Here at Google we don’t like hierarchies, which is why we believe in flat management, which basically mean keep people the hell away from Largey and Eric. Nevertheless we need to have some way to keep track of who can have access to what (massages, tea rooms) so the powers that be have invented an ingenious system of badges to keep the proles and hoi polloi away from the rest of us. For the uninitiated, here is a rundown of badges and what they mean:
Red: Contractors. These are people who can’t get hired as full-time employees because they went to state schools. Also, the food service people, who as a rule can’t speak English so they can’t work here anyway.
Green: Interns. These are kiddies here for the summer to leech off us and pad their CVs. Also, just FYI, a green badge is usually synonymous with “easy lay.” As my friend Misha likes to say, there’s nothing like some overwhelmed, wide-eyed Yale undergrad who’s here in Mountain View for the summer, totally lost and innocent and tighter than a carpenter’s clenched fist. And the blowjobs! Vot eta da! These girls from college give them out like free mints at the restaurant. First date? Kiss goodnight? Nah. How about a blowjob instead? Then a slurpy swallow, big smile, all proud of herself, a quick peck on the cheek and she leaps out of the car and runs into her shitty apartment complex. Heaven!
Honestly, the fellatio abilities of the average American undergraduate never cease to amaze me. How do they learn such filthy tricks at such a young age? Where do they get the time to devote to practice? Who do they practice on? Oh, American college boys, I envy you. I truly do. In Russia these talented sluts could be earning millions. Here they give away oral sex away simply to win some sliver of affection and attention, the stuff their self-absorbed parents denied them.
Better yet, they also give up the pussy, and even better better yet, they have insurance to pay for their abortions! Ah, America, you sweet blonde cheerleader whore of a country. I love you. I do. Misha, who’s been here fifteen months, tells these brain-damaged whores that he’s pre-IPO and only working as an AdWords drone because it’s what he loves. He’s got a whole story about the glory days at Stanford with Larry and Sergey, working in a dorm room, eating pizza and coding all night. Works every time. He’s seen more 20-year-old pussy than the gynecologist at a college health clinic.
Visitor badge: This is just a very simple sticky badge affixed to outsiders to (a) mark them as losers; and (b) ensure that they don’t get anywhere close to the magic elixir in Building 40. You can treat them with as much contempt as you’d like. We are allowed to have sex with these people too, and it is often very easy, though not as easy as the interns. Misha likes to nab a visitor once in a while just to mix things up. He calls it his “diversity initiative.”You must understand. Misha is tall, and blonde, and a former member of the Russian junior national team in track and field. He did hurdles. He’s also a Muscovite. Women cannot resist him. He volunteers as a tour guide, just for this reason. He spots his target in the first five minutes — he looks into their eyes and he can tell which one is wanting it. He fucks them in a men’s room, right in a toilet stall. I told him, Misha, that’s so degrading. He says, Yes, that’s why they love it.
Stan’s badge: Yes, of course Stan has his own badge. This is simply because the cretins in our security squadrons kept harassing him for standing around unbadged.
White: This indicates a full-time employee. You may speak to them, but only if they speak to you first. Misha and I both are full-time employees and so we are allowed to speak to one another. This dork, James, however, is someone neither of us speak to. Why bother? Look at him. Lights are on, but no one is home, as our friend Ethan says.
Non-badge wearers: Reserved for the crème de la crème, kings of campus, employees 1-100. Misha and I call them the Ivankovs. You do not speak to Ivankovs. You do not even look at them. Don’t believe me? Try it and see where you are when you regain consciousness. Honestly, in some ways being at Google is not so unfamiliar to those of us reared in the former Soviet Union. There is a certain amount of discomfort in this. But the food is so good! And those interns! Makes me look forward to summer, honestly.