I envisioned attendance by a whole range of techies: coders, testers, engineers, founders, angel investors, even help desk analysts. All of them shaking hands, exchanging business cards, forming connections that could benefit them in their present situations, as well as far into their unknown futures. It would be respectful and uplifting and entirely devoid of dick pics.
At Whit’s suggestion, I posted notices on Meetup, Craigslist, EventBrite, and about a dozen other forums frequented by New York City techies. Advertised as a “low-key, informal networking event to connect like-minded individuals in the tech sphere,” the inaugural New York Techie Support Network meetup was held at 6:00 p.m., on Thursday, May tenth, at that unpopular FiDi watering hole, The Barley House.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: I picked The Barley House for its proximity to Alex’s apartment, and the fact that he told me he hung out there all the time.
And you’re right. I did.
While I’d been tremendously preoccupied these past couple of weeks with developing inPerson and planning a tech meetup, I’d also experienced silent moments of sadness for everything that happened with Alex. They were fleeting, but still painful, knowing I’d wrecked what could’ve been wonderful because I’d chosen internet rumors over an honest conversation.
He still hadn’t responded to my text message apology, and since I didn’t want to seem like a pathetic loser, I never sent another one. Running into him in person was my only hope of a reconciliation.
But the venue had other perks, too. Like the fact that it was always half-empty, and therefore easily able to accommodate an influx of networking techies. Also, Alex said the Hatchlings never came here, so even if nobody showed, I’d at least be able to avoid an unpleasant encounter with one of my ex-coworkers.
Ten minutes before six, I installed myself on a barstool—the same one I’d sat in that night Brandon from Brooklyn stood me up, actually—and waited for the first guests to arrive.
At 6:15, I was still sitting alone, overcome with a sickly sense of déjà vu. Perhaps this barstool was cursed, sentencing whoever sat on it to an evening of humiliation and abandonment. A ridiculous notion, but at this point, I wasn’t willing to take any chances. As casually as possible, I slid over to the next seat. And like magic, my curse was lifted.
“Melanie?”
A young woman was standing behind me, her big brown eyes shining with both excitement and trepidation.
“Hi there.” I smiled and held out my hand. She shook it firmly.
“I’m Priya,” she said. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. Have a seat.” I pointed to the barstool beside me—the noncursed one.
“Thanks for organizing this. When I saw you were the one hosting this meetup, I knew I had to come. What you did with JerkAlert was so awesome. You’re, like, my role model.”
The idea that someone I’d never met looked to my sad little life as an example to be emulated was enough to make me burst out into a fit of giggles. Priya seemed crestfallen, though, so I quickly swallowed my laughter.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You don’t understand how crazy that sounds to me. I’m not exactly cut out to be anyone’s role model.”
“Are you kidding me? You started your own website, by yourself, from your bedroom, and impacted thousands of people from all over the world in the span of a few short weeks. That’s the kind of achievement I can only dream about.”
When she said it like that, I guess it did sound sort of impressive.
“That’s really nice of you to say,” I said. “I assure you, though, it’s something you can most definitely achieve. If I can do it, so can you. What’s your story, Priya? Where do you work?”
“Right now, I’m a full-time student. I’m a comp sci major at NYU, and I just finished up my junior year. I came here hoping to make some connections in the industry. Ultimately, I’d love to find an internship to help build my résumé and gain some real-world experience before graduation.”
“I’m so glad you came,” I said, thinking that if I had attended a meetup like this when I was still an undergrad, maybe I wouldn’t have settled for the first job offer I got. Maybe I’d have built a network that would’ve helped me chase my dreams from the very start.
Just then, a gaggle of women walked into the bar. They approached Priya and me with open smiles and extended hands, and as we exchanged introductions, even more people began to file in. Mostly women, but a few men, too. As the hours passed, the crowd continued to grow, slowly and steadily. Alex never did show, but it was hard to become too disheartened when I was surrounded by so much positive energy.
The focus of the event was networking, getting to know people and sharing contact information. But it also provided an excellent opportunity for me to perfect my inPerson elevator pitch. People kept coming up to me and asking me what the app was like, how it worked, or when it would be available, so there was plenty of time for me to practice what I’d already prepared and retool what wasn’t really working. By the end of the night, I had all my talking points down pat. Which would come in handy when it was time to seek funding from investors.
I just hadn’t been expecting that time to come so soon.
It was almost eight o’clock. The crowd was thinning and people were wrapping up, exchanging business cards and entering new numbers into their phones. I was paying my tab at the bar, credit card in hand, when I heard someone say my name.
“Ms. Strickland?”
I turned around to see a tall woman with a chic, short afro and striking red lips. She was a bit older than most of the other attendees, and a bit more sophisticated, too. From the tailored fit of her suit jacket, I could tell she was someone important.
“Yes, I’m Melanie Strickland.”
“My name is Tisha Cole. I’m a managing director at FirstBrand Capital.”
It took every last ounce of my strength to keep from collapsing in a fit of squeals. FirstBrand was a huge venture capital firm, famous for funding early stage start-ups, which they then ushered to untold heights of success. One of their first ventures recently secured an additional hundred-million-dollar round of funding, with a valuation of over a billion dollars.
A billion dollars.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m here tonight because I’ve read a lot about you and your work. I appreciate what you’re doing with this meetup, and I’m interested in hearing more about inPerson. Can you tell me a little bit about where you got the idea from and how it functions?”
This was it. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. The chance to pitch one-on-one to a big-time investor who could change my life as I knew it.