“We were wondering if we could have one final interview with you on-site.”
“On-site?”
“Yes, here in Puerto Rico. We’d fly you out.”
“So, I’d come out, talk to you in person, and then fly back and then wait to hear if I got the job?”
“It’s not that big of a deal. No passport required even.”
By this point in the conversation I had already looked up flights to San Juan, which were around ten hours nonstop, and said, “I don’t actually know where you are in Puerto Rico.”
“That’s a little complicated, but you don’t have to worry about travel, that’s all been handled. If you’re interested in continuing the conversation, we’d like you to fly out tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I said immediately, without thinking.
“I know that’s sudden, but we only have two speeds here, complete standstill and extremely fast. We have a flight booked for you from SFO to Miami, we’ll pick you up there.”
“You’ll pick me up?”
“Yes, our campus isn’t close to the San Juan airport, so we’ve chartered a flight for you from Miami. A few other recruits will be joining you. We’ll email you the details as soon as you confirm.”
“What if I’m not able to get away from work?”
“Your work . . .” he said, “is not so important that you should miss this.”
I didn’t say anything to that, and eventually he continued. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
I swallowed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
—
My first stop after the call was Dr. Lundgren’s office.
“They want me to fly to Puerto Rico tomorrow.”
“Good god, of course they do. Jesus, textbook asshole. I’ve been recruited before, and it’s either done honestly and thoughtfully, or it’s done like a magic trick. This is the magic-trick kind. They’re starting by knocking you off balance, they’ll continue by impressing the shit out of you. Then they’ll send you back home without any real information to wait for their shitty offer.”
“Do you think I’ll find out anything useful there?”
“In an interview? No. It’ll all be standard. They’re looking for competence and communication and ‘cultural fit.’” If you can ever get yourself a no-nonsense mentor like Dr. Lundgren, NEVER LET THEM GO.
“Ugh, I get the feeling that I’m not going to have the best vibe with these people.”
“No, but you get what they’re about, and you can fake it.” She had a glint in her eye I’d never seen before. “And, Miranda, they’ll take your phone from you the moment you arrive. They’re not idiots. Go get a prepaid cell phone and text me the number, just in case you want to take quick photos or ask me questions. You don’t want to be completely isolated.”
—
In Miami, I was shuffled away from the main airport by a man holding a sign that read “Beckwith.” We took his car to a separate tiny airport that was somehow hiding just outside the big airport. It had free coffee and cookies and big TVs and comfy leather armchairs. There were no gates, just a pair of sliding glass doors that opened onto the tarmac.
I dragged my roller bag over the tiled floor, looking at the handful of other people lounging around the airport. There was a family with two young children, a couple pilots sharing a coffee, a couple guys in business suits, and two guys in their late twenties watching cable news and chatting. I felt like it wasn’t impossible that they were also headed to Altus, so I walked toward them.
And then Dr. Everett Sealy’s bald head came around a corner. He locked eyes with me, and his face cracked into a smile.
“We’re all here!” he declared. “Miranda, this is Sid”—he gestured to a well-built, handsome East Asian guy—“and this is Paxton”—he nodded toward a kinda scrawny white guy, his brown hair poking out from under a gray knitted beanie. We all shook hands, and Dr. Sealy, who looked like he’d just received a Christmas present, continued, “No need to waste any more time, let’s get going!”
The pilots who had been sitting with their coffee then stood up, smiling, and introduced themselves to me, having apparently already met the rest of the crowd. One of the pilots said, “If you want to use the restroom, now is a good time. There’s a head on the plane, but it’s a bit awkward in there.”
So there was some toilet time, which I also used to freshen my face a bit, and then we walked through the doors and up to a private jet.
A. Private. Jet.
I kept waiting to go through security, but apparently that isn’t a thing if you own the plane. I took a moment to watch Sid and Paxton’s reactions, which were both suitably wide-eyed. Likewise, I watched Dr. Sealy watch them, his head gleaming in the sun. He looked genuinely happy to be giving some young people a cool and unique experience, though that could easily have been because he was excited to see his plan to impress us was working.
In the end, private planes are like planes but smaller. There was more leg room, and there were unlimited snacks. Two of the seats faced forward and two faced back, so we were all looking at each other the whole flight. That made it so we pretty much had to chat. Luckily, Dr. Sealy was good at keeping everything from getting awkward.
First he got us to open up about what we did for work. Knit-hat-wearing Paxton worked on machine learning algorithms. Well-built Sid had been working for a software company doing design and what they called “UX” or “user experience.” Basically, he figured out what the software would actually look like and how best to guide the user around inside of it.
I was definitely the youngest person in the plane.
“So,” Dr. Sealy said after I’d finished explaining my research, “what do you all think Altus is up to?”
“I didn’t think you’d want us speculating in front of each other,” I said, surprising myself a little.
“Not at all! Obviously you’ve all been thinking about it.
