Fade to Blink - A Quantum Date Ch. 01

I handed it back and watched as he graded it.

"!00%! Nice work Ms. Scolfield...er...would 'Anne' be okay?"

I shrugged, knowing the 'right' thing to do was keep my mouth shut, but, surprise surprise, part of my brain sensed there was more going on here. "Anne's fine. But, Mr. Hodgson..."

"...Milt is fine Anne..."

"...Milt...On #7, it's pretty obvious the answer is 'B,' but the question is worded a little poorly. If I were to emphasize the 'would be' then the answer could be 'C.' I thought #3 had an equally ambiguous question." I shrugged again. "Just thought you might want some feedback on your quiz."

He studied my face the entire time, looking down at the sheet and back at me, a thin smile setting into his cheeks. I didn't feel anything from him at all, which isn't saying all that much. Somebody has to literally punch me in the face for me to be certain I understand their feelings, but his expression was telling me something. Weird. Dir Milt Hodgson, Coordinate HQB2.0.3 was just super weird.

"Thanks for mentioning that Anne." He dipped his head a little and made a note on the two questions. "I'll let our Comms Manager know." He looked back up at me. "You see, that's why we have these meetings! I wonder how many people got these wrong because of how the questions were written?"

He thanked me for coming in, and handed me a small gift bag filled with CorpSec swag: a cork coaster imprinted with the MEI logo, a coffee mug and a zipper pull with the CorpSec mascot: a goofy looking bulldog. I suppose if a CorpSec intern had given that to me it would have felt less awkward, but getting it from Dir Milt Hodgson HQB2.0.3 was totally awkward. Weird weird weird with a beard. Only Dir Milt Hodgson HQB2.0.3 didn't have a beard. Totally clean shaven. I snapped back, thinking again...maybe it was the way he had handed it to me. Whatever it was, it made me feel awkward, it all happened so fast, the interaction so unexpected, I didn't have time to pick the right template. Naturally I froze.

But he didn't seem fazed by my reaction. We left the room together, he let me exit first, escorting me to the elevators past two of the security desks. I headed back upstairs nodding at the final security staff, filling the time by calculating the cost of that meeting. 15 minutes of our time, 10 minutes for me to walk there and back. Based on my salary, that meeting cost the company about $36. Assume Hodgson made three times what I did but only had to walk two doors from his office, another $54. Add in the cost of writing the test and printing it and the cost of the gift bag, make it an even $100. Times 20 for the others in my new hire cohort, assuming it wasn't randomly applied. MEI spent $2000 that day on the mid-90 security refresh meeting for that one new hire cohort. I didn't know how frequently MEI brought on new-hire cohorts, but assuming once per month: MEI spent $24K annually on these meetings. A drop in the bucket for a $1B company...? And nothing compared to what they spent on lunches...Watching the elevator indicator progress from sub-basement 2 to the 3rd floor, I thought again about what might be going on in those labs I couldn't access without a Red3 security clearance. And that led back to Hodgson's question about how well I was settling in.

My first project had focused on a pretty simple micro-service -- a tiny gear in the gearworks. I had no idea what all of the parts and pieces were, and even now I only know about my tiny neighborhood in the system, but then I was grateful for the chance to focus on something easy and limited in scope.

February 32

"There's a bug somewhere in there that's hitting a performance slowdown," Peter pointed at the profiler dashboard. "Hopefully it isn't a big deal, but this will give you a chance to get familiar with the toolset."

I found it almost the moment I got into the code, the operative words being 'got in.' Getting in took over a week. Even though MEI used pretty standard tools, they were definitely a startup. Stuff was everywhere, their bug system was rudimentary, their ticketing slapped together and their code repository was customized to support their security. So it took a few days to figure it all out. But finding the thing and fixing it are two different animals. It took another week before I had a candidate solution that wouldn't screw something else up. I learned more about how the company built software in that first month than I've learned since. And, of course, that's when I met Jimmie.

"Great work, Anne. Solid!" Peter was looking over my shoulder at the code. He murmured something unintelligible. "Ahhh...hmmm...have you chatted with any of the architects yet? That call there," he pointed to a bit midway down, "that's pretty tricky stuff. You know the group, yeah? Did I introduce you?"

He had and I did, at least passingly. "I'm on it. Thanks."

Mid-March 32 (Mid-90)

My mother would never agree that I was weird. She hated when I used that word. "You're an introvert, Annie! That's all. Nothing weird about that!"

I'm an introvert, like many engineers, or so I've been told. But, no matter what my mother might say, I've got it worse than many. I'm loaded down with social anxiety. I completely fold up into myself when I'm in a crowd. One on one I'm fine, but put me in a room with six strangers and I just want crawl under a desk. It's not so bad sitting in my little cubicle, headphones on, face smashed into my screens. And when I walk around I don't care so much; I don't have to interact with anyone. And, just to be clear, I'm not a total basket case: after I get to know people I'm pretty much able to be in a conference room with as many as a dozen before I want to fold up and sidle away like an anime origami critter.

But thinking back to that first meeting with Jimmie, I knew I was getting into something over my head.

February 32

I had seen where the architects sat. All in a group one floor up. I could feel my gut cramping at the mere idea of having to go up there, but I didn't really know how I would avoid it. I started by sending a message. Always easier than face to face.

Who should I talk with about the pProfileSecurity service? I have a call into it and need some help.

Moments later I got a ping back.

You can talk to me -- probably easier to do it in front of a whiteboard. I'm available now.

JamesColdburn HQ04.15.3...I did a quick search...James "Jimmie" Coldburn, Sr. Architect, reporting structure...don't need that...history...been with MEI for six years, that made me pause...what kind of startup has employees for six years? I assumed his coordinates were somewhere in the area I dimly remembered Marybeth had vaguely waved at "where the architects sit." I sent the location to my screen and turned my attention to the meiMap app, noting the route.

I let him know I was coming up and wound my way through the maze of offices and stairwells marveling at how, even with the app, I'd still been able to make one wrong turn.

"Jimmie?" I entered the architecture area looking around quickly before the anxiety wove its cocoon around my throat. A head popped up and turned, his face blossoming into a smile even as he waved and greeted me. I felt something click in that moment: something warm and gooey somewhere near my stomach. I clenched my inner thighs and realized what I was doing, a blush reddening my face and neck.FUCKKKK! I took a breath and then a second, slowly walking toward the whiteboard area he had motioned me to.

"Anne? Jimmie. No trouble finding us, I see." I noticed he dispensed with the coordinate titles. I was still getting used to the protocol: some people insisted on them, others found them totally nonsense. He extended his hand, and I gripped it the way my father had taught me: firm but not too firm. His fingers and palm were warm and dry. The gooey feeling intensified, but I felt my cheeks cooling. Thank the universe for something. My eyes glancing to his face, the whiteboards his face, his chest, pants, the whiteboard, his face, his crotch, the whiteboard. I settled on the whiteboard with quick glances back to his face: he was smiling gently, brown eyes bright and curious, clean-shaven (mostly, he hadn't shaved today for sure, and maybe yesterday), thickish eyebrows, figures and graphs, lines, words and terms I recognized as a domain map, clear skin, freckles. Coldburn...Irish? English? It didn't matter.

"...d'you start?"

I caught the last bit and focused, smiling back. My smile, I noticed, wasn't forced but flowed from that warm gooey center. Fuck fuck fuck. Get yourself together.

"A month ago. AdminConsole group. Three fourteen thirty." It slipped out before I could stop myself. Oh well.

"Peter's group. I'd heard they were hiring. Really critical stuff. Glad you're on board."

Nice of him to say, but I knew it wasn't all that critical -- Blue2 said it all..."How sweet!" I blurted, the warm gooey thickening and wrapping its tendrils around my brain. I could feel the heat growing and glanced away to the whiteboard. Raised eyebrows, dilated eyes, lines, boxes, eyes. He had responded to my comment in some way that I could only imagine. Chemistry, remember?

Maybe he had responded. Maybe it was chemistry. Or maybe it was only in my head. He turned to the board and waved it blank. "Okay, let's see...you were working in the pManuSecure area, right?"

"Uhhh, no...hold on," I interrupted, opening my screen to the code. "No, it's pProfileSecurity."

He laughed. "Right! That one's a little tricky. Let me show you." He waved and pinched and typed, eventually displaying the class hierarchy for the service. "So, that API depends on one of the earliest and most scrutinized set of services in the company..." Half mumbling as he traversed the diagram, he eventually came to a stop, apparently in the area he wanted me to focus on.

Back and forth we talked, he asking questions, me shrugging and taking notes. There was a lot I needed to know about how we were intending to use the service before I could use it safely. 45 minutes later and I had enough notes and a bunch more questions for other folks in my squad. I realized, as we were finishing up, that my initial nervousness and disappeared, and the gooey feeling had dropped back to my gut.

"Hey, listen," he said to me as I was turning away, "when you have some time, let's grab lunch. That was fun. I don't usually have that much fun talking to..." he paused as if choosing his words carefully.

"Women?" I suggested, not sure where he was going. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

He laughed and shook his head. "No, I don't have much problem chatting up women." He looked at me again, and I almost got lost in his stare. "No, I was going to say 'coders,' since they don't have much time for us architects."

"Uhh," I focused on my breathing...fuck fuck fuck what's your problem???, "yeah. That would be great!" I couldn't bear to look at him, eyes down, shoes, screen, purse, shoes, carpet, screen. I collected my screen and purse. It felt like I practically ran out of there.

And promptly got lost.

Early-March 32

It was at least another month before we had lunch together, and then it was a group of us, Marybeth, Henry--a lead in my squad--another couple of coders Marybeth knew, and Jimmie, with some of his crew. MEI had one of those cafeterias with a gazillion stations, each staffed by some kind of named sous chef. I laughed every time I walked in at how ridiculous it was. Ridiculous except for the fact that I love to eat good food. But it must have cost the company a fortune. We paid hardly anything for a lunch that should have set us back at least two hours' salary. Not to mention the alcohol choices. I was surprised it wasn't prohibited, and even more surprised at how many of my team had a beer at lunch, but I strictly avoided drinking at work. It fucks with my brain and my productivity goes to shit.

Anyway, the group was actually having a great time. Jokes were flying, most of them knew each other, and the conversation flowed from whose pet was smartest to their plans for PI day, something the company celebrated intensely. I kept glancing across the way to see if Jimmie was still as radioactive as he'd been, and every time my insides pulsed, just watching him talk. I had it fucking bad. I had purposely chosen to sit a little aways and across from him in case I was going to spaz out. I didn't think Marybeth noticed, but afterwards as we walked back to our desks she raised an eyebrow.

"What was that all about?"

I turned and looked at her, sincerely confused.

"You. Jimmie?"

I laughed, nervously. Marybeth's and my relationship was still evolving, but we were definitely becoming friends. "I...," I laughed again. In spite of my inability with people, I'm usually pretty confident about my own story, but my feelings about Jimmie were confusing. I just shook my head.

"He's good people, Anne. You could do far worse around here."

"Yeah? What do you know about him?"

And that was the moment when two things happened: our friendship strengthened a notch and I really needed to find out about Jimmie for myself.

Mid-March 32 (Mid-90)

They say I'm smart, but I don't know what that means, exactly. I can code, and my fellow engineers often come to me with questions or problems. I hear I'm fast, so maybe that's what they mean. I notice I laugh at some jokes faster than most, and I seem to find humor in things most people think aren't unusual. I am bored with other people's conversations, most of the time, and I can usually finish their sentences for them. But I don't. My mother raised me to be polite. So, unless I'm with close friends, I usually keep my mouth shut, count to at least five before responding and let others go first. I try to control my snark and sarcasm. It doesn't show up well in a woman, so I've found, except in specific circumstances. And I've learned it's "compensatory behavior." A term I first picked up in my college psych class and confirmed by my therapist. It keeps people from getting too close, and I use it to hide my (frequent) lack of understanding of what's going on around me.

Maybe I'm smart, but there are so many ways in which I'm an idiot--people being the biggest. Like I said, I have trouble "reading" the room. I can't tell when someone is being sincere or making fun of me. Even though I can find humor in lots of things, and will laugh at an obviously funny turn of phrase, I often think everyone I'm with, if it's a group, gets some inside joke that I don't. It's where my social anxiety comes from, or so my therapist has suggested. And she's given me tools. Of course she has. And being the smart rat that I am, I learned them. But they only work up to a point, and if I'm still struggling at 26, how much better can I expect to get at this?

What I have learned, though, is that once I get to know somebody up close and personal, I'm okay. If I see enough of their patterns, I can create templates of their behaviors, their reactions and what I understand as emotions. It's a blindness of a sort, and as a kid it got me into trouble in all sorts of ways, but now, as an adult, I'm getting okay with it, mostly. Except for one thing: I have trust issues. Not as in 'I don't trust people.' Exactly the opposite: I can't help but trust people. Still today, even with all of the tools and the training, my go-to reaction when I meet someone is to immediately trust them.

It's made my relationships very confusing.

Early April 32

After Marybeth's inside report on Jimmie, I couldn't stop thinking about him. And the antidote to that was go head's down on a tough piece of code. Which meant at the next planning session I grabbed the hardest thing on the backlog and went back to my desk, determined not to look up until it was done. Even if that meant it took the entire sprint.

Except, of course, I'm a human being, and I have human needs, including sleeping (which I briefly considered just doing under my desk to save my commute time), eating (which, even though I live to eat good food I usually satisfied with junk food when I was on a coding binger) and going to the bathroom (for which I had no good alternative). I was returning from the bathroom fixating on a particularly gnarly bit of code when I looked up and saw him standing next to my desk. It was too late to avoid him; he'd seen me seeing him. I smiled weakly, my anxiety starting to rise like water in a clogged sink.

"Hey, Anne!" His face lit up when he saw me. "How're things going...?"

I could tell he had stopped short of asking me about the API stuff. I'd finished that a while back, and in part because of his help, I was considered the local expert on that sub-system. I raised my eyebrows, thinking about my breathing and wondering what my voice would sound like if I actually tried talking.

I pulled out my chair and sat down, focusing on my breathing, the right move, as it turned out, 'cause the talking part..."It's going..." my voice came out as a croaking whisper. I stopped, clearing my throat and tried again, laughing a little. "It's going great!" I hoped my enthusiasm for the template came off as authentic. That trick usually worked.

He laughed and kept the conversation going. "So, hey, I...um...last time...er...lunch...we didn't get much chance to chat. You available today?"

Shit! Of course I was available...but the anxiety had hit my neck and shoulders, even as the orange goo expanded up from my gut into my chest: a warm bubble, thick and viscous. The two were going to meet somewhere above my breasts; a cyclone that would spiral out if I didn't stop it. In between my legs it was doing the exact opposite: melting fast; if it kept going, I'd literally be leaking into my underwear. Oh fuck. I had it so bad. Focusing between my legs had tricked the part in my chest into softening. I hadn't been conscious of it, my thoughts whipping up and down my body, but I'd been carefully breathing in and out, focused, my training kicking in.

"You...you okay?"

I looked up to see what I understood to be "concern" flash across his face, and I forced another laugh. "Absolutely! Yes. I'm available. Let's do it." I mentally stumbled on the double-entendre and let it pass. I could feel liquid building inside me. Boyish face, sparkling eyes, khaki pants, freckles, pleated front piece, freckles, black leather belt, lightly tanned skin, short-sleeve cotton/poly blend, sparkling eyes, wisp of chest hair.

"vee-two published, so I thought you should know."

I tried to rewind what he had said. Oh. Sure. "No worries. I saw the announcement and looked through the changes. Mostly having to do with the advanced caching functions. We're not ready to use those yet, but I can see where they'd be super useful." Calm. Stay calm.

"Cool! See you in a couple of hours."

I pulled up a smile and watched him leave, taking a few moments to breathe and focus.

The time simultaneously crept and flew by. I'd look at the clock every five minutes and mostly it showed that five minutes had passed. But sometimes it read 30. I was almost late. I picked up my purse and practically flew down the stairs, silently yelling at myself to stop acting like a teenager. I needed to run or exercise. Something to work off the anxiety. But not right then. Right then I had to have lunch with a guy who I couldn't think straight around.

"You know what you want?" He greeted me as I entered the room.

No, you jerk. That's the problem! I suppressed the response and focused on a larger problem: a room, a huge room, full of people. Lots of people. I stopped looking around. That way only made things worse. Instead, the template kicking in, I turned my attention to one thing: an Indian Masala omelet. As soon as I'd seen it on the menu in the morning, it was what I'd been thinking about for lunch. I nodded and made a beeline to the station, happy that I was second in line. I hadn't noticed Jimmie had walked with me.