The call almost didn't happen.
The email arrived in the middle of a cross-country motorcycle trip from Chicago to California. A recruiter had somehow dug up my resume from years prior, but they refused to name the company.
"A search company in Santa Monica?" Sure.
I was curious enough to (ironically) Google "web search company Santa Monica." Yahoo had an office there. Maybe that was it. And since I was already in California, why not take the meeting?
The Plot Twist: "Actually, It's Google."
Wait—Google? In Santa Monica? That didn't add up. Weren't they in Silicon Valley? Was this even real?
I had been using Google for years—back to the Stanford days—and loved that they had a google.com/linux URL just for us geeks. (R.I.P.) But then Gmail and Maps launched, and I started questioning their motives. Were they taking over the internet? I had even refused to accept Gmail's Terms of Service when I snagged my coveted "first name" @gmail account—personal email seemed a bridge too far. Who needs Google's "too good to be true" 1GB of free storage when you run your own mail server, anyway?
The "Two-Hour" Interview That Wasn't
I rode down to Santa Monica, not sure what to expect. They put me up in a hotel. The consulting firm's recruiter picked me up the next morning, eyed my untucked button-down shirt and cargo pants, and sighed.
"Can you at least tuck in your shirt?"
(I had literally bought this shirt the night before—just for this. Did they even know what kind of job this was?)
As we walked in, the Google recruiter greeted us—with a spiky mohawk, looking to me like he was ready for a Hollywood afterparty. Instantly, I relaxed. I shot the consulting recruiter a smirk—she looked visibly taken aback. Maybe this wasn't what she expected, but it felt just right to me.
Once I settled in, the interview began.
A laptop slid across the table. A blinking command prompt.
"The web server is down, and the guy who set it up called in rich. Fix it."
Now this was my kind of interview.
I dove in, diagnosing the issue pretty quickly. But then the next interviewer entered—the dream killer. He was legendary for making candidates cry, dragging them through brutal technical deep dives. What started as troubleshooting turned into a grilling on kernel internals, memory management, and filesystem architecture.
Apparently, I did well enough that more interviewers kept showing up, one after another.
By the end of the day, the hiring manager wanted to push me through the hiring committee for a full-time role—a process that would take a while.
I hesitated. "Let's try the temp thing first and see how it goes."
I left thinking I'd take the three-month contract to test whether my doubts about Google were justified—or misplaced.
A Healthy Dose of Skepticism
After flying back to Chicago to pack up my life and say goodbyes, I returned to California a week after Thanksgiving. It was 72 and sunny—while Chicago was buried in the first real blast of winter. But the people? A little more… interesting.
My corporate apartment was just a few blocks from the office, so each morning, I walked along the beach while the Midwest froze.
On my first commute, I found myself walking behind a barefoot guy in a wetsuit, hauling a dripping kayak up the hill with a huge diving knife strapped to his leg. I debated whether to pass him, wondering if this was just everyday California weirdness or someone to be concerned about. To my shock he walked right into the lobby!
I froze. My mind scrambled for alternative explanations—maybe he was lost? But nope. He swiped his badge and walked right in. Like it was just another Tuesday.
Welcome to Google.
Not Drinking the Kool-Aid… Yet
Google was expanding insanely fast—new offices opening weekly. My first project involved replacing expensive enterprise storage systems with open-source software we were developing. I still couldn't get root access (ironic for a systems admin), so I spent weeks buried in kernel deep dives alongside some of the best engineers in the world.
Slowly, my skepticism faded.
These weren't just brilliant engineers. They were good people. They cared about users. They cared about the mission.
A few weeks in, I reluctantly clicked "I agree" on Gmail's Terms of Service.
I started to feel like a Googler.
A few months in, I accepted the full-time offer.
Eventually, I got root. And with that, responsibility for core infrastructure—DNS, authentication, the systems that kept Google running smoothly. The challenge wasn't just scaling infrastructure—it was scaling trust, collaboration, and the creative chaos that made Google, well… Google.
The Moment That Changed Everything
I thought I was starting to understand Google. Until 2009.
Then came the Aurora attacks—and Google had to make a choice. Most companies would have chosen the safe route—stay silent, take the hit, move on. But Google didn't. They made a decision that put principle over profit, fully aware of the risks.
That was the moment Google truly won me over. A defining moment—not just for me, but for the company itself. But that's a story for another time.
18 Years Later
Looking back, my skepticism was the best thing that happened to me. It forced me to evaluate Google on its merits, not its reputation. The company didn't win me over with perks—it earned my trust with its people and culture.
What I've learned is that cultural fit isn't about dressing right or saying the right things. It's about finding a place where you can be yourself while doing the best work of your life.
Funny how a little skepticism can take you exactly where you're meant to be.
- shapor @ (gmail | google).com