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Glengarry Glen Google Glass

"Hello, is this Mrs. Thompson? Mrs. Thompson, this is Ol' Sergey Brin. "

"I just need the good leads. The Atherton leads."

You got any leads?

Sergey needs some leads. I gotta sell some Glass.

They're not moving. People are getting into bar fights. The protestors are at Ol' Sergey's door. They're calling us glassholes. Glassholes, can ya believe that? 

I just need the good leads. The Atherton leads. The Menlo leads. You're sending Arora out. Fine. He's a good man. We know what he is. He's fine. All I'm saying, you look at the data, he's throwing the leads away. All that I'm saying, that you're wasting leads. When I could be selling Glass.

Talk to Schmidt. You talk to him. Remember the driverless car? The wind-power kite? I brought those in. For me. Out of what? An algorithm that predicted consumer behavior based on search history and then pushed targeted advertising across platforms. That and cold calling. But mostly the algorithm.

The leads are weak. I don't need them. Ol' Sergey will just turn on the charm. The razzle-dazzle.

Ok Glass, call a random Atherton phone number.

Don't be evil, Sergey... don't be evil.

Hello, is this Mrs. Thompson? Mrs. Thompson, this is Ol' Sergey Brin. You remember Sergey, don't you? I just wanted to tell you about a fabulous opportunity—I'm not telling everyone, just you—a chance to invest in a pair of Google Glass. It's really an investment in the future.

What can it do? Well, what can't it do? Play videos. Make phone calls. Listen to music—the old cha, cha, cha. Get you thrown out of bars. You can't beat a Glass, can you? Of course not.

How many can I put ya' down for, a lot? Please say "a lot," I need this. 

Now, let's talk smudge-proofing. These Glass will smudge up on ya' like that, er... shut up, Sergey. Close the deal... close the deal.

Well, no, ma'am, we don't have what you would call a killer app yet. And yes, $1,500 does seem like quite a lot of money for something that does everything your phone already does. I understand that.

Yes...but...Mrs. Thompson, think of the disruption.

Mrs. Thompson? Mrs. Thompson?

Ok Glass, hang up.

I'm getting so much shit from Page. "Always be closing," Page says to me. "Kombucha is for closers," he tells me. "It takes brass balls to sell useless gadgets that make you look like an asshole," he tells me. I don't care if he drove in here in a $70,000 Tesla. The leads are weak. The leads are weak. Doesn't he know I still have to work out a settlement with Wojcicki? Doesn't he know I still have student loans from Stanford?

Fine. Okay. Here's the deal. For one day, just one day only Ol' Sergey is going to be selling Glass to anybody. I don't need the leads. Anybody can buy them. Anybody at all. Jocks. Hippies. Protestors. Even normcore people. Ol' Sergey just needs a break.

You code, and you debug, and you disrupt just enough for a sweet lick of that shiny brass ring...don't I get a lick? Doesn't Sergey get a lick?

Well, at least I can still get a table to eat in this town. Ok Glass, hack State Bird Provisions. Daddy needs him some quail.

 

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