I have forgotten everything I once knew about advent. I know there are candles and a wreath and pink and purple are the important colors in the weeks leading up to Christmas, but I’ve forgotten what those symbols mean—the greater significance of the season. These externalities are more ritual, stair steps to cue me. I must get to my candy making, and tree cutting, and Christmas-Eve crab wrangling. The house will get scoured so that it can be filled with people. Presents will get bought, and my wallet will grow thin and the days will grow short.
The darkness will set in.
The building was beige. The logo out front spoke with an architectural-fortitude, blocky and blue. It conveyed trust and solidity. The orderly cubicles contained the worker bees, every one of us in our allotment of the honeycomb. Directors had a double wide because they were special, but not too special. Vice Presidents and above were in an office. The meticulous grounds spoke with a forced fecundity rivaled only by the finest PGA golf courses and the poppies of Oz. There were lots of khaki pants, blue button-down shirts, and an army of gardeners scurrying about their business.
This was Silicon Valley.