Gavin Denton had just landed a break in his career working for a new company called Google doing something called "search software" architecture.
It was a 2 year contract, with plans for management immediately following. He worked 60 hours a week, got 2 weeks paid vacation, $160,000 a year, a vehicle and cell phone allowance, dental and vision, a 401K, and an amazing omelette bar. Not bad for 28. Not amazing for the Bay Area, but not bad.
He occasionally attended tech conferences around the Valley. It was a good way to network, learn about new developments in competition, and geek out on technology. This week’s conference was artificial intelligence and neural networks.
Gavin had anticipated this conference for over a year.
He spotted a cute, well-dressed blonde at the event. Everyone spotted the cute, well-dressed blonde at the event. She was the ONLY woman in the building, in a sea of geeks. Her name was Sara. She had a Reese Witherspoon thing going on, which was not very Silicon Valley. But it worked.
She was wearing a knee-length blue jersey knit dress that swooshed around her thighs like playful little waves on the beach. Her hair came down just below her shoulder blades into a soft fringe that flipped up slightly at the ends. She wore very little makeup—just a smudge of chestnut brown on her eyelids to accentuate her blue eyes, some black mascara to make them stand out, and a hint of lipstick. She also had a large, polished, blue stone set in gold that dangled right above her breasts, which were currently busy hovering over the drinking fountain in the lobby while she slurped completely unfiltered water like a school girl…at a tech conference…at Stanford...by invitation only. Her hair spilled over to one side and her soft neck made tiny little gulping motions as she swallowed. Even more importantly, her skirt just became eight inches shorter in the back as she bent over.
Every guy in the lobby was rapt with attention.
The morning had been surprisingly long. Lunch was chicken salad on dry French rolls, carrot sticks and ranch dip, a mini bag of potato chips, and a cran-apple juice pack. It wouldn’t be hard for Gavin to convince this woman to go for some actual food down the street at Buca di Beppo or Pampas or something, and be back in time for act II.
Gavin was well built, had a 6-figure job, drove an Audi TT, had almost all of his hair—which was wavy and dark—he knew how to dress, and he could talk his way into a woman's arms (or legs), or out of a bind when the moment called for it, which it did often.
It was October 2004, just before the presidential elections. John Kerry was whining about global warming. Incumbent George W. Bush droned on about the war on terrorism, back pedaling on why he had gone to war with Iraq rather than Afghanistan. Neuroscientists and software engineers were combining disciplines in unprecedented ways, talking about "search engines" and how they should model after the human brain. There would be plenty for them to talk about at lunch, including and not limited to the huge question of how Sara found herself on the scene. Gavin would be required to get her number after lunch so they could finish their conversation and he could pretend to completely appreciate her deep socio-political frustrations…and then he could help her take out those deep frustrations on him, between soft layers of 800 thread count Egyptian cotton.
Gavin reminded himself that at this point in his life, he had no real reason to pursue this woman. Other than for sport. And he was preoccupied. He was making the big cut over to some new software for Google within the next couple weeks, and after that, training and tying up loose ends from last years’ transition to the Googolplex. He had to stay focused. And this woman was far too cute. So he refrained from approaching her.
Sara very much wanted Gavin. She liked his dark wavy hair and geek framed glasses. He was tall. And he worked out. She saw him talking to the CIO of Google earlier, so he was connected. She knew he was attracted to her. They had made eye contact. But it was lunch, in the lobby—an easy in—and he wasn’t coming over.
She gracefully grabbed a sack lunch and made her way over to the veranda, where she tripped over the threshold and spilled the contents of her lunch all over the concrete. A couple of nerds swooped in like pigeons and gladly offered their services to her for the rest of their lives.
Gavin was clever. He walked over to the threesome who were crouched down picking up bits of food. He dangled his Audi keys in front of Sara’s nose.
“I know a place,” he said.
She looked up at him, and without taking her gaze away, dumped her food in the trash where it belonged, grabbed his keys, and said, “So do I."
She called ahead to the Sundance Steakhouse with a 5 minute warning. A table was ready when they arrived. She ordered the chicken arugula salad with a cup of lobster bisque. He ordered a slow-roasted prime rib sandwich dipped in au jus and made with fresh French rolls (unlike the ones in the sack lunch). The two did indeed have plenty of things to talk about, not the least of which was the fact that after lunch Sara would be lecturing on applying biological systems to computational simulation—the very lecture Gavin had come to the conference to hear.
Gavin knew he would have no choice but to continue this conversation with Sara horizontally at some point. But it was time to head back. He generously tipped an annoyed waitress after a 45-minute speed lunch with no time for appetizers or alcohol. Sara very much noticed his gesture.
Gavin did the driving this time. He was a bit silent on the ride home. Sara had such a sweet and playful nature. Like a girl. But she was also intense. She drove 20 miles over the speed limit, she devoured her salad in visible ecstasy, and she threw her hair up in a ponytail on the ride home simply because it annoyed her. Oh, and she was a friggin’ neuroscientist.
Gavin realized that taking sara out to lunch was a huge mistake. He actually might NOT be able to live without this woman. And this really put a wrench in things. He shamelessly let Sara know how evil she had been to ruin his life like this.
“Oh really?” She asked, doubtfully. “You are so certain you can handle me?”
“I am certain I can’t,” he said.
She smiled, and texted him her number.
They were married within the year.
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