Here's
how techies learn which fork to use, and that "potty run" are
not words to use at the dinner table.
You're
a dirt-under-the-toenails Silicon Valley technogeek, and you've
just come up with an idea that's sure to reap billions - or at
least a quick hundred million. But, before you make the rounds
with your dog-and-pony show in search of venture capital, here
are a few suggestions: (1) Buy a suit, (2) get a pedicure (we
know no one will see your toenails because you will be wearing
shoes, but it's the principle of the thing), and (3) enroll in
the Workshop, Silicon Valley's first and only finishing school.
Sure, Silicon Valley is the one place on earth where you may get
your venture capital even if, like some Workshop neophytes, you
have a tendency to lick sauce off your knife during business lunches.
But why chance it? Invest about $150 on a Workshop, and as you
and your fellow Webheads dine in one of the Valley's premier restaurants
under the expert guidance of former Apple marketer Sue Fox and
retired British fashion model Lyndy Janes, you just might learn
enough to not blow that big deal.
Janes
- who does most of the actual teaching, leaving Workshop's business
side to Fox - knows that when you're teaching table manners to
the Java-and-HTML crowd, the instruction, must be, well, remedial.
That suits everyone just fine when FORTUNE attends a Workshop
at Zibibbo, the earth-toned, sky-lit restaurant of the moment
where Chelsea Clinton goes when she needs a break from the mystery
tofu served in the dining halls of nearby Stanford. Indeed, even
before our classmates - most of whom come from software publisher
Adobe - show up, Janes knows she has her work cut out for her.
"It's an etiquette class, " she says, glaring at her watch, "and
people are late."
Once
the stragglers are finally seated, Janes begins coaching us through
every part of the meal, from the bread, "Don't twist off a big
piece like you're wringing out the laundry") to the finger bowl
"It's for your fingertips only, so please don't plunge your hands
all the way in"). Between courses we cover the basics of mealtime
etiquette, like excusing yourself discreetly when nature calls.
"We don't need to know about your potty runs," says Janes. "And,
ladies, do you really expect anyone to believe that you're going
to `powder your nose'?"
Workshop
students provide ample fodder for discussion by making blunders
that get pointed out to the rest of the group. First, there's
the guy who does an exemplary job of excusing himself from the
table discreetly, only to leave behind his cell phone - ringer
on. Minutes later, an Adobe saleswoman grabs a serving disk of
palate-cleansing sorbet, puts it on her plate, and dives right
in as if it's the latest flavor from Baskin-Robbins. "Giant faux
pas," says Fox.
Even
though they were hardly A+ students themselves, the Workshop's
attendees gave the evening high marks. "I think a lot of the companies
here are moving beyond the startup mentality," says Liz Quinn,
a compensation specialist with Adobe and two-time Workshop attendee.
"This is the perfect thing to help people grow up a little."
In
addition to helping technophiles at dozens of companies - including
Sun, Netscape, and AT & T - Janes and Fox do a brisk business
in private lessons for those too bashful to ask which fork to
use in front of their colleagues. They've also got a new line
of videotapes, covering every aspect of geek etiquette from social
skills to formal table settings. But this duo of 40-something
divorcees is already suffering one big downside of success: "We
don't get many dates anymore," laments Janes. "Men are terrified
that if they take us out to dinner, we'll spend the whole meal
correcting them."
