About us – programmers

Back in 97 I started working for an IT consulting company in Virginia. It was my first well-paying job in the US. Before that I mopped floors, made French fries, and studied English. This IT firm was doing well. They were stable and kept hiring new personnel. They offered me a job as an admin – perhaps on account of my smelling of burgers and grease or perhaps on account of my seriously fudged resume and the fact that the previous admin was moving out of town for family reasons. About a month later, he said a couple of words to me in Russian, crossed himself, gave me a bottle of vodka, and left. From that point I became the lead admin.

Russian Bride anyone?

A couple of years ago there was this guy working in my office. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say he moved to the US from Africa. A tall and lean gentleman, quite possibly a runner. As luck would have it he was also bald, bug-eyed, of moderate to above average ugliness, and forty five years old.

Lafawnda

What do Coca Cola, a large selection of chicken hot dogs, a tall black woman with long fingernails, a three year old strawberry blonde in a pink dress, and 10 dollar bill have to do with each other? Very simple. The word that binds them all together is “Lafawnda”. Keep reading.

Pastry Chef

Kid loses his parents age nine. At ten starts living on the street. Shortly after, starts dealing – anything and everything – including heavy stuff. By age sixteen specializing in ganja. Does well for himself. At eighteen is sentenced to two years. Gets out at twenty three and starts dealing heroin. Goes to jail again at twenty four. Gets out when he is thirty. Keeps dealing and starts dabbling in guns and ammo. At thirty-three gets a serious conviction, leaves behind a wife and six little kids.

Gets out at fifty. Decides he is too old for this shit and gets what’s left of the family back together – two of the six kids that aren’t behind bars or haven’t yet kicked the bucket. Goes to school and gets a degree.

Today sells pastries and owns three or four bakeries. If you ask him: “How’s life?”, always answers: “The only difference between dealing drugs and selling sugar is that you don’t go to jail for selling sugar.”

Successful.
Has new bridgework.
Donates to charities.

Love

With all these getting laid stories I can’t help but think of a scrawny little Mexican hombre who lives around here and is always walking around bruised up and looking like he just got the crap kicked out of him. He is the maintenance/ garbage man in the area. Nicest guy you’ll ever meet – seriously – terrific worker. The bruises are kinda weird though.