and Words
We, we don’t have to worry ’bout nothing (nothing, nothing)
‘Cause we got the fire, and we’re burning one hell of a something (something, something)
They, they’re gonna see us from outer space, outer space
Light it up, like we’re the stars of the human race, human race
When the light started out, they don’t know what they heard
Strike the match, play it loud, giving love to the world
We’ll be raising our hands, shining up to the sky
‘Cause we got the fire, fire, fire
Yeah, we got the fire, fire, fire
Lyric excerpts from Musixmatch.
On an early Wednesday morning, I navigate the parking structure that dives down six stories from the ground level. It’s relatively easy to reach the bottom level; ramps lead directly down only briefly opening on each level. I choose the lowest level for consistency as I park close to the elevators. Next, I ride this elevator up to the second floor. I walk past Jerry’s shoeshine station, though it’s closed today. Had he been there, I would’ve greeted him with a warm smile.
I cut through the courtyard that separates the Nordstrom Rack and the food court, none yet open. I reach a bank of elevators just past that courtyard, I pick the set to the right. After clicking through my badge, I ascend to the 26th floor where my desk resides at work (at Pokémon, or technically TPCi, a subsidiary).
I finally reach my destination, my desk. It sits centrally on the open space that houses our division; it will be my domain for the following few hours. Post-pandemic, I split my days between working remotely and in the office. For me, Wednesdays are designated office days.
I settle into my desk. First, I unpack one laptop from my custom large Timbuk2 messenger bag, configured to accommodate two computers. Next, I quickly connect it and turn it on. Shortly after logging in, I send a team message for coffee before my 10am meeting and wait for responses. Or more accurately, I post messages on two channels, our team channel and another channel cryptically named “12648430”. I connect my second laptop and place them both into their familiar places, both of their lids closed though attached to external monitors to economize on desk space.
I press the familiar button on my desk that raises it to a walking height. Carefully, I position my walking treadmill between the legs of my desk. I connect the power cable to the front and unfold it from its smaller stored position. Before I got my permanent desk, I wondered if there’d be enough room to accommodate that treadmill. I’ve obsessively met my step goals for years now, and I was delighted to find that I had sufficient space without any special accommodations. Eventually, I press the buttons on the remote to start the belt and adjust the speed.
For those who have known me, long before my tenure here at Pokémon, they’ll assert this is a fanciful piece of fiction. For decades, even while actively on the job, I was a nocturnal creature. They included allegations that I may turn to dust in the mornings. However, this all changed upon becoming part of a couple and getting our house together. If you look closely, there are still remnants of that night owl in me. I never learned to use coffee as a means to wake up or stay awake, and therefore, to me coffee remains mostly a social construct.
Responses to invitations to coffee trickle in. We agree to meet in the kitchen and sit on the adjoining tables. I pour a cupful of cold brew coffee, a relative new discovery to me, and sit down. Next to the cold brew tap sits a tap for kombucha, which I won’t touch because it’s kombucha. Some will partake in the wide array of fruit that magically replenishes itself when we’re not looking. Sometimes people will travel to different floors when our coffee machine is acting up. Occasionally, we’ll set up a grand experiment with a coffee pour over. Truthfully, my nose or palate can’t appreciate the subtle differences between the coffee, but I’m more than happy to participate.
At the table, we’ll catch up on what we’ve each been up to. I’m often quizzed on the status of my 3d print projects, I’ll share pictures from recent prints and aspirations for what’s next. Some will tell the tales of vacations and long bicycle rides that defy the rules of reason. Others will vent about a damaged windshield and the cost of replacement, though we do get a $100 coupon as a benefit. Occasionally, I’ll get a health update from one of these friends; my only response is, “Let me know what I may do to help.” And every now and again, we actually talk about work, and we exchange pointers on how to accomplish a certain task, or at very least who to talk to.
As the 10am hour approaches, we adjourn to our respective meetings. I connect my pair of bone conduction headphones; they allow me to hear audio from my computer as well as surrounding sounds. In my standup meeting, I update team members on progress with my tasks. If I’m stuck, I’ll ask for help or ideas, and they often come. Occasionally, we’ll arrange to pair program later in that day, but we’ll take the conversation offline.
The late mornings normally host a couple of hours of deliciously uninterrupted programming time. I often blast this time with music that fits the mood onto my headphones. On this particular morning, I get a dose of Ellie Goulding, in the form of Burn. It adds a little spring to my step while I worry just a twinge if my neighbors notice that my ‘walking’ resembles ‘dancing’ a little too much.
As afternoon passes, I’m ready for a mental break. I’ll check if anyone is available to jaunt out to get bubble tea. There are now three such places within walking distance, but I normally suggest TRÀ, though truthfully, it resembles a milkshake more than tea. Naturally, it’s not as much about the tea as it is about the fellowship.
While I sit at my desk, my eyes wander out to the sea of desks that surround me. It’d be easy to look up on them as merely desks with chairs, monitors, keyboards, and mice. You may almost overlook the depth of the people who sit at these desks. It’s not simply about getting tasks done anymore; we’re not merely teammates. The culture is different here; being a wildly productive jerk is not tolerated. These are good people; we elevate each other.
My eyes fixate on a motorcycle helmet on a nearby desk; it belongs to one of my peeps. I smile and ask him what he rides. It nostalgically reminds me of my days of riding a motorcycle.
Shortly after that, I pack up my gear and end my workday.
A meeting appears on my calendar on a Thursday morning. Today, I work remotely. I expect some team update about changing how we do something, or perhaps that we’re restructuring some teams. I’ve seen meetings like this over the years.
That wasn’t what happened; they delivered the news quickly. One of us, my aforementioned teammate with a motorcycle, passed away this week. Shock overwhelmed the faces that I could see, mine included. My mind raced from disbelief to wanting to undo it from sheer willpower. Emotionally, I demanded answers, but none came. My rational mind understood that this may never make sense.
I’ve lived long enough to have friends and family pass away; it’s predictably unpredictable each time. At this moment, my grief is little more than a trickle with my figurative hand carefully managing that faucet. I know that this will change, there’ll be moments where I’m overwhelmed with grief, if not for him then for the lot of us.
I only worked with him in a limited capacity, knowing only general details about the projects in which he worked. He was approachable and evenly tempered. He exuded a quiet confidence when he spoke, one that similarly instilled confidence in his assertions. I looked forward to working with him in future projects or initiatives. Sadly, I won’t get that opportunity.
Try as I might, I can’t remember what kind of motorcycle he rode, and while this seems like a trivial detail, I can’t help but to think that it’s already a sign of his memory fading. Forgetting it fills me with guilt.
I know that this isn’t the end of this story. There’ll be more verses figuratively added over time. Grief will blindside me, like it always has. It may inspire me to write again, but today I’m empty. I’m numb. That’s all I have to give.