Oh, you make websites? — a brief departure

It’s precisely five-thirty a.m. and I arrive on campus in style.

Chauffeured to the door by a self-driving golf-cart, the morning air is crisp on my face as I spring up the steps and pass through the mirrored veneer of my building. Samantha stands to greet me. Without breaking stride, I tuck the security pass into my vest pocket and seize my breakfast-shake from the counter. It has sixteen different kinds of pea protein – count ‘em. I leave my Ray Bans on.

The elevator doors scud open and the bullpen is a hive of activity. A pause. This is, as they say, “where the magic happens”. I make finger-quotes as I say it, but I do it ironically so that everyone laughs at my supreme wit.

Believe me though, the magic does happen. I’ve worked in New York, Miami, London and San Fran. I’m labelled an HTML guru, a CSS pioneer. A JavaScript Rockstar. TypeScript wishes it was half as dependable as my code. I’m like a goddamn modern-day Midas, except without all of the loser wishes. Ain’t nothing here but hustle and gold, baby.

I breeze past the parent-and-toddler yoga room and take the fireman’s pole to my office where the project leads are already waiting for me. They kick back on oversized beanbag chairs and I shoot a few hoops on the Vision Pro. The guys give me the state of the union. We quadrupled revenue overnight by replacing the ethics team with an experimental AI, and my interview with Time Magazine is trending on social. To cap things off our new ad-campaign has gone viral. Pandemic, even. Today, like every day, we’re gonna change the motherfucking world. Hey, don’t sweat the cusswords. It’s cool; We’re all adults here.

Work shuts down at two a.m. We worked hard, we’ll play harder. It’s getting light by the time I leave my office and inside the liquor is still flowing freely. It’s time to hit the gym, then I’ll see you at five-thirty.

I am a web developer.

It’s twelve-twenty-one p.m. and I’ve been awake for approximately forty minutes.

I finish my bowl of own brand choco-snaps and shotgun my fourth mug of instant espresso. My client calls as I amble my way into the back room. Strained thin from overwork, my PC coughs into life. The client is refusing to pay until I make the logo ‘more greener’. My chair and I groan in a moment of fleeting harmony as I sit down. I rub my eyes and take a deep breath. I leave my dressing gown on.

I am a web developer.