My Life at AOL - Sample Chapter
Chapter One: Is This a Career for You?
My job was so free of interest, it would have made a great loan.
It was thus I found myself one Sunday in the summer of 1988, sitting on the sugar-maple carpeted floor of the one-bedroom Alexandria, Virginia high-rise apartment I shared with my sister, thumbing through the copious classified ad pages of Sunday?s Washington Post. I was looking for that job description that would save me from my mind-numbing gig as a proofreader at a large D.C. law firm.
I'd seen the ad and it looked bizarre but intriguing:
"Writer/Producer
We're Quantum Computer Services, an innovative leader in providing interactive online services to the home computer market. We're searching for a creative, flexible individual to sharpen our competitive edge in the educational/entertainment market.
As Writer/Assistant Producer, you will write promotions and program online events, new services and newsletter material; coordinate a monthly events calendar; maintain live data base areas; and develop and produce online contests.
You may qualify if you're a real self-starter with natural promotional talents who loves details?thrives on deadlines...communicates clearly...and has a B.A. in Communications, Journalism, or Advertising. Some computer experience is a definite plus. If you have the spark we're looking for, let us hear from you now in writing...";
Writer/Producer? What was this, Hollywood? And online services? To the home computer market? What the heck was that? But it sounded intriguing. And futuristic.
I thought it was a very long shot, but figured what the heck. As the song says, "when you got nothin?, you got nothin? to lose." I gathered up three of my best writing samples from my stint at the college student newspaper The Cavalier Daily, and sent them in with my cover letter.
And so it was that I got the job at a little company called Quantum Computer Services in 1988. What would happen to that company in the next several years would be amazing, even more amazing as what had happened to it in the several years before.
***
This stint as "Writer/Producer" was to be my first "real job." I was then working as a proofreader for a swanky law firm, Debevoise and Plimpton, and although it was fun to work in an environment where people wore leather dresses and fur coats to work (remember, this was the 80s), I figured it was time to start using the creative part of my mind, if it was still there.
My non-illustrious collegiate career had yielded little in the way of good grades. But I did have a few interesting college newspaper clippings to my name, thanks to working for the Lifestyles department of The Cavalier Daily, and the fact that the University of Virginia was visited by a number of kooky and interesting characters.
One of my favorite interviews was with Rob Coles, who was Thomas Jefferson?s fifth great-grandson through the female line. But the real clincher was that Coles was a dead-ringer for ol? T.J., the latter who was nothing short of a deity at "The University," the school he founded and which was so dear to him. (Thomas Jefferson requested that only three things be listed on his epitaph: "Author of the Declaration of American Independence, of the Statute of Virginia for Religious Freedom, and Father of the University of Virginia.").
Coles was the same weight, height, and build as Jefferson; was born in the same area, and had the same Albemarle County, Virginia accent. He had attended the University, but dropped out. When I mentioned to him one of my favorite Jeffersonian quotes about U.Va. ? "a place where you were free to succeed or fail" ? he said, with self-deprecating humor, "I guess I was one of those who chose to fail." But he was a success as an adult with a one-man show about Jefferson?s life and thoughts.
So I felt that my interview with Coles, complete with a photo of his striking face, reflected positively on my abilities as a writer, which I felt were being thoroughly squelched by my stint as a glorified comma-mover at Debevoise.
Another great assignment I had at the "U" was interviewing "Shoe" comic strip author and political cartoonist Jeff MacNelly. "Shoe" was short for "Shoemaker," the surname of his first editor at the Chapel Hill Weekly, and a cigar-smoker and sneaker-wearer just like the bird character in the strip.
"I didn?t really want to call it that because I didn?t want to embarrass him," said MacNelly, "but it just sort of stuck."
And did his ex-editor feel honored for having a comic strip named after him? I asked MacNelly for my piece. "No; I think he?s pretty pissed," he said.
So it was with these nuggets that I hoped to get the attention of the Powers that Were at this mysterious computer company.
***
Quantum Computer Services?s offices were located in a nondescript four-story office building in Tysons Corner, Virginia, a short ways west from that infamous behemoth of modern-day materialism, Tysons Corner Mall. I hadn?t been to Tysons Corner for years, since when I lived in nearby Reston, Virginia as a kid. In those days, it was an ex-urban outpost, most known for its large mall, and a few car dealerships in between. Over the years, it had spawned more and more office buildings, chain restaurants like TGIFridays and Bennigan?s, and stores like Marshall?s discount clothing, Payless Shoes, and CompUSA computers.
I put on the best suit I owned, an inexpensive but passable brown-and-black checked tweedy number from Marshall?s, donned my heels, and bravely headed out onto the Washington Beltway in my puke-green 1981 Chrysler "K" car station wagon.
My interview with Quantum was an exuberant experience. Unlike any other job interview, where you?re asked the obligatory questions "where do you see yourself six months from now?" and "What are your biggest weaknesses?", this one yielded refreshing queries. (To that last question, I knew better than to say anything but "I can be just too organized; too hard-working" or "I am more detail-oriented than The Anal-Retentive Chef").
Here, I was asked, "What's your favorite tv commercial?" (the Veryfine juice ad where the guy's body looks like it's navigating roads like a human car) and "What's the last book you read?" (Fortunately for me I had wedged "Ogilvy on Advertising" in between Jay McInerney and Judith Krantz).
My first interview was with Christine Leberer, a diminutive thirtysomething executive with wavy strawberry blonde hair and a low-key demeanor. The pink-and-green inflatable palm trees on her computer told me she had a sense of fun. She had been hired from Viewtron, an early "videotex" (no "t") service started by Knight-Ridder, where the startup Quantum had recruited a few online service pioneers.
After meeting Chris, they asked me back for a second interview, where I met several of the software engineers, and some of the other producers, including one guy who explained how he would "hang out" at an online bar with his pet alligator, who he kept on a leash. I was just beginning to get that this place was headquarters to a whole imaginary world of role-playing, not unlike the "Dungeons and Dragons" game which engrossed so many kids in the late 1970s. (J.R.R. Tolkien?s wildly popular book "The Hobbit," and subsequent trilogy "The Lord of the Rings," had spawned this world of fantastic Middle-Earthian characters and imagination).
A human resources manager sat me down and explained the salary: $22,000 to start. When I told him I was currently making only $15K a year, he asked, tongue-in-cheek, "how do you live on that?" And yet the salaries that Quantum was offering at the time were not exorbitant. In fact, to make up for that, the company offered something called stock options. When the HR manager handed me the stapled document explaining what would happen should this little privately-held startup ever "go public," I gave it hardly a glance, figured, "yeah, whatever"? but kept the paperwork safe in a file, just in case.
I wasn?t the only AOL employee who knew from the beginning I was in for something different. "I was in a job I hated down in DC, and answered the old "put some magic in your career" help wanted ad in the Washington Post with the wizard on it," said one AOL developer. "I went to a job fair at the Sheraton in Tysons Corner, just up the street from AOL. I walked into the lobby, and was confronted with a six-foot-tall inflatable godzilla wearing a ?PC-Link? tee shirt. I thought, ?Cool! I could work here!? I then met with several people, all cool. I met the HR director, and she was wearing acid-washed blue jeans." ***
"Is this a Career for You?"
Twenty-two K or not, the truth was, this was the end of an era for me: a hash-slinging, mindless, low-paying string of crap jobs that are a rite of passage for most American kids whose parents aren't loaded and who don't want to be seen wearing the same pair of Toughskins the rest of their adult lives.
I had worked cleaning houses, cleaning toilets, and cleaning dishes; slinging grub at a bakery, deli, and Tastee-Freez; hawked wares at a jewelry store, five-and-dime, and two clothing stores; hostessing at two restaurants; delivering papers; filing magnetic tapes for a phone company, and finally, playing glorified comma-jockey as a proofreader at Debevoise.
College brought a brief respite from the world of paying jobs. I didn't want to jeopardize my brilliant academic career with time spent working. But this strategy didn?t work much anyway, since said academic career was pretty much blown grade-wise after my first disastrous semester in Virginia's E-school.
However, in the fourth semester of my fourth year at Virginia, I came to terms with the harsh reality that a 4.0 GPA wasn't bloody likely. Also, I wanted a little dough for a trip I planned to take to Europe that summer, so I bit the bullet and took a job with a deli in Charlottesville. I just prayed that none of my sorority sisters ever patronized the place (a few of them did once, and I had no idea who they were. I guess you could say I was a less-than-model Greek).
The deli's staff was a hybrid of college students, locals, and transient adults living in Charlottesville. Once, while immersed in the subtle nuances of making the perfect Rueben, one of my co-workers (who was one of the transient adults) turned to another deli worker (who was a college student) and asked, deadpan, "is this a career for you, Tom?" Call it snot-nosed snobbishness, but that became our mantra-like joke while working there, and we'd often turn to each other in all mock seriousness and ask, "Is this a career for you?"
Exposé
For whatever reason, I have a long and sordid history of guys exposing themselves to me on the job. It all started with my very first job, a paper route for the Washington Star when I was ten years old. One of my customers lived at my "drop point," which was the apartment building where the Washington Post's truck dropped off the stack of newspapers every morning.
One afternoon, when I went to his apartment to collect for the paper, he answered the door (this was a rarity, since he was one of my "deadbeats" and usually pretended not to be home, even though I would see his peephole darken, a wary eyeball behind it). He invited me in while he got his checkbook, and I waited in the foyer while he wandered off. When he returned back to the foyer, he was not wearing any pants! Or underwear either. I got out of there as fast as I could after taking his money. The worst thing was I never knew when I would run into him again, since he sometimes came home when I was putting the papers on my cart from the drop point.
And then there was my disastrous brush with waitressing. When I was nineteen, I answered a window ad for "Waitress Wanted" at a pizza place a block from where I lived in Richmond, the summer of '84. The place was very slow --I only had a few tables all night. At the end of the night, as I was tallying the checks at one of the tables, the restaurant's sole employee that night, a Sicilian guy of about twenty-two, came over and stood next to me. He proceeded to unzip his fly and take down his pants. I can only imagine what he expected me to do.
I left in a flurry, and the place actually called me the next day to ask "why she no come back to work tonight?"
I mention this as a prelude to one of the most egregious examples of exhibitionism I would witness, courtesy of Q-Link, Quantum?s online service. In the early days of Q-Link, the service had a very popular virtual nightspot known as "Bonnie's Bar," run by a real-life woman named Bonnie. As any good bartender would, Bonnie paid attention to her customers, and some of them, particularly the male ones, could get carried away. One of them actually sent her a series of photographs through the mail that would make anyone's hair curl. He'd mounted a camera at an angle above his bed, and taken several shots of himself masturbating. Let's just say this guy was by no means, as Seinfeld would say, "master of his domain."
But I?m getting ahead of myself. Those pictures of that guy jerking off were just one of the curious examples of human behavior I would witness via the strange and wonderful job I was to have at Quantum, which later became AOL.
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