Big City Lessons

It's pretty safe to say that I'm a soccer guy. And, as a soccer guy, it is also safe to say that I picked the weirdest time to relocate and completely change my living situation. The World Cup is something that comes along every four years, and for soccer people it's a time to be completely immersed in the game for a solid month. That month happened to be the same month that I began working for ATG in Seattle.

Heading into this adventure I knew that working and living in a metorpolitan area of nearly 4.2 million people would be just a little different than a life working at a great public university amongst a community of 125,000 in rural Utah. During the World Cup this summer I experienced a day that illustrated just how different life can be in the big city, and how much I have to learn about living here.

The United States Men's National Team was scheduled to play in its final group match against Algeria, kicking off at 7am local time on a Wednesday morning. The situation was fairly straight forward for the Americans - win and you advance. If the result was anything else then the Stars and Stripes would most likely go home. With such a big match I wanted to be able watch the entire thing while still getting to my desk at a reasonable time. I'm usually expected to be available at work by 9am, so the best solution for watching the game and still making it to my desk was to head up to the office by kickoff and watch the match in the ATG break room.

This plan would require catching a bus early in the six o'clock hour, which meant that I had to wake up just after 5am. Surprisingly, that happened with out a hitch. I was up and ready with ample time to make the necessary bus, which not surprisingly had several more open seats than I was used to seeing. The Westlake Center, where I work, was even more empty than the bus. And, that's kind of where the strange things began happening.

I got to the elevator just after seven, and was feeling good about my timing. I punched the button for 12 but the light for the floor didn't turn on and the carriage remained still. Someone else got into the elevator and hit the button for the 11th floor and we were off. I tried the floor 12 button a few more times before arriving at 11, but the button was obviously broken. So, I got out at 11 and tried another of the four elevators, which also produced the same result. Now, if an elevator isn't cooperating the next logical step in trying to get to your destination would be to go the old fashioned way and take the stairs, right? This idea sounded reasonable enough. After a little exploring I found a door on the 11th floor that led to a typical looking stairwell.

Skipping up the steps two at a time, and feeling I had out smarted the elevator, I reached my floor with out without breaking a sweat. I reached for the door handle to complete my journey and was met by a petrified knob that was securely locked in place. Frustrated, I retreated back to 11 only to find that door also securely closed. As I descending down the tight staircase I learned that the door on each floor was impassable from the stairwell. That is, except for the main floor, where the doors opened up to the coffee shop near the main building entrance.

Humbled by the building that had obviously beaten me, I walked back over to the bank of elevator doors resigned to the fact that I needed to ask for help. I approached a security guard who was in the middle of explaining to someone else that this early in the morning - although now not as early as I would have liked - you need a key card to go anywhere on the elevator. I stepped into the car to watch the uniformed man demonstrate swiping a card through an inconspicuous crack, and then pushing the button for a floor. After repeating these steps I reached my floor and entered the break room about 15 minutes into the match.

The game was already showing on the tv, which wasn't a complete surprise, although I was expecting more than one person to be watching. As I sat down I looked over at my fellow soccer person and discovered it was Berry, the vice president of software development, and he was on a call. He would remain on the call throughout the entire match, including when Landon Donovan dramatically knocked in the World Cup saving goal for the United States in stoppage time. When Donovan's shot hit the net I joined the rest of the country in celebrating leaping form my chair with pumping fists. I flailed. I jumped. I think I may have even spun around a few times. But, I did not make a vocal sound. Being on the job for only a few weeks I figured it would be poor form to disturb the phone call of the VP of software development, so I channelled my years working in the press box and kept my celebrations silent.

For a soccer guy, moments like Donovan's goal against Algeria will not be forgotten. Neither will the lessons learned that morning as I become more familiar with life in the big city.