Steve Jobs
I only ever met Steve once, and I mean that in the loosest possible sense of the word.
It was last summer on a bright, sunny day in Cupertino (aren’t they all?). I was walking back from Caffé Macs with a coworker, and we were discussing the changes we wanted to make to some mock-ups we had been working on earlier in the week. We got to the door, where, as is customary at Apple, we reached for our badges to badge in. But before we could, the man in the black long-sleeve shirt and jeans walking ahead of us turned around, smiled, and held the door open for us.
The demanding head-honcho himself, the stickler for details that some simply called “feisty,” the man with whom you supposedly never wanted to find yourself on an elevator, just turned, smiled, and held the door open for two interns.
That’s what I’ll always remember about Steve.
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