Live from: Elizabeth Holmes’ mansion
I’m just kidding, I’m not in Elizabeth Holmes’ mansion. But wouldn’t you like me a little more if I were?
No, Reader, while I do not currently reside at the Theranos CEO’s 135 million dollar estate, I am in San Francisco and yesterday I (read: my Hot IT Boyfriend™) paid $15 for a six-pack of beer and that’s close enough.
Everything here is so expensive and everyone is so much more practical than me, it’s left me wishing I would have studied something in college that required me to, like, take an exam. I’m smart. I could’ve been a hot girl who studied computers or bones or whatever. But alas, my interests were too niche and I was too good at them and now, I am unemployed.
That said, I have learned a thing or two from Ms. Holmes’ peers here in the Bay. And quite frankly, I am ecstatic to pass along my revelations.
Picture this.
My Hot IT Boyfriend™ and I are sitting outside of a coffee shop. He’s drinking a $6 bottle of juice and doing his Job (not sure what it is) while I’m on my fifth cold brew of the day and being, like, super wistful. The table behind us is so loud I literally can’t even focus on spiraling into unbridled panic nor the Taylor Swift blaring through my AirPods.
It begins with a man in a suit and a woman in a Patagonia, as all great epics do.
Two more men approach. They possess an uncanny resemblance to the baseball players from my 101-level history class I took junior year of college. They both have backpacks. Everyone has a backpack. Reader, literally everyone. Two more men walk up. I’ve lost count by now. So many men. So many backpacks.
Please, hear me clearly when I say, every single person who walked up to that table introduced themselves as a CEO.
You may have the same questions that I did at this point. I’ll ask them for both of us.
Did the table full of CEO’s plan to congregate outside of this knock-off Starbucks in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon, or are they merely drawn there like moths to a flame?
If the pack of CEO’s planned on congregating ahead of time, did they not think to, like, book a conference room? Or perhaps simply meet at a regular Starbucks?
What sort of economic and innovative tidal wave must be in the works for an entire hoard of CEO’s to require face-to-face contact so immediately, so abruptly, that a conference room could not be booked?
Or, is it possible, that the term CEO is so general, so meaningless that literally anyone can be one?
Would it not stand to reason then, that if everyone is a CEO, that no one is a CEO?
Reader, I’ve done research.
For those of you who also went to liberal arts school, CEO stands for Chief Executive Officer which can be defined as “the highest-ranking person in a company or other institution, ultimately responsible for making managerial decisions.”
From that, we take the definition of “company” which is “a commercial business.”
Furthermore, the definition of “commercial” is “making or intended to make a profit.”
Do not be confused, Dear Sweet Reader. While I would love to offer my comedic timing and generous public service announcements for free, I have to buy Pinot Grigio somehow, and while I have yet to make my first million, I fully intend to make a profit here at The Village Idiot someday.
Divide by 7, carry the 2, and I would gander to say that I am the CEO of The Village Idiot.
Anyway, that’s all the math I can stomach for today. Fingers crossed I make it out of Silicon Valley without doing something brash, like buying a vest or starting a company. That said, I am brash at my very core. It’s one of my favorite things about me. So I make no promises.
XOXO
- The Village Idiot