Darusha Wehm - Packet Trade

O ne final question , Ms. Jones, and I want you to give us your gut reaction. Dont think about it, just say the first thing that comes to mind.

So far the internship interview had been tough, but more or less what Id expected. Id done the research. I watched the YouTube videos. I knew about Googles unanswerable questions and the lose-lose scenarios. I thought I was prepared.

The board of three interviewers were professional and they obviously knew the technical minutia of running a database cluster. It reminded me more of a final exam designed to fail half the class than anything else. That was fine. I knew my way around a database better than anywhere else, and I could talk tech until I ran out of breath. And it wasnt terribly strange that none of us knew who the company was that was running the interviews. This could be a secretive industry.

The Computer Science department vouched for them, and Anwar, my semantic web TA, had a total gleam in his eye when I told him Id been chosen to interview. Hed had this internship himself a few years back and all hed say about it was that it was the best thing ever. It was the most desirable interview of them all; maybe the secrecy was part of the allure. Even so, I should have known something was up after that final question.

The interviewer, a forty-something Native American woman in a power suit, leaned in toward me and I forgot to breathe.

Pirates or ninjas?

What? I still dont know why I said what I did. I wonder what would have happened if Id gone the other way. Would I be sitting in some hotel lounge in Tokyo instead of a beach bar in Nicaragua?

I wasnt looking for adventure; I certainly wasnt trying to change my life. Sometimes when things happen it all feels random and its only later that you say, That was it that was the thing that made all the difference. But then sometimes its obvious from the start that youve entered an entirely different world.

This was one of the obvious times. Condensation pooled on the plastic tablecloth at the base of the unfamiliar beer bottle. I watched as a droplet formed out of nowhere, growing until gravity took it and it rolled down the Toa label to become part of the puddle. There was a drop of sweat following the same pattern down my back. I didnt want to think about where it was ending up.

It felt like Id been sweaty forever. It didnt seem to matter how many lukewarm showers I took, I never felt clean. I knew it was mostly humidity but it was gross. I hadnt been this hot since wed gone to India to visit my grandparents old village, but Id only been seven. No soggy bra making me feel like I was wearing a wet rag around my chest.

I picked up my beer, enjoying the cool of the bottle in my hand. I dont even like beer, but cerveza is one of the four Spanish words I know, and doing the exchange between crdobas and dollars in my head told me the beer was cheap. Id been here a couple of days they told me to make some room in my itinerary for missed connections, so I had.

I was only in Managua long enough to find my way from the airport to the bus station, where Id boarded what must be the fanciest bus ever made. There were attendants wearing what looked like 1970s stewardess uniforms. If I hadnt been so groggy, I might have wondered if I was hallucinating. The reckless driving of the conductor was real enough, though. I nodded off for a while in the plush seats, then after what seemed like no time I was disgorged in the bustling metropolis of San Juan del Sur.

I dont know what I expected, but the few tidy blocks of bars, restaurants, hostels and surf gear stores that made up the town wasnt it. A loud laugh from the next table startled me, and I looked over at a group of surfers probably Americans. I looked down at the skinny legs sticking out of my khaki shorts, the battered paperback soaking up the condensation on the tablecloth, the hand-me-down duffel bag at my feet.

What the hell was I doing here? I slugged on the beer and tried to ignore its lemonade-gone-bad taste.

A shadow fell over me and I looked up. It was much brighter outside than it was in the bar and I couldnt make out the person blocking the light.

Are you Jones? Uh, Duh-vie Jones? It wasnt the worst attempt at my first name Id ever heard, and at least he tried.

Thats me, I said, and its Devi. Like the boys name.

Davy? he echoed and I thought I caught a smile forming on his face.

Yeah. Are you the captain?

No. The smile fully blossomed. He moved out of the sun and I got a look at him. Late twenties, maybe. Blond hair, deep tan, but he somehow didnt look anything like the surfer dudes that filled the beaches and hostels here. Im the mate, Isaac. Skippers talking to the Capitana getting your paperwork settled. Was I supposed to know what that meant? Was I supposed to have done something? He didnt say anything else about it, instead he looked down at my bag. Thats all your stuff?

I nodded. My heart started to bang, the sound of blood rushed in my head and I realized that this was it. I was really doing this. I was going to get on a boat with a stupid name and a bunch of strangers and sail away. I dont know if panic showed in my face, but Isaac didnt look fazed.

Glad to see someone who actually follows the instructions. You wouldnt believe the stuff some of the people weve had come through have tried to bring aboard. The Bucket aint a cruise ship. He looked at the battered watch on his wrist. Well be heading out next morning, but its good to have a night aboard before we get under way. You checked out of your hostel already?

Yeah, I said, fighting the urge to run.

Well, he said, we can get going any time you want. Though, if its okay with you, Ive got a mad hankering for a cheeseburger and this place does a good one. You mind if I get a bite before we go?

Um, sure?

Great! Want anything? My stomach wasnt happy at all with the half a beer Id drunk, and the thought of a burger did nothing to help, but I was really thirsty and there was no way I was finishing that beer.

You think they have some kind of juice?

He laughed and said, Oh, yeah. They have all the juice. Any preference?

Anything but apple.

Gotcha. He ambled off and I watched him talk to the woman behind the bar in easy Spanish.

This whole thing wasnt like me at all. I wasnt ever one of those kids who was scared of the roller coaster or jumping off the high diving board, but the thought of taking a year off to go backpacking around Europe never appealed. If someone had told me ten months ago that Id be sitting in a bar in Nicaragua with a man Id never met before, watching him devour a burger before getting on a sailboat where I was going to spend the next nine months well. I probably would have rolled my eyes and walked away. And yet, here I was, watching Isaac eat while I drank the best tasting glass of juice Id ever had.