My Trippy Covert Op into Medium HQ

With Photos for Visual Learners

The following federally classified transcript was found on a table at Panda Express.

[00h:02m:16s — dialogue begins]

Agent: This audio file is an uncoerced personal account of one Medium non-member’s self-orchestrated infiltration of Medium’s corporate headquarters. Mr. Schlegel, please state your full name and occupation.

RS: Roy Schlegel. Jester, protester, sequestered full-nester. *beatboxes*

Agent: Stop that.

RS: I’m in sales.

Agent: Can you provide a detailed -

RS: Are these doughnuts fresh?

Agent: What? I don’t know. I guess so. Do you want one?

RS: Doughnut mind if I do. My tummy is a-talkin’.

Agent: I will pause the recording while Mr. Schlegel has a doughnut.

[00:17:52 — dialogue resumes]

RS: No joke — try the Boston Creme! That filling is outrageous. Hey, ‘bout some coffee? Juice? A little beverage to wet the whistle. *incoherent chew-talking*


Agent: Mr. Schlegel, please detail the events surrounding your clandestine mission into Medium’s corporate offices.

RS: Clam-?

Agent: Clandestine. Secret.

RS: Sure. It all started when I was asked for five dollars to become a Medium member. I wanted to know what the money would get me other than a mildew rim around my avatar, so I thought I’d go undercover and sneak into Medium’s headquarters on a clam testin’ mission.

Agent: Couldn’t you have just emailed or made a phone call to gain that information?

RS: That would have been another way to go, yes. You know what they say about hindsight.

Agent: Yes.

RS: I’m asking. What do they say?

Agent: Can you please continue?

RS: So I knew I had to pose as a member since non-members can’t access certain things on the website. I just assumed I’d be restricted from getting into Mediumland, so I sought help from Drew, one of my followers who’d recently became a member. He writes a lot about his dog, so I knew he could be trusted. He said he’d help me out if I could meet him atop a little foothill somewhere in Wyoming.

Two weeks later, I made it. Sure enough, Drew was there waiting. The dude was buck naked with a capital buck! Only thing on this guy were his green member brackets. (The rumor was true: They really did follow members around!) But those puppies don’t hide much. He sported an extra pair around his little hoo-ha if ya know what I mean. They didn’t so much cover it as frame it. Told me he paid an extra five bucks for the set.


So the plan was for Drew to loan me his extra set of brackets or arches or whatever they are so I could pose as a member. I wasn’t really down with that, but Drew promised he’d Purell them off first.

Drew was stoked that I’d be checking out Medium up close. He was sure I’d dig it so much, I’d be begging to become a member. I’ll always remember his last words: “Members don’t need pants.”

I left Drew and headed to San Francisco. I drove through the night and eventually made it to Medium’s central hub. I’d heard they had a super-impressive campus, but I was pretty meh about it. It wasn’t like Six Flags or anything.

big whoop

I’d timed my visit perfectly: A new member orientation was to take place that afternoon, so after grabbing a falafel, I lined up at the door with about eight newbie greenies.

Right at noon, a funny looking guy popped his head out the door. He gave us all the once over. I took him for a security guard trying to pick out any non-members. He just kept looking at us, sniffing. This dude was majorly uppity about his job. After about two minutes, the guy disappeared back in like a ferret. The doors swung open.


We all gathered 'round in a pleasant looking atrium. This is when things started getting weird. Techno-music began pumpin’ through hidden speakers, and these kids came out of nowhere groovin’ to the jams. They had full green circles around there little heads.

da hell

An overhead monitor read Ev-Reddies which I guess was the name of this nutty kid band. They began clappin’ and singing some song trying to get everyone to clap and sing with ‘em. I can’t remember all the lyrics but it went something like come y’all and holla when yo hand us yo five dolla you get a green ring ‘round yo colla.

The music stopped and the Ev-Reddies ducked behind some fake plants. No one applauded. We just shot confused looks at each other. The awkwardness got severe since we could still see the little dudes peeking at us through the bushes. They had zero exit strategy.

The group was then escorted to the cafeteria where we were told to enjoy a nice healthy lunch. After that , we would be met by none other than Ev Williams himself.

The cafeteria had a limited menu. Thankfully, I was still plenty full from my falafel. I didn’t care much for what they were serving up.


After lunch, they ushered us over to a freight elevator. As we descended what seemed to be at least fifty levels, the host apologized that Ev wouldn’t be able to attend in person. Instead, he’d be Skyping from an undisclosed location.

We arrived at our floor and the doors opened to reveal a spiffy looking theater. We found our seats just as the lights came down. A deep Barry White voice came over the speakers. “Are you ready?” It said it again: “Are you ready?” It said it over and over, maybe ten or fifteen times. Finally, the lady sitting next to me shouted “I’m ready already!” That’s when the curtains opened and wild pyrotechnics burst in sync to a familiar tune I’m pretty sure was by the Chemical Brothers.

Then, Ev appeared.

make some noise

The image came in clear but it was a little tinted. Ev didn’t say anything at first. I thought the screen froze but I caught him blink a couple times.

Finally, he spoke.


The curtains closed and the lights came back up. I headed home right after that.

Agent: Mr. Schlegel, what information did you gather? You came to us saying something about incriminating evidence.

RS: Well you gotta admit, it was pretty funky, right? And I still don’t get the whole five dollars thing.

Agent: All that means nothing.

RS: Look, if I dig deeper, I bet I’ll find some illegal stuff going down in those lower levels. Cuban cigars. Russian minks. Cock fighting. Let me come work for you guys. I hate my job.

Agent: No.

RS: What kind of medical benefits you get?

Agent: Not gonna happen.

RS: OK. Well then. Want to join me for some Panda?

Agent: Sure.

[audio stops right around lunchtime]

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