I hear this wonderful question a fair bit, and I emphasize remotely in the title — most companies, even high-tech ones, will only hire for onsite, in-office positions. Not every person or every job is well-suited for working remotely from home, or as Pathfinder Linden (John Lester) and myself prefer, "networked" (since "remote" can sound… well, too distant!).
But ah, we're special. We really are.
You see, Linden Lab didn't just establish a virtual world where people can connect across the globe, no matter how physically distant — we "eat our own dog food", and try experiments in remote work for ourselves that I'm hopeful will scale and be adapted by other companies, like Cali & Jody's ROWE. This is the epitome of leading by example.
My answer to "What's it like to work remotely for Linden Lab?":
While on vacation at the hotel resort by the ocean (see my earlier post), I ordered a whole Dungeness crab. It was extremely well-prepared, with herb & veg, and the ceremonial butter sauce. It came intact, waiting for me to devour it.
I soon found myself shunning the traditional crab-cracker tool, and dug in with my teeth, rending the beast from limb to limb. The meat around the pincers had the most flavor to me, and I delighted in busting the carapace open by biting on the sides of the legs as my father had once done. I reminded myself of the envelope-opening bunny I had once seen on YouTube, only more ferocious.
My wife observed this was a rather labor-intensive meal, and I'd have to agree. Tougher than a well-done steak for sure, and one risks lacerating their fingers along the spiky edges. But definitely worth it for the experience, not just the rich taste of the meat but the feeling of dominance and conquer-ship. Too testosterone-laden?
Dancing with Matt Harding, of course! (Keep reading for the video!)
Serendipity has a funny way of teaching us life lessons: just days before on vacation, I was at the beach with my wife, dancing (like Matt) on the tidal pools. Not knowing what was yet to transpire.
The following is flash fiction for my attention span is but a thimble in a downpour of creativity.
~*~
Pekady Callflower strutted proudly, wry fingers tucked loosely under two of his four breast pockets. He grumphed loudly and turned over to his assistant-sitting-on-desk-not-on-chair, the inimitable Cereline Yost.
"News bastardology!" Callflower burst forth, his jowls and semi-chin wobbling in a self-created air of importance.
"Ahmm?" Cereline turned her head, short blonde (so light it was almost white, she thought sometimes) hair following the motions, with strands clacking into each other. (Heavy hair.)
Callflower declared: "I know this all along, and it is true. For who has the greatest respect in our country? Not kings nor queens, nay. The tail wags not the dog, either — there is an invisible person gripping the dog and shaking him, at times so hard the fleas are afraid to come aboard. What's more, this person is continually laughing!"
