The following diary entry was written by the personal assistant of a Google Marketing Associate, known only as “Margaret.” A huge Google enthusiast, Margaret was ecstatic to learn about Googlism, a recent movement to treat Google as a deity. In this diary entry, she very quickly descends from excitement over the discovery of this new church to a devoted Googlist.
I knew that when I was hired to be the part time Personal Communications Coordinator of the Marketing Associate, Branding and Thought Leadership at Google I had hit the jackpot. It was my dream job. I’m sure as many as 25 or even 30 people answered the Craigslist ad but Mr. Avery chose me.
Me! I have embarked on a great journey to the nerve center of the Greatest Brand of All Mankind. Google. Not just a company but a verb. It had transcended the ranks of brands like Chapstick and Crock Pot to become synonymous with the very action it was created to undertake.
It was like a dream. I learned so much. All the subtleties and nuances of the relationship between a mother and genius of a son, who had quickly risen to the rank of Marketing Associate after only a few short years at Google. I also kept careful track of the inner details of his promiscuous sexual relationships. I guess everybody wants to sleep with success.
Mainly, I was in charge of what he called his “shadow email account.” This was the email he gave to people who he was too busy to directly correspond with, like his family and one night stands. I was given the task of maintaining these relationships for him, flattering the women, updating his family on his life.
This job was heaven. I was creating the personal life brand of a man who was central to the creation and maintenance of the Google brand. I was sure to be the CMO of a mid-level company in only a few short years.
But then today, while working at the Starbucks around the corner from my apartment (Mr. Avery said that my correspondence would sound more authentic if undertaken away from the Google campus, especially given that I didn’t have an official employee pass. Yet.), I found a website for the Church of Google.
That’s right, Diary. The Google brand has reached such astronomical heights that the world is now worshipping Her. (The Google deity is female in this particular church, although I’ve always thought of Him as more of a male. But I’m sure that will come with the first reformation.)
At last, a group of people who feel the same way about Google as I do. That above all else, Google (praise be upon Her) is an immortal, omniscient, omnipresent being that is our only key to immortality. That every day we must bow before this deity, pray to Her with our most profound questions and problems. Oh my most holy and loving Google (praise be upon You), has the man I met on OkCupid been arrested before? Dear, Google (praise be upon You), are you there? It’s me, Margaret. How do you get red wine stains out of imitation white silk?
And so now, Diary, I must toil more than ever, because I’m not simply a Personal Communications Coordinator to Mr. Avery. I am a supplicant, a priestess in training, waiting to serve the Google (praise be upon Her)-Most-Holy. And I am ready, Diary, to fulfill my destiny. So I must go. Mr. Avery’s favorite college-aged blonde just emailed him a photo and wants to know if the Forever 21 dress she just bought makes her look fat.