The
modern Silicon Valley gearhead sure needs to know a lot of
things: there's writing arcane computer code, e-mailing John
Doerr about lunch, how to spend that first $100 million. And
then there are napkins. "Napkins are pure joy!" exults Lyndy
Janes, the Valley's resident etiquette instructor, a Miss
Manners for the Sillionaires. "Don't flap that napkin like
a flag on race day! Rest it nicely in your lap--it needn't
be spread out like a blanket. And never, never use it as a
bib!" At Sent Sovi, the classiest restaurant in Saratoga,
Calif., Janes is teaching 15 techies (and the local Ferrari
dealer) how to behave like grown-ups at the dinner table.
Once upon a time, it was OK to rejoice in the geek stereotype:
junk food, B.O. and all the politesse of a piglet. Now, with
megafortunes everywhere and the finer things in life that
follow, the geeks are looking to settle down. Today, napkins.
Next course, it's knives, spoons (12 different kinds), even
stemware!
Bill
Gates, meet Miss Manners (and don't attempt to bundle her
into Windows 98). Just as shopkeepers made a killing from
the miners in Gold Rush days, new businesses that cater to
the cyberrich are springing up in Silicon Valley. Janes and
Sue Fox founded their etiquette courses--The Workshoppe--three
years ago as a way to civilize the natives. Janes is a former
professional model. Fox used to work at Apple Computer. Janes,
a British transplant, was the impetus for the Workshoppe idea.
"Being from England," she says, "I noticed the complete lack
of manners here." Never more so than when her kid was singled
out in preschool for asking politely, "Excuse me, Miss, may
I have a glass of water, please?" Janes learned firsthand
how much remedial work she had before her. "I couldn't believe
what I saw at restaurants in Silicon Valley: someone holding
an entire piece of romaine lettuce in their Caesar salad and
eating it like a bunny rabbit. Guys acting like cavemen who've
just caught their wild game and start ripping it apart." She
lets out a primitive grunt, imitating just the manners Fox
might've seen at Apple. Janes suggested to Fox there was a
market for manners, and their unique business was born.
Janes
and Fox, both in their 40s, have taught employees at major
companies like Sun Microsystems and Apple, as well as the
prototypical Valley start-up. Typical cost: about $150 for
each dinner lesson, depending on how much Chardonnay they
drink. (Bonus tip: never hold the bottle between your knees
when removing the cork.) At the Sent Sovi class, Larry Miller
has brought in some of the troops from his Zapa Digital Arts,
a new software company. "Many of our people are very young,"
says his wife, Shawn. "We weren't born and bred to know which
fork to use." With much of Zapa based in Israel and Fujitsu
as one of its investors, there's a special need to understand
customs in different countries. If your order's out of order
in Japan, for example, you might kiss that Web deal good-bye.
Jane's
do's and don'ts last throughout the meal. It may not make
for the most relaxed evening, but it gives pause to anybody
who's actually had the gall to spoon soup toward himself while
eating. Some other rules: Crossed utensils tell the waiter
you're resting, but leaving them side by side in the "11:25"
position (think clock) means you're finished. Don't wave your
cutlery. Don't butter all your bread at once and never do
it in midair. Don't drink to your own toast. Don't order messy
pasta. And never, ever lick your knife. (Oops.) For those
concerned that Lyndy might show up at their table again someday,
there is a video for take-home study. She's also marketing
videos for kids and teens through a home page.
Not
everybody thinks all this niceware is a killer app. "It may
be needed," says Paul Saffo, who forecasts trends at the Institute
for the Future, a consulting firm in Menlo Park, Calif. "But
Silicon Valley will be a duller place if all the nerds have
manners." Not to worry. They're still the rudest rubes on
the golf course.
