Dave Eggers - The Circle

“You’re the first here,” Renata said, “but you won’t be alone for long. Each new Customer Experience area tends to fill pretty quickly. And you’re not far from all the more senior people.” And here she swept her arm around, indicating about a dozen offices surrounding the open space. The occupants of each were visible through the glass walls, each of the supervisors somewhere between twenty-six and thirty-two, starting their day, seeming relaxed, competent, wise.

“The designers really like glass, eh?” Mae said, smiling.

Renata stopped, furrowed her brow and thought on this notion. She put a strand of hair behind her ear and said, “I think so. I can check. But first we should explain the setup, and what to expect on your first real day.”

Renata explained the features of the desk and chair and screen, all of which had been ergonomically perfected, and could be adjusted for those who wanted to work standing up.

“You can set your stuff down and adjust your chair, and—Oh, looks like you have a welcoming committee. Don’t get up,” she said, and made way.

Mae followed Renata’s eyeline and saw a trio of young faces making their way to her. A balding man in his late twenties extended his hand. Mae shook it, and he put an oversized tablet on the desk in front of her.

“Hi Mae, I’m Rob from payroll. Bet you’re glad to see me.” He smiled then laughed heartily, as if he’d just realized anew the humor in his repartee. “Okay,” he said, “we’ve filled out everything here. There’s just these three places you need to sign.” He pointed to the screen, where yellow rectangles flashed, asking for her signature.

When she was finished, Rob took the tablet and smiled with great warmth. “Thank you, and welcome aboard.”

He turned and left, and was replaced by a full-figured woman with flawless, copper skin.

“Hi Mae, I’m Tasha, the notary.” She held out a wide book. “You have your driver’s license?” Mae gave it to her. “Great. I need three signatures from you. Don’t ask me why. And don’t ask me why this is on paper. Government rules.” Tasha pointed to three consecutive boxes, and Mae signed her name in each.

“Thank you,” Tasha said, and now held out a blue inkpad. “Now your fingerprint next to each. Don’t worry, this ink won’t stain. You’ll see.”

Mae pushed her thumb into the pad, and then into the boxes next to each of her three signatures. The ink was visible on the page, but when Mae looked at her thumb, it was absolutely clean.

Tasha’s eyebrows arched, registering Mae’s delight. “See? It’s invisible. The only place it shows up is in this book.”

This was the sort of thing Mae had come for. Everything was done better here. Even the fingerprint ink was advanced, invisible.

When Tasha left she was replaced by a thin man in a red zippered shirt. He shook Mae’s hand.

“Hi, I’m Jon. I emailed you yesterday about bringing your birth certificate?” His hands came together, as if in prayer.

Mae retrieved the certificate from her bag and Jon’s eyes lit up. “You brought it!” He clapped quickly, silently, and revealed a mouth of tiny teeth. “No one remembers the first time. You’re my new favorite.” He took the certificate, promising to return it after he’d made a copy.

Behind him was a fourth staff member, this one a beatific-looking man of about thirty-five, by far the oldest person Mae had met that day.

“Hi Mae. I’m Brandon, and I have the honor of giving you your new tablet.” He was holding a gleaming object, translucent, its edges black and smooth as obsidian.

Mae was stunned. “These haven’t been released yet.”

Brandon smiled broadly. “It’s four times as fast as its predecessor. I’ve been playing with mine all week. It’s very cool.”

“And I get one?”

“You already did,” he said. “It’s got your name on it.”

He turned the tablet on its side to reveal that it had been inscribed with Mae’s full name: MAEBELLINE RENNER HOLLAND.

He handed it to her. It was the weight of a paper plate.

“Now, I’m assuming you have your own tablet?”

“I do. Well, a laptop anyway.”

“Laptop. Wow. Can I see it?”

Mae pointed to it. “Now I feel like I should chuck it in the trash.”

Brandon paled. “No, don’t do that! At least recycle it.”

“Oh no. I was just kidding,” Mae said. “I’ll probably hold onto it. I have all my stuff on it.”

“Good segue, Mae! That’s what I’m here to do next. We should transfer all your stuff to the new tablet.”

“Oh. I can do that.”

“Would you grant me the honor? I’ve trained all my life for this very moment.”

Mae laughed and pushed her chair out of the way. Brandon knelt next to her desk and put the new tablet next to her laptop. In minutes he had transferred all her information and accounts.

“Okay. Now let’s do the same with your phone. Ta-da.” He reached into his bag and unveiled a new phone, a few significant steps ahead of her own. Like the tablet, it had her name already engraved on the back. He set both phones, new and old, on the desk next to each other and quickly, wirelessly, transferred everything within from one to the other.

“Okay. Now everything you had on your other phone and on your hard drive is accessible here on the tablet and your new phone, but it’s also backed up in the cloud and on our servers. Your music, your photos, your messages, your data. It can never be lost. You lose this tablet or phone, it takes exactly six minutes to retrieve all your stuff and dump it on the next one. It’ll be here next year and next century.”

They both looked at the new devices.

“I wish our system existed ten years ago,” he said. “I fried two different hard drives back then, and it’s like having your house burn down with all your belongings inside.”

Brandon stood up.

“Thank you,” Mae said.

“No sweat,” he said. “And this way we can send you updates for the software, the apps, everything, and know you’re current. Everyone in CE has to be on the same version of any given software, as you can imagine. I think that’s it…” he said, backing away. Then he stopped. “Oh, and it’s crucial that all company devices are password protected, so I gave you one. It’s written here.” He handed her a slip of paper bearing a series of digits and numerals and obscure typographical symbols. “I hope you can memorize it today and then throw this away. Deal?”

“Yes. Deal.”

“We can change the password later if you want. Just let me know and I’ll give you a new one. They’re all computer-generated.”

Mae took her old laptop and moved it toward her bag.

Brandon looked at it like it was an invasive species. “You want me to get rid of it? We do it in a very environmentally friendly way.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” she said, “I want to say goodbye.”

Brandon smiled indulgently. “Oh. I get it. Okay then.” He gave a bow and left, and behind him she saw Annie. She was holding her knuckle up to her chin, tilting her head.

“There’s my little girl, grown up at last!”

Mae got up and wrapped her arms around her.

“Thank you,” she said into Annie’s neck.

“Awww.” Annie tried to pull away.

Mae grabbed her tighter. “Really.”

“It’s okay.” Annie finally extricated herself. “Easy there. Or maybe keep going. It was starting to get sexy.”

“Really. Thank you,” Mae said, her voice quaking.

“No, no, no,” Annie said. “No crying on your second day.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just so grateful.”

“Stop.” Annie moved in and held her again. “Stop. Stop. Jesus. You are such a freak.”