Our company is a small startup, only two years old. Counting the administrative staff, there are about twenty people. Small as it is, our boss somehow picked up a trendy term from some foreign company: Pair Programming—supposedly to improve code quality and work efficiency. But from what I can see, efficiency hasn't improved much; some pairs seem to have developed… other kinds of chemistry. Thankfully, Nick, also known as "Second Brother," and I are both hardcore straight men, so there's no risk there.
Speaking of Second Brother, there's a story behind his nickname. Everyone knows that when you join a company, they usually ask you to register an English name for your company email. When Nick tried, his chosen name was already taken—after all, Toms and Jacks are everywhere. Most people would just pick another name, but Nick's solution? Add a "2" at the end. Problem solved. Soon, people started asking, "Who's the one with the '2' suffix?" Eventually, the nickname Second Brother stuck.
Everyone calls him that, and I followed suit. He's no angel either; he calls me Fa Ge—"Hair Brother"—because my hairline is receding fast. He really knows how to hit where it hurts. But programmers don't take offense easily, and we get along quite well.
It was now lunchtime, and I tiptoed back to my desk. Across from me, Nick ("Second Brother") was sprawled on his U-shaped neck pillow, buried under the blanket, mumbling: "Kobe, Kobe! Three-pointer!"
I kicked his chair lightly. "Second Brother, wake up—Sherry's here."
He sprang up like a carp flipping out of water, drool still hanging from the corner of his mouth. Reflexively, he ruffled his hair, sending a tiny cloud of snowflakes into the air. I immediately went into my usual roasting mode: "Damn it, how long has it been since you washed your hair? You're polluting the air."
"Sherry? Where is she?" Nick looked puzzled at first, then realized he'd been tricked. He shot back indignantly: "Some people don't have this problem… no hair, no envy, no jealousy, no resentment. Useless, right?"
Sherry is our R&D assistant, real name Fang Yuan—the girl Nick has been secretly crushing on. She has a baby-faced, chubby little face, usually wears two cute pigtails, and speaks softly like warm jade. According to her, she comes from a normal Shanghai family. How do I know about Nick's crush? Well, one night he invited me to dinner. We'd probably both had a little too much to drink, and somehow ended up talking about our ultimate life goals:
Me: "Nick, my ultimate goal is to find a small island, build a few big houses, plant peach trees in the yard, dig a pond for lotuses, surround it with osmanthus and plum trees… In spring, peach blossoms flutter down; in summer, lotus blooms rise unsullied from the mud; in autumn, the osmanthus scent drifts for miles; in winter, plums stand proudly in the snow. And I'd spend my free time fishing by the lake. Doesn't that sound awesome?"
Nick: "Why build several big houses? Can you even live in them alone?"
Me: "There'll be others living with me, of course."
Nick: "Do you know the movie The Continent? Why did everyone leave Dongji Island?"
I thought: damn, he's giving me no room to live. If I hadn't been drunk and legs weak, I would have jumped up and hit him. "Hey, hey, enough about me. What about you? What's your ultimate goal?" I quickly diverted the topic.
Nick: "I don't have big goals. Just want to marry a girl like Sherry, have kids, and work in peace. Just don't be like my dad, wasting life doing nothing every day."
At that moment, I felt a little sympathetic. His dad sounded unambitious. But soon, reality slapped me in the face again.
Me: "As long as your dad's healthy, it's fine. Don't demand too much."
Nick: "Yeah, as long as I can earn money for myself. They don't need me to worry."
Me: "Damn it, Nick, that's not right—you should still give them some living expenses."
Nick: "No need. My dad makes more from monthly rent than our combined salaries."
I…
Since that conversation, he never brought up rent again. Sometimes I teased him, and he'd just laugh it off, but he openly admitted his crush on Sherry.
Fully awake now, Nick leaned over mischievously. "Did it feel good?"
Me: "What the hell are you talking about?"
He persisted, "Did you… check your… uh…"
"Get lost, no! I don't need that!" I cut him off before he could continue the disgusting topic.
I then recounted the morning's subway incident with the irritable client uncle, exaggerating it for effect, and we both agreed to treat product managers more politely in the future, no more calling them "SB" at the drop of a hat.