Microserfs

"Ethan, what the fuck is going on?" I asked.

"Don't be so petty bourgeois, Dan. Look at the big picture."

The Ferrari passed about eight cars in one fell swoop. I didn't want to look petty. "I'm not petty, Ethan, " I said.

"And I am?''

"That's not the issue."

"Stop being so linear about money. Be horizontal. It's all cool."

* * *

I asked Mom what she thought of Karla and she said she thought she was "delightful." Sounded a bit forced.

* * *

No flu symptoms yet.

WEDNESDAY

Lunch today.

Karla was draggy with the flu, but she forced herself to come. She, Mom, and I went to lunch at the Empire Grill and Tap Room. As we entered, there were two seeing-eye dogs and two blind masters standing near to each other. Within seconds, Mom was down on the floor chatting with the dogs. She then interrogated the dogs' owners: "Do you two hang around together a lot? Do your dogs get to visit each other? They would make good company for each other, you know." (My mother the matchmaker.)

The two owners laughed and said, "I should think so - we're married."

Mom exclaimed, "Oh - how wonderful - they can discuss their jobs with each other!" (Mom's a true Silicon Valley girl - she grew up here, down in Sunnyvale.) "Oh my, you must meet Misty -" and she raced out to the car to fetch Misty, and the three dogs were soon sniffing each other.

I was aching to get to lunch, but Mom and the two blind people were deep in DogTalk. I went out to Mac's and bought a copy of the San Jose Mercury News. When I returned they were still there, laughing. They exchanged cards, and afterward I asked Mom what they were laughing about, and she said, "We tried to think of the worst seeing-eye breed imaginable and we came up with the idea of the 'seeing-eye whippet,' prancing into traffic . . . isn't that a riot? Perhaps you could make a video game out of it, like that Pong game that was so much fun that Christmas years ago."

Mom, like most people her age, will know Pong as their sole video game experience. It's tragic.

* * *

At lunch, Mom preempted all other conversation starts by discussing Michael. "Sometimes I think that Michael is ummm - autistic." She blushed. "Oh, of course, what I mean to say is -well - have you noticed?"

"Michael's not like other people," I said. "He goes off into his own

world - for days at a time sometime. A few months ago he locked himself into his office and we had to slide food under his door. And so he stopped eating any food that couldn't be slipped underneath a door."

"Oh, so that explains the Kraft cheese slices. Carton-loads."

Karla, still low energy from the flu, broke in: "You know, Mrs. Underwood, I think all tech people are slightly autistic. Have you ever heard about dyspraxia? Michael is an elective mute."

"No."

"Dyspraxia's like this: say I asked you to give me that newspaper. There's no reason on earth why you couldn't. But if you had dyspraxia, then you'd be blocked and you'd just sit there frozen. Dyspraxia is the condition where you become incapable of initiating an action."

"Then everybody is dyspraxic, dear. It's called procrastination."

"Exactly. It's just that geeks are slightly more so than most people. Autism's a good way of focusing out the world to exclude everything but the work at hand."

I added that Michael was also the opposite of a dyspraxic, too. "If he has an idea, he acts on it. But he has to put the idea into action immediately - like this company - or with an elegant strip of code. He's a blend of the two extremes."

Karla added, "The doors in Michael's brain are wide open to certain things, while simultaneously nailed shut to all others. And we must admit, he does get things done. He has no brakes on certain topics. He's a true techie geek."

Mom looked askance.

I said, "You can say geeks now, Mom."

"Yes, well, you geeks are an odd blend of doors and brakes."

* * *

The discussion changed to the (groan) information superhighway. "Do you think libraries are going to become obsolete?" she said stirring her coffee and fearing for her job. "Books?"

Karla lapsed into a discussion of the Dewey decimal system and the Library of Congress cataloging system, which was numbing to say the least. Mom found herself begrudgingly getting very into the discussion of cataloging. Librarians love order, logic, and linearity.

In the end lunch was like a balloon with not enough helium in it to

float - not enough helium in it to even puff it up, really. I think the dynamic of Mom and Karla's relationship has been set. At least they don't hate each other. Truthfully, I'm a little worried . . . why is Mom being like this?

* * *

Later on, I found myself being the only person working in the office. It was so strange, and I can't remember the last time this happened. Actually, I wasn't totally alone: Look and Feel were scurrying about inside their Habitrail. But other than that, I was alone. It was odd to be the only person in the office. I wished I could go to Kinko's and photocopy myself . . . be more productive.

* * *