“Mike, this is the third time I’ve received a message from JX_DTWN,” Jared grumbled. “I think it might be spam.” He scowled at the screen, rereading the post from Nextdoor. Drumming his fingers on the desk, he looked up at a poster hanging over his side of a shared desk, which read, “Life would be so much easier if I had the source code.”

“Spam?” Mike laughed. “Jared, you’ve been watching too many conspiracy theorist videos. There is no way it’s spam. Send me the link to it, and I’ll take a look.”  

“But his content, it’s ridiculous! This guy is a storyteller, yeah?” Jared’s fingers rapidly copied and pasted the link, sending it via the messaging application both programmers shared. “And what’s worse is he’s talking about things I don’t care about, like God, relationships,” he looked in Mike’s eyes, “corporate America, something you and I know all about, so I . . .”

Mike interrupted him. “Wait a minute. You think it’s spam because the content isn’t something you like?” Mike laughed again. “You need to lay off Scooter’s espressos, dude.” Mike turned his attention back to the computer screen. The office partners shared a space, each with their own desk. The two programmers spent hours every day building the software to open and close processing links from point-of-sales access points. Mike and Jared were specifically working on which portals would feed into which accounts. Before Gyzeig Development’s (pronounced ‘guy-zeeg’) involvement Mike and Jared worked programming switches that opened and closed magna-locking doors. Mike found the project challenging, especially dedicating data flow at specific times throughout the United States. Jared built the software package, programming and installing it remotely. Mike, meanwhile, focused on directing all the POS systems to thirty-six different servers that would deposit those transactions into fifteen different bank accounts, finally funneling it to one account. Both programmers felt empowered working on their part of the project, scheduled to be completed in six months. Over a thousand different programmers and engineers worked on the development and launch. Each POS system continued to work independently of a centralized system until the project was complete. That’s why Gyzeig’s push to consolidate the system was so important.  

“Yeah! It’s spam, Mike. I’m going to mark it as spam.” Jared’s finger hovered above his mouse, still debating whether or not he should press the button marked ‘report content as spam.’

“Dude. I can’t read that fast. Just give me a second to read through this before you do that.” Mike, clicking on the link, read through various posts from Storytelling Yo!, the pirate storyteller who posted everything from God to the humor in politics to straight-up fiction stories with a hint of melodrama without a single instance of profanity. Then, without Jared knowing, he scanned through the Nextdoor reasons for reporting a post, which included profanity and harmful activity. “Um, I’d wait to challenge this creator’s postings,” Mike said. “It says here that you can be banned for false reporting.”

“But it’s not false if I don’t like it,” Jared said.

Mike shook his head and threw up his hands. “Jared, nothing about his content violates Nextdoor’s spam or harmful activity guidelines.” He looked over his computer screen to his partner, saying, “But, hey. It’s your account, dude. Do as you like. I’m telling you right now, if you report it as spam? Worse case? You will get banned. Or they may decide to community violate you, suspending you from viewing or posting any content yourself.”

“I can get around community guideline violations,” Jared said.

“We don’t get around community guideline violations, Jared. It’s part of the agreement you signed with Gyzeig. No illegal activities. That includes ‘working around’ community guideline violations.” Mike clicked the windows on Nextdoor closed, removed his glasses rubbing his eyes. “Dude, let’s go get some food. I can’t look at this screen for another minute.”

Mike scowled at his coworker, finger still hovering over the mouse. “What are you thinking?” Mike asked. “Not Chinese again,” he replied, clicking the mouse, reporting the post.

“What about that Indian place? It’s fast, quick, and close. No traffic. No driving.” Jared stood up and stretched. “Come on, let’s go there.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mike answered, locking the computer, smiling.

Jared shook his head. “Seriously, Mike? You sent it?”

“I had to!” Mike exclaimed. It was loud enough that the other ten programmers, whose fingers were flying over their keyboards, stopped. Each looked for the person who shouted, popping up like meerkats in Africa or groundhogs in South Dakota. Not seeing anything, they went back to work, clicking away.

Jared shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”