Gladys’s New Shoes were to be the first generation iPod Nano and the first iPod with Video.
Both cutting edge and groundbreaking. Statistically speaking, you probably owned one of them.
In our lab, we have some of the (extremely confidential) new bits and pieces Gladys has shared with us. I’m using them, experimenting, and figuring out how the CPU we’re making is gonna allow them to sing and dance for 24 hours on a single charge.
We’re a year or so into this whirlwind, and I’ve been to Cupertino a couple times. One Infinite Loop and De Anza 8 — where the history of my geeky youth was made. Now I’ve walked the hallways, sat in the rooms, and even scratched out a few of my own markings on whiteboards.
I can’t believe my good fortune.
Every time I show up, I get my ass kicked. They rake me over the coals. But it’s like having David Goggins as your personal trainer. He’s gonna kick your ass. You’re gonna be a dishrag and gonna wanna quit. And then tomorrow, you’re stronger.
At the end of each day’s struggle session, we go somewhere in Santa Clara county, eat sushi, smash a few beers, and talk about conquering the world.
With every fiber in my being, I know this is how great stuff is made.
It’s towards the end of a nondescript day in our office near Allentown, PA. I’m at my desk when the chief engineer of our team walks up and says, “Follow me.”
I’m not alarmed or concerned because this happens a lot. He and I have spent hours on his whiteboard working through the unending pile of hard stuff.
But we don’t go to his office. Instead, he leads me into the empty cafeteria. I can still remember the orange-ish hue of the late-day sun pouring through the large glass windows, casting its early evening glare throughout.
I take a seat, and he sits across from me. OK, now it’s weird.
I know him and his British mannerisms well. We’ve been through some shit on other projects, and certainly on this one. We have an informal manner to our relationship — friends in addition to colleagues. This seems kinda formal.
At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just kind of sighs and blinks. I can read the resignation.
And then I know. This can’t actually be happening.
