EXCERPT : RIKKI

It’s Tuesday afternoon, the second day of the conference, and Rikki stands at her booth on the floor of the FastStart expo, surveying the crowd. She should feel at home, but it’s like her community has been eradicated and replaced with an alien race. They are young. They are confident. They sport geometric haircuts and stylish sneakers. There are no stretched-out T-shirts or Tevas in sight.

Only one thing is the same: the majority of the attendees are boys. Not boys. They’re adults, Rikki reminds herself. Potential co-workers. That’s why she’s here at FastStart, to recruit them for her startup. Recruiting is not her area of expertise. It’s not even her job. She’s a Product Manager. She makes product decisions, not hiring decisions. But her boss gave her the assignment and Rikki knows better than to argue with a brand-new CEO. 

Everyone at FastStart is supposed to be on the cutting edge of technology but here, at the outer reaches of the exhibit hall, there’s a science fair ambiance. Flimsy partitions display hastily affixed posters, power cables hopelessly tangle under ancient tables with folding legs. It reminds Rikki of her startup. Their office is housed in a Jetson-style complex in the armpit of San Jose. One street over are vacant lots littered with car parts and used paint. It’s technically Silicon Valley, but not the glamorous part. 

It’s a different story in the center of the exposition hall, where Big Tech is set up. Their spaces are manicured testaments to success, buttressed by the smug confidence of their employees and the barely-cloaked envy of everyone else. Volte is there, and so is Rikki’s former workplace. A place where success bred stasis. When Rikki realized that an executive position would not be forthcoming unless the man above her perished in the line of duty, she started looking for an opportunity elsewhere.

She was pleasantly surprised by the startup scene when she arrived at Spark. Everything was “lean” and “agile,” words that were highly aspirational considering the doughy man-boys that used them. But their enthusiasm was contagious. Soon she was dreaming about shipping the Spark app to five-star reviews. Exiting into early retirement after a stellar IPO or a brilliant acquisition. 

Then Hunter, the new CEO, had arrived, with his shark eyes and his jittery vibe.  

Rikki raises herself on her tiptoes, stretching her calves. At forty-four years old, the body seizes up. Even in her sensible shoes, she’s crippled after standing at the booth all day. She’s thinking about the deep, white bathtub in her hotel room, and the foam roller she has stowed in her bag, when she sees two girls—two young women—walking towards her: a petite blonde with a pert face, and a tall one with long, dark hair. 

She lowers her heels to the ground. “Hello. I’m Rikki Stefka, Vice President of Product at Spark.” The title rings out in a satisfactory manner.

Young people won’t start the conversation, Rikki has discovered. They stand there gripping their phone, as though at any moment they might need to check its screen. Rikki begins her spiel, “Spark is a mobile app for team communication in the workplace.”

“Like Breez,” says the blonde. Breez is the application that dominates the market segment that Spark is aiming for. 

“Not exactly like Breez.” Rikki takes off her glasses and folds them carefully. She’d prefer to highlight Spark’s summarization engine, a feature that makes managing thousands of conversations incredibly easy. But Hunter wants her to push the “sexy” features for the recruit. “Spark has 3D emojis and hyper-personalized replies. Features that will really delight our users.” 

The blonde raises her eyebrows. “We’re designers, we know all about making things delightful.” 

Rikki’s heartbeat speeds up. Hunter’s prized target is a “young and hungry” software developer ready to crush the competition with his coding prowess. Nonetheless, netting an amazing designer would give Rikki some breathing room with her boss. She squints at their badges. “Mirabelle, Jenna, it’s nice to meet you.” Then she pitches her voice upwards, saying, “If you’re excited about innovative experiences, you’ll love working at Spark.”

Rikki turns to smile at Jenna. But the young woman is heads down, absentmindedly fingering the Spark swag that’s arranged on the table. Jenna picks up a keychain, then puts it down on a pile of notebooks. The notebooks immediately slide into disarray. 

Rikki’s fingers twitch. But she can fix the notebooks later.

“I don’t know about working at a startup,” Mirabelle says, “but it would be cool to design a product that people use every day.”

“We designed Spark to be life compatible, 24/7/365.” Rikki has conquered her distaste of buzzwords. Now they ooze out from her like a slick of oil. “It’s an ethos that informs everything we do.”

“I like it,” Mirabelle says. “It’s the opposite of niche.” 

The young women are both from somewhere in Canada, it turns out, but Mirabelle seems ready for an adventure elsewhere. Rikki remembers when she herself moved from a small town in the Midwest to Silicon Valley, almost two decades ago. Back then, there were a million new frontiers to cross, thousands of addresses still unclaimed. The beginning of the internet. It was something luminous before it tarnished, turning dull, and then bleak.

Mirabelle continues, “That’s why the Valley appeals to me, the potential to have millions of people use what you’ve created.” She looks eagerly at Rikki. “Do you think Spark will have that kind of reach?”

“I’m counting on it. Our CEO has us executing at the highest level.” Hunter frequently talks about execution. Rewind three centuries, he’d be manning the guillotine. “Spark is a great place for a rockstar designer who wants to make an impact.”

Jenna has been absently shaking a Spark Up! insulated tumbler in her hand, as though she’s expecting something inside. At the word “impact,” she looks expectantly at her friend, as though she’s waiting for her to take the bait. But Mirabelle’s attention has clamped onto her phone. It’s buzzing frantically as text after text arrives on the device.

Every muscle in Rikki’s body tightens. She cannot lose another candidate to their phone! She reaches under the table for her premium swag—a tote bag with the Spark logo in glitter on the front—and pushes it towards Mirabelle. “Is there a particular type of design you like to focus on?” 

Mirabelle is scrolling furiously, her brows knit. “I have to make a call.” She walks away, the phone already welded to her ear.

The twinge in Rikki’s calf is threatening to blossom into a cramp. Until she notices Jenna inspecting the glittery tote bag. “What about you, what’s your specialty?”

“Graphic novels,” Jenna says. “But I don’t want to move to California.”

Graphic novels sound perfectly creative to Rikki. She thrusts the tote bag forward. “Silicon Valley has one of the most vibrant design communities in the world.” 

“I’ve read a lot of posts.” Jenna takes the bag and runs her hand over the glitter, like she’s petting a cat. “The Valley sounds pretty brutal to me.”

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