“Do you need a tissue?” the manager asks, his apathetic voice contradicting his words.
Lynda nods while trying to swallow the sob that is stuck in her throat. She bursts out crying the moment her hand touches the tissue box. Snatching one sheet of tissue paper, she rubs it against her face that is soaked with tears.
Holding out the tissue box, the manager stares at her with an indifferent look.
“Come on, don’t be that way,” he says with the same unsympathetic voice.
Lynda’s cry amplifies. Extending his hand, the manager offers more tissue. She takes a bunch.
“You know, you have a lot of space for improvement,” the manager continues. “If you could finish a universal testing framework for Magneto by the end of the half, I believe we could get you a Meets All rating.”
The remark slaps Lynda in the face. She is now more angry than upset.
“That’s what you said last half,” she spits, leaning forward a bit.
“Well, I didn’t give any promise.” He sinks back into his chair. “I was very careful about that. You know that at FriendFace, the manager does not have full control over the rating. First, we have to take the peer review into consideration and then it goes through the calibration process, and—”
“I had to work on Christmas to finish Magneto before the second half’s performance review cycle. I haven’t seen my mom in nine months.”
“Well, I’m certainly sorry to hear that. I understand you must feel bad about it. But you know at FriendFace we don’t force engineers to work after hours. That’s a personal choice for each engineer to make on her own.”
“You said if I finish Magneto I could get a Meets All rating this half. How else is one supposed to finish such a large project in six months?”
“Well, I understand that this is hard. And I sympathize with you. FriendFace indeed has a hard-working culture. But at the same time, it’s very tough to get into. A lot of software engineers would kill just to get an interview with us.”
“So, what’s the problem? I did what you asked me to do. Magneto is ready, and I finished it before New Year’s Eve, like you asked me to.”
“I understand that you must feel disappointed, and I sympathize with you. You did a good job, and you delivered the project on time, and now you would like to get the credit for it. But it is also true that the performance rating at FriendFace depends on many parameters such as peer reviews, the calibration process—”
“Yes. Yes. You said that already. A thousand times.”
“Well, I understand that you must feel frustrated. And I sympathize with you. The thing is that the expectation from a software engineer at your level is to be somewhat independent—”
“I was,” she yells. “I was independent. I did it all by myself. There was no one else in the project.”
“I see your point of view and I understand how you must feel about it. The thing is that… oh, and I sympathize with you. But… hmm… how should I put it delicately? You see, the project is composed not only of the coding part—which you did an excellent job there, by the way, Kudos on that, top-notch stuff—but also of the design phase.”
“I did the design too,” she screams, almost jumping up from her chair.
The manager grips the tissue box firmly, holding it up like a weapon.
“Yeah,” he says and clears his throat. “Okay. Hmm. Yeah. The thing is that…ah…during the calibration process, the committee felt…ah…felt that the credit for the design should mostly go to your collaborators. Well, in such situations—”
“What collaborators?” she yells. “Gary?! All he did was give me a requirement sheet at the beginning of the half. That’s not the design. I did the design, all by myself.”
“I understand how you feel, and I sympathize with that. Nevertheless—”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Lynda says and storms out of the conference room, slamming the door behind her.
Sitting behind his desk, Gary stares at her with a smug smile, holding a black toy monkey before him.
“Look who’s back. Another hallucinated code monkey who thinks she is a designer too. Aren’t you cute, you little monkey?” Gary says in baby talk while playing with the monkey’s lips, his eyes still on Lynda.
“I’m sorry honey, but I was in a horrible meeting,” the manager says on the phone. Privacy behind the thin walls of the conference rooms at FriendFace is a corny joke that has stopped being funny a long time ago.
“Guess who’s back? Guess who’s back? Guess who’s back? Da Ra Da Ra Da,” Gary sings his awful impression of Eminem.
Lynda hears him while slowly leaving the area with fresh tears finding their way out on her face.
The door to the rooftop is ajar. The big, red stop sign on it says ‘Staff only. Do NOT Enter.’ The wind moving the door back and forth, its rusty joins make a horrifying scream.
Lynda is at the edge of the rooftop, the tip of her toes over the edge. Leaning forward, she watches the swarm of coders, a lunch box in their hands, standing in line to get into their shuttle. From above, they look like ants; tiny hard-working ants that know nothing about life but working and working and working.
A wind blows from below and pushes Lynda back.
“You don’t want to do that,” a voice says from the right.
Turning to the voice, Lynda sees a Black janitor who is still wearing his yellow cleaning gloves.
“Says who?” Lynda sneers, looking at the toilet plunger that he holds. “… And why not?”
“If you get hurt in the game, you will be hurt in real life too.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I mean… I mean your soul. Yeah, you would damage your soul.”
“My soul is damaged already. Who are you again?”
“Hmm… a janitor, I guess,” Ryan—in janitor’s character—says, looking at the toilet plunger in his hand.
“And you thought you would come up here, lecture me, a software engineer?” Lynda asks the rhetorical question, letting arrogance dominate her voice.
“Listen, Lynda,” Ryan says in begging voice, “The rating they gave you is… is… is just bullshit. Who cares what FriendFace thinks? It’s just a number, a meaningless number.”
“A meaningless number that determines if you’ll get a promotion or get fired. This is the second time I missed the Meets All rating.”
“Who cares?” Ryan says, dismissing Lynda’s arguments with an airy wave.
“I care,” Lynda responds, losing her temper. “Celeste cares. Anand, Horatiu, Rajneesh, Haixin, all my colleagues care. What will they be thinking of me when I get fired?”
“I understand—”
“Do you? You’re a janitor for God’s sake. Your whole ambition in life is to keep your shitty, minimum-wage job.”
Looking hurt, Ryan slowly hides the toilet plunger behind him. “I might not be a coder—”
“Software engineer,” she bursts out. “I’m a software engineer, goddamn it. I didn’t bust my ass four years at Berkeley just to end up being a code monkey. I’m a software engineer, you understand?”
“Yes, yes. I’m sorry. You are an engineer, a software one. I get it now. But… you are also young and smart. Your whole future is ahead of you. Give it time. You’ll forget about all this. I bet in time you’ll be able to even laugh at it. ‘Remember the time I was so depressed just because of the FriendFace’s stupid rating’,” Ryan says, doing his impression of Lynda’s voice.
Lynda chuckles, a slight smile cracking on her face.
“Trust me,” Ryan continues, his voice pumped with confidence. “Good things will turn up.”
“How do you know?” Lynda asks, her voice even.
“I know it. I just do.”
“You know… what was your name again?” Lynda watches Ryan think hard. “OK, never mind, don’t tell me. Your little speech opened my eyes. I now see life differently. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Ryan responds in hesitation.
“I’m gonna take a leap… of faith and trust the words of wisdom from the janitor I just met on the rooftop. Here, take this.” Lynda takes out all the cash in her wallet and hands it over to the janitor. “It’s… 57 dollars.”
“I didn’t say that for—”
“I know. I know. But I want you to have it. Consider it the overdue Christmas gift.”
Ryan lets Lynda’s hand hang in the air for a few moments.
“Come on. It makes me happy. Take it. Please.”
Still holding the toilet plunger behind him with his left hand, Ryan reluctantly takes the 57 dollars with his right hand, his gaze down on the rooftop.
“Thank you,” Lynda says generously. “Happy New Year. Could you please give me some privacy now? I am about to face my colleagues and I need to freshen up before that.”
“Are you sure? I can stay as long as—”
“Yeah, I’m sure. You can go now. Good job! I’m inspired now. I just need to be strong, and tolerate the shame of this rating, until I’m over it. I think I might just be able to do that.”
“OK, then.” Ryan turns and steps away.
Lynda waits for him to get far enough. “I might just be able to do that,” she continues with a sneer. “The joke’s on me. I don’t think I can,” she says and jumps off the roof, face down on her colleagues that are lined up before their shuttles.
Facing the exit door of the rooftop, Ryan hears her scream. Feeling faint, he leans with his hand against the exit door. “I want out,” he squeaks, resisting tears. “I want to exit this damn game.” He falls to his knees when his sob begins. His head hits the floor and soon he passes out at the exit door of the rooftop.