continued.

“And on top of that, you are just so toxic to everyone! You snake, you quietly wait and then suddenly bite! Why do you keep talking shit about the other employees Ada? Why do you keep blaming them, and saying they’re not working hard enough? There’s nobody else doing that Ada!”

Ada started to cry. She was too sad, too shocked, too overwhelmed to argue.

Matthew slammed his fist on the table and snarled at Ada like a hound. “Don’t you realize your crying is creating an abusive workplace environment?” Matthew barked. “Get the hell out of here, I never want to see your face again!”

Ada acted as instructed and made her way home. The tears had not dried from her eyes when she recieved a LinkedIn message from someone she barely remembered, a senior manager who had joined only day ago.

Ada,

I just heard the sad news. I was glad to have met you. You seem really smart and I was hoping to work with you.

If there is anything I could do to help, let me know, I have many contacts in the startup world.

Oliver McGrady

Ada appreciated the little pocketful of kindness from a near-stranger. But she didn’t want his help. She didn’t know where to go next.

Weeks, months, and an entire year passed. So much changed, and yet so much more stayed the same. The planet made another orbit, the trees grew another ring of bark, and the geese made another migration. The pandemic shifted from a terrifying reality into an odd bit of nostalgia. Rental prices threw the affluent into debt and the indebted onto the street. A quick-and-easy war plan turned into a nation-destroying quagmire, and unholy massacres gripped the holy land. The world seemed to some like it might implode, and to others like a bad sequel to an overdone franchise. Maybe that’s why people with the means to do so still worked and played, ate and drank, slumbered and wandered, loved and hated. And somewhere in the tornado of confusion and illusion and rocks and hard places, a certain Oliver McGrady was reading a résumé.

Ada’s smartwatch told her it was October 2023, and she had an SMS notification. “At least these guys aren’t putting lipstick on IBM’s pig,” one of her classmates from university texted. Ada rolled her eyes and walked past her new boss' corner office.

After months of an entire other job, followed by months of study, followed by trying to break into a new industry, followed by being ignored by said new industry, Ada found herself back in the offices of a startup in the tech space. And indeed, Maxiq was totally different than Deployt. There was a lot more productivity and a lot less jealousy. There was a lot more encouragement and a lot less threats. There was a lot more direction and a lot less blame. Ada had only been with Maxiq for a couple weeks, and she felt better already.

But as Ada held her ear to the boss' corner office, she could hear the faint sounds of crying. And the voice of her kindly CTO, Oliver McGrady, as quiet as a pin drop.

“I’m sorry, but we’re not renewing your contract,” McGrady said. “We’re considering other resources for the user stories and UX design.”

There was no shouting, nor blaming, nor struggling. There was no explanation at all. Ada heard the contractor get up, so she decided to stop snooping on the corner office and return to her desk.

A few hours later Ada was notified of an email.

Hey Ada,

Great job with the dev meeting last week, I think the CEO was really impressed. Now, I know you’re swamped, but I was wondering if you could do an extra favor for me. Could you write some user stories for the TOTP authentication flow?

Keep up the excellent work!

Oliver McGrady, Maxiq CTO

User stories: the job the contractor used to do. Ada felt her stomach twist and a lump form in her throat. She felt her blood pressure rise, and her breathing become more laboured. Her fingers shook centimetres above the keyboard.

Ada closed her eyes and took some deep breaths. Then she started typing.

Hi Oliver,

I’d love to work on the user stories!

Thanks,

Ada

Months, years and an entire decade passed. Saplings grew into towering pines, which were felled for lumber. Temperatures rose and generations of geese adjusted their migration patterns, while uncountable other species of birds and beasts went extinct. New crises even more terrible than the pandemic spread across the globe. Entire nations collapsed in war, and entire stateless peoples were genocided. The world seemed like it was falling out of the frying pan and into the fire. But there were still people left over to work and play, eat and drink, slumber and wander, love and hate. And somewhere in the black hole of humanity and inhumanity and natural and artificial, an AI-drafted video message was composed on Ada’s behalf.

The recipient was an intern named Julia, whose VR headset told her it was October 2033. Julia had passed some technology exam months ago - the skyrocketing prices made university untenable for her. The exam fulfilled its purpose of giving Julia a shot at a tech job. She hadn’t got into one of the big corporations, but at least managed to snag a job offer at a startup, AdaTech.

Julia walked into a corner office and was so stressed out, she almost missed out on the decor. On the left was a portrait of Cardinal Richelieu, and on the right was a portrait of Jeff Bezos.

At the center was a desk inhabited by a middle aged woman, the empress of the budding corporate empire, Ada herself. A headset covered Ada’s eyes and she held a paper.

Julia tore off her headset, and realized that the document and portraits were all virtual. She got on her knees. Julia’s organic eyes stared into Ada’s glass visor.

“Ada please, don’t do this, I’ll turn things around,” said Julia. “Ada, please, if you give me another chance, I’ll be eternally grateful.”

Ada pursed her lips. She was suddenly aware she was holding her breath and slowly exhaled through her nose. It was too late for Julia. The termination letter was already digitally signed.

Feedback from The Joy of Writing group

• dialogue and characters was good
• the bookends would be better if they actually mattered to the plot
• Matthew should be less blatantly evil
• Ada: complete asshole at the end or more nuanced character?
• more interactions between Ada and others
• maybe Ada should be dating the contractor!!!
• good setting and more action
• too much technical jargon