To hate was -- well, that's when we started going downhill as a nation, bedazzled by Ronnie Reagan and his friends' sales pitch about the easy investment wealth that would be ours if only, if only, government would just get out of the way. And let corporations and the rich do anything they wanted. Greed is good, they said. Greed is good for society, they said, because it makes everybody wealthy in the long run. Yeah, see how well that's turning out.
To love -- well, it was a gargantuan circus freak of a decade. There was wild sex, AIDS, cocaine, venture capitalists, computer geeks treated like rock stars, yuppies, suicide, pony-tailed hustlers, all-night parties, pyramid schemes, big-hair rock'n roll, stock manipulators, instant millionaires.
And that was just in the workplace.
I spent most of the '80s working at software start-ups in the Bay Area. Before the '80s there was no real software industry, not for the kind of software that real people would use to do real things in the average office -- process words, keep inventory, track sales, keep the books, or even play games or send email or make music.
But after the personal computer went big-time, hundreds of little software companies appeared out of nowhere to make software for all the PCs employers were starting to buy. Every one of these little start-ups was sure that it was going to conquer the world and be the next MicroPro or Visicalc or Software Publishing Corporation. (Remember? Remember?)
Nobody had ever done this before -- made everyday software for everyday people. Nobody had a background in it. So these little startups started beating the bushes for people who looked like they could make software and sell it to people.
- Ever sold computers and software before? No, just stereo systems? Close enough! HIRED!
- What's your programming background? Taught yourself Basic and Pascal on an Apple II? And your day job is -- reference librarian? HIRED!
- Every written a computer manual before? No? Sportswriter, huh? From Idaho? HIRED! Just keep those sentences short and punchy!
- Ever answered customer questions on the phone? Waiter, huh? HIRED!
Most software start-ups crashed on takeoff. A certain number staggered into the sky and bumbled around for a few years before running out of gas or flying into a mountain. Some few lived to rebuild themselves into mighty denizens of the air; to this day, they cruise the skies for prey.
But back in the day -- oh my. There was no set right or wrong way to run a software company, no best-practices, no industry standards -- no rules at all except, "take in enough cash to make payroll." That was important.
I worked for a business software outfit over in Marin where half the staff was into get-rich-quick pyramid schemes and neuro-linguistic processing and drugs, and they were dealing cocaine out of the marketing department. No smoking dope on the job before 5 p.m., and we feel very strongly about that!
The week after that company went belly-up I wandered by the empty building for a last look. The dumpster held two garbage bags of shredded documents and six cases of empty champagne bottles. Pretty typical for that crowd. And nobody invited me, which was also typical.
I worked for another software company over in Emeryville helmed by overaged refugees from the insurance industry who had no clue whatsoever. Initial funding came from the CEO's wife who was loaded. In more than one sense, because she was also an alcoholic. And our CFO. Sometime she'd get depressed and go on a bender and attempt to kill herself. Never too seriously, though. Once I saw her at a product release party with bandages on her wrists. We didn't say anything, just passed her the cocktail weenies.
Nobody dealt cocaine at that company, but a lot of people used it. The biggest coke-head was supervisor of a programming group in which each and every analyst had a pair of high-powered binoculars in their desks. Their office was nine floors up, facing a high-rise Holiday Inn across the parking lot, and they spent their spare time scanning the hotel's upper floors for naked women. No women in that group, of course. Most of the female programmers in that company were secretaries who'd been promoted after sleeping with the VP of engineering.
There were a few exceptions to the sleep-with-the-VP rule. One of them wore a double-headed axe charm around her neck. A big one. Another exception was maybe the only competent project manager in Engineering -- a no-nonsense but popular woman of Scandinavian descent. When management promoted her to director, her staff made a sedan chair/throne for her out of a wooden armchair and two planks and handed her a horned helmet and a sword. Then they paraded her, in her chair, around the parking lot with most of the Engineering department following behind. Everybody threw firecrackers and played kazoos.
There are many, many stories to tell, because I had many, many employers in the '80s. Software companies crashed and burned with regularity. I had five different "permanent" employers between 1981 and 1988. Survivors like myself learned the subtle signs of approaching corporate doom so we could get our resumes out the door and hunt up the next gig. Better to jump than be pushed.
And the most reliable harbinger of doom was The Memo of No Return. It always asked the same thing: please help us conserve money by using both sides of the printer/copier paper.
What you have to understand was that those little software companies spent money like drunken sailors. Even though disaster was only a bad quarter away. Your company couldn't be a success unless it looked like a success. You had to spend the rainy-day fund on plush office furniture. You had to have a big annual party for employees and customers. And you always, always, had to charter a ferry boat and sail everybody out the Golden Gate and back. It was required; otherwise, you were nobody. And you had a to have a band on the boat, or at least a comedian, and Too Much Booze.
So when you got the "please save paper" memo, it was a pretty clear sign that the CFO was warming up his shredder and that a black Mercedes full of grim venture capitalists would soon appear to pull the plug. At the very least, there'd be a massive layoff.
Imagine my state of mind, then, when at work this week we all got an email from Mr. BigBoss on "helpful tips for reducing printer and copy paper usage."
And we never even got our ferry ride.
11 comments:
I'm very sorry about your impending job loss. I did enjoy your piece.
I recall those years, when it was new and wonderful, and the beardy boys were all so excited.
Can't say there was much cocaine or champagne in our circle, though - just hard work, late nights and, oh, yes, an eighteen percent mortgage rate.
Best with the job hunt.
Otepoi, thanks. This probably won't be quite as precipitous as the old software company meltdowns -- they still have a core business which is ongoing, just a lot smaller than it was.
So things will move a little more slowly. Which is good, because the official unemployment rate is 20 percent in this county.
I didn't do the coke back in the day, either, but it was interesting to be around those people. Talking with 18-year-old computer consultants who knew Steve Wozniak and "Captain Crunch" personally.
Whole lotta shakin goin' on in the eighties! ...I'm going to learn pascal after learning DOS real well!
emikk:
Yes, the '80s were shakin'. Of course you and I were both in our 20s and early 30s then, and when you're that age about _any_ time is shakin' unless you're half-dead.
The late '90s were shakin', too, but I was older and didn't want to be shook that much.
I must tell you that your carefully-laid punchline made me laugh out loud. It was schadenfreude, but it was your fault.
"I must tell you that your carefully-laid punchline made me laugh out loud. It was schadenfreude, but it was your fault."
No worries. Most of the humor around here is self-deprecating. And I'm not in that field anymore. I could go on the occasional client junket, but only as a volunteer to hand out the drinkies, and if I promised not to eat too much.
Or the "We need to tighten our belts" speech. Not a good sign. Or when the receptionist tells you "The phones are just not that busy anymore." By the way -- receptionists used to know everything.
Nova, I never got the "tighten our belts" speech for some reason. And by the 90s, "tightening your belt" would have meant letting some of the contractors go and shifting all their work to the perms -- 50 hour weeks for everybody!
Of course management never really came out and said that. They just reduced staff, and kept the deadlines the same. Like I said -- the 90s. A different decade.
Our receptionist still does know everything, because they give her everything to do.
Thanks for the memories. For me it was '86-92. Crazy, wonderful time. When the boss started using VISA cash advances to cover payroll, the Magic 8 Ball said run to Kinko's and quietly remove yourself from the situation.
....And the requisite drive-by 2 months later revealed a For Lease sign in the window, the building vacant except for the new, expensive, trendy window treatments and a strand of tinsel left behind on the designer carpeting. Knowing when to leave is a wonderful thing.
Annie:
Spookiest experience I had with a defunct company: it was in downtown San Francisco, ground floor. I'd been laid off two months earlier and yes, I did the requisite driveby. All the lights were on. I tried the door. It was unlocked, the fancy keylock had been removed. No one was there, all the equipment was gone, but all the desks and chairs and tables were in place. Total ghost ship in downtown San Francisco. I could have furnished a couple of offices had I cared to go find a truck.
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