matchmaker 98 chapter 4 matchmaker

-4-

matchmaker

Billy Young’s brother Damian is a Rocker. He makes Rock music, which is as Twenty Cent as you can get, but it creates a good background for the hacking mind, and Billy loves it. Not because it’s his brother’s work, despite it. It’s got a true sixties Backbeat, and a real Fuzz guitar line, played buy a guy Damian found in Moscow. They’re backward enough in Russia, thank god. Of course you can never be sure this guy IS from Moscow, he could be from San Jose, but that’s what he says, and it sounds good enough. The sound, that is. Who cares where the guy’s from as long as he comes up with the right stuff.

Bottom line: It sounds good.  Not that any of the neighbors share that opinion.

 

Matchmaker. This should be the name of this thing.  And this thing is going to take over the world. Either that or a total flop. There’s no in-between, and that’s just fine with young Billy Young. He points a browser at Matchmaker.com. Just what he thought. A Twenty cent matchmaking service. Yak. A couple of million, maybe ten. To buy the domain, that is. Chickenshit.

He looks at his creation, staring down at him from monitor 1:

 

It’s definitely in the COOL class. In fact, it’s in the So Cool It’s HOT class. It’s nothing to look at, really. Low tech. Twenty Cent  look and feel. But here’s a thought. Who cares what something looks like  when it’s so early in it’s life span.  Java was a piece of crap to start with, a little cartoon fella named Duke. Look where it’s now. Mosaic wasn’t much of a looker either. Windows was a dud in the beginning. Bill Gates was a spotty kid with dandruff problem. So were Bob Smith and Tim Quinn, his Agency buddies. And SS – Structured Surfing – what Smith and Quinn became famous and filthy rich for, sounded – and looked – like a Civil engineering job. It still does, but you look at it and go: “I wish I thought of that earlier”

And you kick yourself. Hard. On the butt. Which is quite difficult, technically, when you think about. Not that technically difficult stuff ever worried Billy Young. If he needs to kick himself on the butt he will, trust him.

Matchmaker is a Java application that looks a little like an old Win 3.xx. thing. Like Billy used to play with on his toy machine when he was seven, in the mid Nineties. His big brother, Damian, five years his senior, got a brand new Pentium Pro for his birthday and the old 486 dud, not even a Win 95 on it, went straight to the toddler’s room. Billy loves the old look and feel of the older ,Twenty Cent, Windows versions. Try to run it under EGUI, and it  Errorizes. With EGUI – that’s Elastic Graphical User Interface for you Twenty Cents out there – you can see as little as you like of any clickable object on the screen. You can have menus squeezed so you see only the first two or three letters, very narrowly, only to stretch when the cursor comes near. Or the whole screen becomes a giant Fisheye. Move the cursor about the screen and the area you point at grows large. Keep the pointer and it grows larger. And larger. So you can keep the whole Yahoo directory on one screen. Move the cursor fast enough and you get a headache. But you can really cram things into an EGUI screen. No need for endless clicking and drilling, it’s all there in front of your eyes, and the more you know your App – or the sites/s you’re logged to – the less you need to see of anything. You just know that little dot on the left hand corner is the tip of the letter A which is the beginning of the Advanced… item. Just click on it. It will expand when the cursor comes near but you don’t even notice. If you know your Apps. So of course eventually EGUI will be plastered upon this. But later. First things first.

Billy looks at Matchmaker, feeling like a proud father. It looks something like this:

Drop down menus along the top for File (Offer, or  Request), Edit, Results, Category and Help. Underneath it’s split between the Declaration (Offer or Request) on the left, and WCB/Data on the right.

The menu items:

-File – the usual stuff. Open, New, Print, that sort of stuff, and Broadcast.

-Edit – in which you actually create, and edit, your Offers/Request. You work on the right hand side, and navigate on the left.

-Results – click on that and you can check which Op Decs (Opposite Declarations) match yours. Navigate your Dec on the left to get the right sort of result on the right. The lower you go the less results you get, but they get more to the point.

-Category and Help are empty shells. There’s so much work to be done, these things should come later.

-Category – what will become the WCB, the World Category Bank, has to be created from the ground up, and all Billy has done so far was to build a few samples so he could run some trials and demos.

-Help, fuck it. The last thing in the world you need while creating something new, is Help. Who’re you gonna help? But it’s there anyway, You’ve got to plan for future development. A basic.  Looks like a good framework Any user can get the hang of this. Menus on top, right area for work and editing, left area for navigation. Right? Ask Jimbo.

Jimbo is AWOL, and Billy can see it clearly from the Agency main window on monitor 6. But then again Jimbo has his Palm and Lap, and a few other Commstuff he keeps while on the move, like to and from school, or to the next burger joint. The burger joint. There was a bum there, sitting on the kerb, just across from the joint, not two days ago. Or was it a couple of weeks. Strange fellow. Mumbled some pearls of what would pass as wisdom. Why isn’t there one language in the world. If I say A do you hear A? Stranger things have been said. And Gravity, the importance of. Made you think of the Universe’s first few microseconds, where all matter was evenly spread. Was it? Well, apparently not, there were tiny pockets of gravity, like a 0.0000000000001 denser little pockets of gravity. Which became superclusters of galaxies, eventually. Be nice to be a little gravity pocket on the Web, Billy remember himself thinking, as he cruised by the bum on his Board. Of course the bum was just mumbling, but it was worth a dollar, anyway.

 

His mother yells at him to kill the Volume, but he can’t hear her, or so she’s led to believe. She comes in and shuts the thing down. She knows what faders to slide. Comes with experience. Pretty clever, too. Real-life hardware sliders, not the software shit, which you have to D&D with a mouse. Real ones, Twenty Cent. Which you get hold of, and yank. The silence is real weird. You can hear a car’s engine and a dog’s bark. Both need tuning. Then a child screaming something. It’s potentially a peaceful little street they live in. His mother likes it. Their neighbors would be grateful if Mrs. Young had more authority, though. Like she tries on now.

 

“It’s Damian’s latest” Billy protests. She hasn’t seen Damian for two years now. He lives a couple of miles away, and Billy tries to win a sympathy argument.

“And don’t I know it” She says and she’s out. She doesn’t dare kiss him. Not on the forehead, not anywhere. He’s a big boy. Out.

The volume goes op again, the moment she leaves the room. A message appears on his inbox monitor:

Don’t Make Me Come Back. Really frightening. It always made him laugh. His mother trying to make him stop something this minute. There was that scene in a Twenty Cent movie Billy once saw on TV, when he was young. War Games or something. The mother of a geek tells him to stop whatever he’s doing and come down to dinner THIS MINUTE. And saving the world from a third world war in the process. Well, if this was HIS mother, the world would have been nuked by now. Bottom line: He ignores her, and she gives in. So much for the peaceful neighborhood.

 

 

He’s back on monitor 1: Let’s do a little run. We need five or six potential Offers and a few potential Requests. He quickly creates 15 virtual users.

It goes well.  It took him a few good hours to build the Simulator, which allows him to bring a few users (on remote, virtually remote, that is, locations) into his own system, so he could simulate the interaction between them. When you use Matchmaker, a few years down the road, You’ll be a user,  with an account, a connection to the World Category Bank (Which will be huge and ever growing by then), Then you’ll put a Request (if you want something, anything), or an Offer (If you have something, anything) or both (if you have and want something in exchange – Something like: A good man looking for a bad woman who’s looking for a good man) But for now all there’s is a bunch of Virtual users.

Billy stands there staring at the fifteen empty virtual users. He kicks them to monitor 3, Where a game of House is being tapped into (without it’s participants knowing, or the House site for that matter. Billy loves to hack into House. They think they’re Firewalled, Bless’em), Then he fishes a Coke from the ice box under his feet. Cool.

Now, to the WCB.

He clicks on Category. Hello, anybody in there. Of course not. The Bank is Empty. Somebody’s gonna have to start filling it up, and soon. It’s a no brainer, at least to start with. Just get a Category, say, hell, Husband, and link it to anything that comes to mind.

He Types into the scruffy looking dialog box: HUSBAND

On the right of the dialog box a few linking options appear:

MC (Mother  Category)

DC (Daughter Category)

SC (Sister Category)

Att (Attribute)

Let’s see if it works. He chooses MC. An empty list appears. What Mother Category can a husband have? This is clearly not his field. I suppose MAN could be one. He’s reasoning, quite slowly. Man is a Mother Category. Of Husband. There are many kinds of Man. One of which is Husband. Good. This could be the beginning of a beautiful bank. He types Man. Then he chooses DC. A list of Daughter Categories of Man appears. He scrolls the list. Not much to scroll when the only item on the list is Husband.

Great. It works. Now let’s go to Husband again. All you have to do is click on the Husband item in the Man DC list, at which he’s staring. He does that. Husband pops onto the type box. He feels like the father of Frankenstein. Or that rabbi that created The Golem of Prague, God working on Adam and Eve. None of the above was anything to look at  the moment of creation, or soon afterwards, were they. He clicks SC (Sister Category). What other word/s can describe Husband? Not exact interchangeables but, you know, if someone looking for a husband, what other words could they use? He scratches his head, sips at the coke and comes up with Bridegroom, Owner (in some parts of the world you own your wife, apparently – Dror told him once that it Hebrew, and Arabic too, that’s the same word. So there), Boss, Breadwinner, Doormat -  he’s enjoying it now – and, well – Man. Hell, the link Man – Husband can be a Mother – Daughter one – vertical, and it can be a Sister one, horizontal. Come to think of it, he can flip this thing around. Husband can be Mother, MC, to Man. Yeah. Man is just one kind of Husbands. Rich is another one. A rich husband. And so is Man. A rich man. And then there’s a rich husband. And rich can be either Mother or Daughter. Hmmm. At which point his head seems to be spinning, or is it the world around. It’s obvious that Up and Down are very, VERY, relative.

Now if some babe looking for a husband through Matchmaker uses any of these other SC’s on HER Dec, it will filter her Request as if she asked for a Husband. Same for any guy who declared himself a potential husband. They would meet even if he said he was Breadwinner and she said she was looking for a Doormat.  Then perhaps his mother and father were destined to meet. He reflects for a moment of goldfishing – That’s the wondering attention span – His father IS a breadwinner, AND a doormat. He ran his own business, mail-order for systems and accessories, while Billy’s mom raised Damian and him, and made his father’s life hell with guilt. With good reason, too, Because while on business trips he’d lose a fifth of his networth (but never more) on gambling and poker, and there was more then one one-night stand along the way. Women who admired his wits and courage, saw some sex appeal radiating out of him, through the receding hairline, and generally didn’t make a fuss, because they were married as well, and one or two of them had more money the he did. So good luck to mom when she stepped all over him. There was this Ready Made Divorce sticking on the fridge one day when Billy’s dad got home. His father was never the same since then. And when she overwelcomed the carpenter who overhauled the kitchen area, well, Billy remembers him fondly. Billy’s father became an official Doormat. So Breadwinner is not necessarily the opposite of Doormat.

Billy  always loved his mother. She was smart, strong and cared a whole lot for him and Damian. She would help, and answered B&B/P&P -Birds & Bees / – Plug & Play – questions before they even came up, only when she gave him some facts of life it was fascinating. She used his father as an example of how not to do things in the main, and generally expressed something not very remote from hatred, although she knew, and Billy knew, that they loved each other once, and some of it stuck. In a time when a long marriage was a collector’s item, Billy felt he was something special. He has a mother, and he has a father, they live together, he didn’t have to look elsewhere for a father figure, didn’t get a father figure substitute from his mother, so he didn’t have to go to look elsewhere for a mother figure, like so many of his classmates who found themselves toyboying for their teachers, and their buddies’ moms. In their dreams, of course. Even Lewis, Rocky Big Mouth Lewis, with his stories about Mrs. Stone – That’s Sammy’s mom – is nothing but Vapor. Sammy even asked his mom about it. She just laughed. Then Billy’s mom mentioned something about Rocky’s fine physical ATTs, but Billy didn’t bother asking if she had anything in mind. Rocky’s mother wasn’t something to dream about, so HE just laughed.

 

Damian’s work goes into a wall of feedback – the kind that Jimmy Hendrix used to stick his teeth into – which makes the little dog across the street howl in pain. Billy can’t hear it because of the feedback. It comes in waves of fade-in and fade-out now. Then abruptly stops.  Which snaps Billy out of his goldfishing.

 

It’s Time to give his users a go. He clicks 6 on the Monitor control and clicks on user no 1. User no 1 is contacting the WCB  looking for something. He (user 1) enters Matchmaker and chooses between Request and Offer. Offer. User 1 is a man and he puts himself on the market. Things are going smoothly so far. No hitches or glitches or anything, which is somewhat surprising.

 

Then a voice brakes into Billy’s bedroom, Like that of a herd of buffaloes: “Billy, You seen Jimbo?”

Mother Theresa. Out of the goddamn blue. Was she connecting to his goldfishing about not having to look for a mother figure? Obviously there’s a flaw in that particular train of reasoning.

He clicks on monitor 8 and sure enough, her image pops up.

“What’s up, Mrs. P?”

“You ain’t gonna believe it, Billy. Jimmy’s GONE. He’s not in his room. No answer on any of the devices…”

“Yeah” Billy is thinking aloud “I was wondering what happened. It’s not like Jimbo.”

“You’re not worried or anything, Mother Theresa?” He says, shifting his eyes between her image and user 1.

“Well…” She’s thinking it over. “I AM, as a matter of fact. I know he’s a big boy, and I know he can take care of himself, but…”

“But it’s not like him” Great minds think alike. Billy is getting a tad worried, not too much, mind “I wanted to ask him something, that’s all. I’m sure he’ll be on line in no time, Mrs. P.”

“Sure. I’ll tell him you asked” She says and stares straight into Billy’s eyes.

What is he supposed to do now. He’s thinking hard while user 1 keeps pushing himself to the forefront. If Jimbo’s input wasn’t essential – ESSENTIAL – to his project,  would he be worried about his AWOLing?

Theresa looks at him, waiting for him to say something, as does he. Surely that’s it. They are concerned about Jimbo, both of them. Yeah. He’s a Pal.

He looks back at user 1 and clicks File (Offer).

An empty Offer form appears. It must seem rude.

“Sorry, Mrs. P. Miles away. I’m working on this thing, and I need your son’s input. I know it sounds terribly inappropriate, but I guess that’s why I was going to call you.”

“But I called you.”

“Oh yes. So you did.”

He slaps his forehead. She’s doing things to his concentration.

“I’m sure he’s alright” he says.

“So am I, Billy. Shall I keep you posted? When he’s back?” She’s smiling now, perfect teeth and all, a few age lines around the eyes. Perfect. But  her smile seems a hesitant kind of smile. Like when you’re not sure.

“Yes, please. Call me anytime”

“I’m off than” She blows a kiss and disappears. She what? He rewinds the recording, Not rewind really – only played it at 00:15 seconds minus, and yes. Theresa Price, His best friend’s mom, the Queen of his fantasies, blows a kiss his way, for no apparent reason. He runs it again in slo-mo. It’s a KISS. The lips contract, they get wider on the top-bottom scale and closer together horizontally, and there’s an almost perfectly dark oval area in the middle of it all. A kiss if he ever saw one. Sends the mind of a fourteen something – genius and all – into orbit.

But not for long.

Back to the business at hand. User 1 is accessing the system. He’s a man, he’s available. He wants to marry someone like him. Or not. What about opposites attract and all that? Anyway. Let’s leave it on the supply side. He can make a Request later. Say he’s fifteen, no. Fifty. Ah, forget age. The Attribute system is not written Yet. No numbers, ages, incomes, weight , height or anything that’s meaningful in a husband. Nothing like that. Or distance. He stops and thinks about that one. Gotta link the thing to one of the IMAPS. Maybe Zoomagator. They give you YAH (You Are Here) through satellite. And links it to a IIT (It’s There).  So does World Onion. Costs a bundle now, but will collapse in a couple of years, like everything else). Back to User 1. Say he’s a Lawyer. Right. We’ll have to make a category called Profession, as a DC of Husband and as an MC of lawyer. Husband / Profession / Lawyer. So user 1 clicks (well, Billy is User 1 now)) Category and types Profession. Then he clicks MC and types Husband, then DC and Lawyer. Of course all the other users can now use these new Categories and the links between them, and when user 2, a women, puts out a Request for Doormat / Profession / Lawyer guess what? User 1 will be there waiting for her. Could be the beginning of a beautiful partnership.

He tries it, and it  works. User 1 and user 2 find each other. When user 1 clicks Results, there pops user 2’s Request waiting  for him. When user 2 clicks results, there’s user 1’s Offer  waiting for her. It’s all in lists of matching Categories. And The way the WCB will be created by the public is the big idea here. It’s not a hierarchy built up by someone for the rest of the world to work with. It will be an open ended free for all thing. Like the Web. Nuclear chain reaction. Blast the competition out like the web brushed all those propriety on-line services in the mid nineties, a thousand or so years ago.

He looks at it like a proud father. He can feel himself falling in love with it. Which is exactly the time to stop and have another look. It’s too good to be true, really. He’s got to run it past someone, if only for the sake of a reality check. He needs some serious Devil’s Advo here.  A scratch of the head, a sip of coke. Options: Obviously Jimbo’s the no’ 1 seed, but there are also Liam, Mark, Morris, Sam/Rachel, Boris, to name but a bunch. Many of the Agentheads are on line right now, as he speaks. To himself.  Sam and Rachel are good candidates. And Roy. But something tells Billy that this thing is too sensitive to be discussed outside  the family. And family is Jimbo. And nobody but. Even Jimbo’s mom isn’t family. Not yet.

He pauses for a sip. The Coke is gone and he reaches for a new one. He orders them in those disposable ice boxes, forty eight at a time. It’s a hit with Agentheads, and other Netheads. Made some Jerk a multi millionaire. Not that a multi millionaire is anything special, but hey.

Then he clicks Theresa’s Quick access, which he’s been keeping but never before used.

She’s even quicker.

” I was just going to click you” He says and blushes “Any news about the Boy wonder?”

“No” she sort of whispers “I thought you might have heard something.”

“No” a pause. “Mrs. P”

“Yes?”

“Did you by any chance check Ringleader?”

“Yeah, A few days ago. I was gonna talk to you about it.”

“Well, I wanted to talk to YOU about it, too.”

“To me?”

“To Jimbo, of course, First thing, but to you too.”

What on earth would a young genius like young Mr. Young here want with a Headhunter’s human resource manager?

“You see, Mrs. P, I think I’m on to something really big, and I mean really Huge, here.”

She always thought the brainpower of Billy, combined with that of her son, was going to explode. They were like A Smith and Quinn, A Jobs and Woz, a Gates and Allen , an Andresseen and Bina act. The world at large was theirs to storm.

“But why me, Billy?”

“It’s just a hunch that I’ve got. Like I can trust you to keep a secret. To give advice, these sort of things.”

“Of course you know you can trust me, Billy” She sounds as emphatic as she probably is. Which is a lot.

Jimbo’s disappearance has disappeared for a moment.

“Spit it out, then”

“Ok” Billy is hesitant now “It’s like this: You saw how Ringleader works, right?”

“I didn’t really. I only went as far as the introduction. Didn’t put any money down or anything.” She isn’t sure where he’s going to with this.

“I didn’t think you would.”

“I was going to. Later. After I’ve consulted with you.”

“Really?” a wave of warmth runs through Billy’s young body. He can actually feel it going down his throat, his digestive system,  his untested reproduction center, down to the soles of his sneakers. It’s a bit like a stampede of ants. An Adrenaline rush, in short.

“Yeah. ’cause you know about these things. You can hack into it, explore it for free.”

“I can hack into anything I want, You know that. And so can Jimbo.”

“Yeah” It’s her turn to feel that sinking feeling. Jimbo. anyway.

So can Jimbo. But she would never ask the apple of her eye to hack for her. Commit a crime. Just isn’t right.                                                          “Yeah, anyway. You Hacked into it, didn’t you? I mean, YOU told me about it.”

“‘course I did.”

“I mean did you actually pose as a potential husband or something? Did you lay some money down?”

“Oh, I didn’t really get into that too much. You know my goldfish problem.”

“What’s a goldfish problem?”

“It’s an attention span thing. If I’m not totally hooked on something I lose interest and fizzle away, like.”

“So?”

“So, yeah, I posed as a sixty five year old widow looking for a toy boy on a weekly basis, at 350 bucks a session max, doing house calls,  in the greater LA area, not being too specific.”

“And?”

“No dice. Too little money. The minimum toy boy charge must be five hundred or something. Didn’t really stay to find out”

“So what happened? How much money do you owe them?”

“You mean Mrs. Langly? How much does SHE owe? Oh, I think it was in the neighborhood of 15 thou give or take a grand.”

“And aren’t you worried they’re gonna find you out?”

“A bit, although for all they know, they got paid.”

“Did they?”

“Not really, but they roll all their money through the same launderettes, in big bulks, so chances are they won’t go after rabbit’s dropping sort of money like that.”

She thinks it over. Another reason to be worried.

“Well, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I.”

 Then there’s an awkward pause. Either they wait for each other to run with the ball, or think about what was said or whatever it is, the pause stretches for a full 20 seconds, enough to be defined as Awkward. They just feel kinda comfy and plain vanilla good talking to each other, looking each other in the digital eye, so to speak, supporting each other. A  thirty seven year old human resources manager at a top headhunting outfit and a fourteen year old geek. He’s  going to ask her advice, later, no doubt about it, but for the time being, better wait for Jimbo. Talk about something else. Birds and the bees. Or:

“Say, Mrs. P, You know I love you and all that. Do you want me to find you a husband on somebody else’s account?” He says and regrets it as the words are leaving his lips.

“Bad idea, Billy. Dangerous. And you know it.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He’s a bit disappointed he can’t be her knight in shining armor, but what he just suggested is really tempering with fate.

“I guess Jimbo will show up any minute” She says.

“Guess so. Hope so, anyway.”

“Billy”

“What”

“You know in Ringleader, when this Stan Gilbert talks to you. He talks like he KNOWS you. But he doesn’t, does he?”

“Shit, no.”

“But he calls you by name, and talks about your situation, at work and-”

“Oldest trick in the book. Do you really think he gets a file about every client which he reads before he gives you a personal presentation?”

“No, but how the hell? Did he do that to you, I mean when you hacked into – “

“Of course he did. He called me Mrs. Langly, and he referred to the amount of money I had in my bank account and how much happiness I could buy per dollar. Everything I fed him he ate. Like a good healthy baby. Did you notice the little pause?”

“What pause?”

“You know he tells you Blah blah this and blah blah that, little pause, Theresa. Right?”

“Yeah”

“Simple Agent technology. And crap implementation too. If he used MY agents, you wouldn’t notice no pauses. I promise you.”

So that’s what those agents do. That’s what Jimbo’s doing all the hours that god gave.

“How does it work?”

“Well, Mrs. P, it’s techie stuff. But the gist of it is an agent, that’s a bit of code, goes into your system the moment you click on Ringleader and finds out a few basics, like your name, age, profession, that kind of stuff.”

“I thought browsers were secure against this kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, sure. Like Mary was a virgin. I mean after BC.”

Theresa shudders.  The implications. She knows the stories, but there’s so much reassuring propaganda that it stuck. The safety feeling, that is. Enough of it made the average American want to move near a Nuclear power plant, for god’s sake. She thinks, involuntarily, about Homer Simpson. Than she thinks it’s time for a shower. That’s how the mind works sometimes. Tell me it isn’t.

“Anyway” Billy is on a roll now “Another agent, or even the same one, picks up the findings and places them in the introduction speech. I mean the right branch of the speech, because the speech is built of segments, tailormade for the client. I bet the speech you got was way different from the one my poor old Mrs. Langly had to go through.”

Theresa’s mind is racing now. Surely Mr. Gilbert had to record thousands of hours of speech, record thousands of names, surnames…

“He didn’t have to record all those speeches himself, you know. Speech synthesis can do a lot plus there are impressionists in this world who would sit for days and record names at fifteen bucks an hour.”

“So he knows all about me?”

“He said he didn’t and I’d believe him, Mrs. P. The agents know and respond to fit to your needs, but the results probably remain within your system. They don’t go back and report. Only when you volunteer info,  it travels.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Not really. But if an investigation is held and unvolunteered info is found on Mr. Gilbert’s servers a lot of shit’s gonna hit lots of  fans, big time. So he probably stays away from that. Did he give you that rap about him being an honest man and a wealthy man?”

“Yeah.”

“Well than. Makes sense, don’t it?”

“Guess so.” A little pause, then “Hey, guess what. The lost sheep is back.”

“Jimbo!” Billy is up in arms “Where the fuck you been? Your mom was worried sick”

Jimbo’s face fills the screen his mom occupied the last half hour or so.

“Just unplugged for a few hours. That against the law?”

“It’s when Mr. Young wants to talk to you urgently. Listen – “

“Just thought I’d go to the movies”

“The movies? Out? With A CROWD?”

“You should try it sometime. Plus there was another reason why I unplugged on you” Jimbo says, his face beaming “Mom, Billy, Meet Lisa.”