I throw another log onto the fire. I’m not sure we really need it – it’ll be warm enough all night long. Out here in Palm Springs, it’s only bearable when the sun sets anyway. The fire simply gives us something to watch while we wait.
Bill Gates is due for dinner. Most of the other guests have already arrived, so he should be next. Or the one after.
I poke the fire. Sparks fly. It’s been a few good hours now, and I still haven’t decided.
Do I shake his hand, or kick him in the fork?
This was about ten years ago. I’d never suggest or condone violence in any form these days. Hell, even then I wouldn’t really. So let’s moderate the language.
Do I shake his hand heartily, welcome him like an old friend, thank him for all he’s done for my career, and propose my next big idea? Or do I ignore him, snub him, turn the other cheek?
I should clarify my position. I don’t have dinner with billionaires. That doesn’t happen. I’m really not that kind of guy.
I’m here on holiday. Vacation, if you will. I’m visiting an old friend from London, who is originally from Perth, who is currently working as a hot air balloon pilot in Palm Desert. And in the evenings, he works as a parking valet at The Reserve, an exclusive golf club in Palm Springs. And, since I’ve got nothing else to do, I’m here to help.
I say “parking valet” to emphasise that I’m using the American meaning of “valet”. Someone who parks your car. Not the English meaning, which you might be familiar with from Downton Abbey, of someone who dresses you in the morning.
To make this slightly more bizarre, I can’t actually drive. No license. Never even sat behind the wheel. I’m opening the car door, welcoming them, opening the restaurant door, that kind of thing. Oh, and I get to drive the golf cart, ferrying my fellow valets back from the car park. This is a nice place – you expect your valet to be fast. This is a classy place – even the valets have a little nook with a fireplace.
When I arrived, they told me Bill Gates was booked for dinner. Yes, that Bill Gates. That one.
Obviously I was somewhat in awe. He was, I believe, the richest man in the world at the time. And I’d been working with his software for years. My job, my life, was founded upon it.
And yet, that brought so much trauma. I was out here for a much-needed break. I’d been fighting poorly implemented APIs, buggy applications, incomprehensible error codes, absent or irrelevant documentation, and that blasted comedy paperclip. In no small way did I hate this software as much as I loved it. I should snub this man for all the suffering he put me through.
But what a wasted opportunity. I should be pitching an idea. I’ve got maybe 20 seconds with the most powerful man in technology. I’ve got to plant a thought in his head, one that will distract him over dinner, so that he’ll emerge with a warm smile and an offer of partnership.
All I needed now was the idea.
Ideas are funny things. After a few pints, or several sleepless hours, your mind is full of amazing, wonderful, life-changing, world-changing, revolutionary ideas. When you’re put on the spot, nothing.
Fast forward to the future, and hindsight brings the answers. I could’ve pitched Twitter. Facebook. Myspace. The cloud. Groupon. Well, maybe not Groupon. Instagram. The iPhone. I could’ve begged him to continue development of IE.
If you were put on the spot, right here, right now – could you pitch? What’s your idea? Are you ready?
I wasn’t ready, but that was ok. Bill never showed up.
The other guys were fine with it. Apparently he’s not a big tipper.
Since then of course, he’s donated most of his wealth to charity. Seems like a generous tip to me. I’d heartily shake his hand. Or fist bump. Or whatever he’d prefer.
And he tweets. I build the software he uses every day. That’s pretty awesome.
Maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t show.