Years ago, a buddy who works at Google gave me a Google-branded fleece jacket. As garments go, it's cheap. Holes developed in both pockets pretty much immediately, and any use results in my maneuvering keys and change around its interior, homing in on the pockets, like seals to a breathing hole.
I'd worn it in Seattle for years, and no one cared. No one here is impressed by someone who presumably works at Google. You can't swing a dead cat without its corpse donning a free jacket branded by Google, Microsoft or Amazon.
Then I wore it in Pittsburgh.
"Do you work at Google?!" said the hot 28 year old, panting.
"Do you work at Google?!" said the hot 28 year old, panting.
"Do you work at Google?!" said the hot 28 year old, panting.
"Do you work at Google?!" said the hot 28 year old, panting.
One nice thing about the consistency of the behavior: I got to copy and paste.
It didn't take me long to learn to abuse the magic fleece. I started texting my Google buddy. "Holy shit, thank you. Seriously. Thank. You."
"Really?" was his incredulous response to my reports. Deep down, I know he was looking at flights. On DuckDuckGo.
I spent yesterday in Bremerton, WA. Although most of you would probably consider it Seattle, it is not. It's a blue-collar navy town, and, well, as I went out the door, my hand went from my favorite fleece to the magic one. Just in case.
"Do you work at Google?!" said the hot 28 year old at the auto dealership.
"YES. YES, I MOST CERTAINLY DO," I said, feigning sheepishness by digging my toe into the ground coquettishly.
And so we talked for a good 40 minutes. Around minute 39, she mentioned her husband. I looked at her left hand again. Nope, still no ring.
Angry about her deception, I excused myself. Some people have no fuckin' integrity.