//|\\ mark marino \\|//
Microsoft Brain
I was guest in Mr. Carlyle’s office one day. He and the other corporate suits were discussing an issue in the processing department. Apparently one of the computer technicians stopped speaking English. All he kept saying was “Fix the hub, somebody has to fix the hub!”
Apparently no one else knew what he was talking about as the office hubs were all working fine. When questioned further he went into some kind of weird fit where broke down and actually cried while clutching a picture in his wallet. It had become the digital high speed story through the whole company and it all took place while I was waiting impatiently for the boss’s robotic signature on an order form.
Behind me the door suddenly swung open and crashed against a file cabinet. Two men were trying to casually wrestle the broken up technician into the office.
“Larry has lost it sir, we should call somebody.”
When I heard the name I saw the technicians Name Tag, it read Larry Warner in a bragging shimmer of gold across red plastic. His suit looked outdated, something I’d never wear. His hair looked untouched and clumped together in spots and his overall greasy appearance made him seem more of a mess. Tears were streaming slowly from his face He dangled to his knees by the arms of the two neck tied apes holding him off the floor. Mr. Carlyle made two phone calls without even moving his head, one was to a doctor so Larry would get checked out and the other I wasn’t sure of until another man joined us in the office.
Upon a strangers entrance he immediately began explaining that Larry has a history of stress related episodes where he all he’ll do is speak poetry. Mr. Carlye demanded a closer explanation as he made the man come all the way around his desk and spoke just inches apart. Leaning over the front counter I heard them talking about Larry.
“Did you say to me that he speaks poetry? He’s talking about a hub being broken. That’s computer talk, not poetry. What the hell is really wrong with him?” Mr. Carlye demanded.
”Sir you don’t know Larry, in fact none of us know him. We knew when we hired him that he had problems with this poetry thing because that’s what his Dr. told us but he’s the best and most efficient technician in the department, he practically is a computer. That’s all he knows, so his poetry is probably in his computer language. He’s like a machine. The man explained.
It was around then I noticed Larry kneeling pathetically on the floor. In his
grip he clutched small pocket sized picture and held it desperately close to
his face as he hung limp in the grasp of higher ups. I tried to be cool as I
took a step sideways so I could see the picture. I didn’t want to seem
intrusive. From where I stood, the picture Larry held looked like a woman and
her family standing on the doorstep of her house. I turned back to the office
where Carlyle and Larry’s colleague continued addressing the matter.
It wasn’t long before a tall man who looked like the stage Doctor on a bad soap opera walked in and immediately began examining Larry. Everyone in the office gathered in the doorway where Larry laid on the floor being administered. I approached Mr. Carlyle to see if I could get his signature and slip out on my way as the situation seemed stuck on itself anyway. He seemed to feel the same way as he scribbled his name for me, but then he asked the just arriving Doctor what the problem with Larry the technician was.
“… and don’t tell me he’s speaking poetry!” Mr. Carlyle added rudely.
The Doctor seemed like a patient man, he picked Larry up off the floor, and you could see the familiarity of the Doctor in Larry’s eyes. The Doctor carefully took the picture from him and placed on a countertop like it was precious gold.
“Well sir, I don’t really have time to explain Larry Warner to you, but if I had to venture a guess I’d say he was indeed speaking poetry sir. A look at this picture might tell you he’s in despair over a woman and her family. He’s complaining about a hub because a hub is piece of software that connects everyone to one source of communication. He’s so in tuned to thinking like a computer that it’s all he has left to express himself. Larry’s Hub is broken Mr. Carlyle, he’s lost his connection and he needs someone to fix it. That’s poetry.”
Mr. Carlyle looked severely confused, but I felt like I understood better than anyone in that room. Imagine someone who’s learned to think like a computer having trouble connecting with someone else. It was as if Larry was the poster boy for a generation of people who’ve spent more of their lives staring affectionately into the depths of an office computer screen than the eyes of another human being. The perplexed _expression on the now quieted face of Mr. Carlyle made me feel like one of the higher ups. I took my signed order form and shut the door softly behind me as I walked out. I made sure to say to hello to Larry the poet every time I saw him from then on.