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Marketing

It was Thursday, Dec 18th, 2008.

I'd spent the past three months working on a little software project for converting eBooks from one format to another; it was meant to be a Christmas gift for my wife. I was way behind schedule. There were a lot of friends I was hoping to see over those holidays, but I just didn't seem to have time. For one friend, who I hadn't seen nearly enough of that year, I made time.

I met Ana for lunch at Fratelli's in Westboro, an Italian place I knew she liked. I told her about my project. Ana said, "I'm working on a project too, I'm doing database work. Do you have a database yet? I'll do your database for you when I get back from my vacation. Ooh ooh ooh! We have to come up with a name. That's the first thing we should do, come up with a name. No? You have a name? I don't think that's a good name. Don't worry, we'll come up with a better name."

Ana was as excited about this as I was. It was hard to get a word in edgewise. I suggested "We should quit our day jobs, make a startup of it." On the one hand, it wasn't really a serious offer; it wouldn't have made financial sense for either one of us, and Anne Marie, my wife, would have been furious with me. On the other hand, if she had said yes... I would have quit my job in a heartbeat.

Ana and I first met three years ago at Alcatel. We worked together there for a year, although it seems crazy that it could have been only a year. Ana and I took an instant liking to each other. It was no secret we were close friends; I'm sure to most people in the office we seemed almost inseparable. We'd walk into the lab together, and Luc would say "Have you two been surgically joined at the hip yet?" Ana and I actually both came down with matching wisdom tooth infections at the same time, mine on the upper left, hers on the upper right.

Working with Ana was amazing. We'd sequester ourselves away in a meeting room, sometimes for a couple of days, with a laptop and a projector, covering the walls in UML diagrams. When it came time to write class interfaces, we'd do it together, dictating to each other. That sort of "pair programming" was something I never thought I'd like, but with Ana it seemed so natural, such a joy. We'd divide the world in half, each go implement our part of the system, we'd get back together a few days later, plug it all together, and it all just worked, every time. It was magic. It was like the fairytale storybook version of Computer Science. No problem was unsolvable, no project too big, not for the two of us.

Our strengths seemed to compliment each other so well. There was many a time when Ana's almost herculean ability to organize kept us on track, where my own child-with-ADD-like organization would have led us astray.

I've heard more than one person say they'll always remember the long conversations they had with Ana. For me, those conversations happened on our daily bike ride home. Some days the only reason I woke up in the morning and went to work was so I could bike home with Ana in the evening. That was the best part of every day. She was a brilliant woman and no matter where the subject strayed, from ancient cultures to astrophysics, she always had something interesting to say. Often we'd get to the fork in the bike path, where I was supposed to go one way and she the other, and we'd just stop there and keep on chatting, road hazards to the other cyclists. I often told Ana I wouldn't trade those evening rides for all the world.

On one of those rides home, Ana shared a story with me, that I'd like to share with all of you. As a young girl in Serbia, Ana of course had a bicycle; a bright yellow Peugot that was given to her by her father, expensive and somewhat difficult to even get in the country at that time. Ana loved that bike. Whenever she rode it, she'd bring it home and clean it. She kept it looking spotless. One day, Ana was out riding with a friend, and they came upon a group of older boys, essentially local bullies. One of them lept up onto Ana's bike, between her and the handle bars. He turned to her, and said "I'm going to steal your bike." Ana? She said "No you're not!" She threw herself at him; wrapped her arms around him so she couldn't be thrown off. Ana's friend went for help, but even had she stayed Ana was hopelessly outnumbered. The bullies peeled her off their friend, and I'm sorry to say they made off with Ana's bike.

Ana said this had taught her not to worry about mere physical possessions. It's all just stuff, and anyone can take it from you at any time, so there's no point in caring about it. I remember thinking this was an amazing story and I almost couldn't believe it. More, I couldn't believe she'd told it to me when all I'd asked was "When was the last time you cleaned that bike chain?"

I share this story with you because it demonstrates some of the values I admi

This is a bike rental place. One of the joys of cycling along the beach is getting sand all over your bike chain. So I bought a special device and some cleaner stuff, to clean my chain. (It's a bit of a gimmick - the chain goes through a machine that brushes it and wipes it, but the gunge collects in the device, and doesn't spray all over the floor which makes S shout at me).

Anyway, I bought the device, degreaser (biodegradable, natch) and cleaned and degreased my chain and made it all nice. And then I couldn't find the oil I'd bought. So I started riding to work and it made a disgusting grinding scraping sound ('cos even my lovely device couldn't get all the sand off it). I went to this bike place, and asked if he'd sell me some oil - he handed me a can, and I asked him how much. He said just spray my chain and give it back. So I did.
There are so many bike hire places that I pass that I wondered if I could get away with never buying oil, once a week or so I would go to another rental place and get another squirt of oil. By the time I'd done them all, the first place will have forgotten. However, if I ever rent a bike, it's going tobe from this place, so that squirt of oil will be paid back, massively.

Notice the funny three wheeled recumbents (single speed, very heavy, very slow).