The NDA I signed prohibits me from saying much about Vulcan or what I would have been working on, but I'm entitled to tell you anything freely available to the public. The gadget's too big to fit into your pocket like a PDA, yet it has a minuscule monitor and a keyboard so small you have to type with your thumbs. A perfect storm of uselessness. I kept asking what the presumed customer was for such a product. And I kept getting silly answers like "Everyone!"
The Vulcan staff I met was Very Serious. For a measly six month contract, they did a phone screen and seven, count 'em, seven in-person interviews. That was to be followed by criminal and credit checks. I wore what I wore to Katrina's wedding, and I was by far the most casually dressed person on the premises. They did not smile, did not attempt to put me at ease, did not attempt to sell me on the job or company in any way. It was several hours of me defending myself. The program manager, in particular, was utterly humorless and self important. A typical excerpt follows. Context: I'd been asked to describe the documentation creation process.
ME: "And then I work with the editor on a developmental pass—"PM (accusingly): "Where do you get this...editor?" He all but used air quotes. His tone suggested he thought I pulled the word word editor from the depths of some orifice.
ME: "Um. Kinda the same way you found me. You don't have editors on staff?"
PM (downright snide): "We're not Microsoft."
ME: "It's. Um. Not exactly a Microsoft thing. It's kinda an industry standard. In many industries."
PM: "Well, you're not getting an editor."
It was like I'd asked for a company car. A convertible. Now imagine 12 such conversations, and you have my half hour of bliss with the man. I chose the editor conversation as my example because it's precisely when I decided to pass on the job. No editor? No problem. PM masturbating on me? Big problem.
When I arrived at Vulcan, I was early, so I killed time outside the offices. I chatted with the security guard. When several hours later I returned, he asked me how it went. I paused. I reflected. "I think I hate them," I said.
He cackled guiltily, looking over his shoulder. "Me too, man. Me too."