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Dystopian tales of that time when I sold out to Google

I will do something I normally never do here, and make my first ever blog post on the topic of, long sigh: tech. I’ve already talked abou...

The offices were all gaudy in Google colours with vinyl flooring, full of fridges with free snacks; the break room had the latest Playstation with brand-new high-tech Rock Band controllers; when you joined in you got a small bonus to buy toys for your desk (most Engineers got legos, I got a pink Kirby plushie I would dress up). Google's “organising the information of the world” turned out to be indexing which Gaza families to bomb, children and all; “making money in the free market to invest in social change” was about bankrolling literal, textbook fascism. I was such a sucker for things like this, I was so entranced by the food variety and the socialisation and the festive atmosphere, that it took me a long time to think of Bretch's question (“All those feasts—who did the dishes?”).⁴ Belatedly I realised that none of the dishwashers would think of Friday afternoons like, “graças a Deus é sexta-feira”.

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