At the end of June, Matt lugged his one and only suitcase into the townhouse that would be his home for the next several months. Closing the door behind him, he was greeted by his roommate, a skinny unkempt guy stretched out on the couch, beer in hand, watching cable TV in the dark. He had trouble hearing the guy at first, because the TV was at full volume, with the sound of exploding bombs reverberating throughout the living room.

"My name's Matt!"

"WHAT?"

"I SAID, 'MY NAME'S MATT?'"

"RHETT?"

"NO...MATT!...WHY DON'T YOU TURN DOWN THE TV?"

"I CAN'T. I BROKE THE REMOTE."

The fellow then rose from his spot, turned off the TV, and made a more proper introduction.

"I'm Bebe. What did you say your name was again?"

"Matt."

"Where do you go to school?"

"Cal Tech."

"That's cool."

"What about you?"

"Cal."

"That's cool. When did you arrive?"

"Last night. I wanted to make sure I was here in time for the party."

"What party?"

"Bill, the big cheese, is having a party up at his house. Everybody told me not to miss it. His parties are supposed to be kick-ass. If you're gonna make it, you'd better start getting ready now."

Matt threw his bag in the bedroom and jumped in the shower. Even though Bebe hadn't been there more than 24 hours, the place was already a mess -- hair on the walls, hair clogging the drain, the toilet looking like something you'd see at a bus station. Being accustomed to dorm life, however, Matt ignored the mess and was ready to go when the shuttle came to pick them up at 7:30.

Bebe entertained Matt and the other passengers with an endless supply of dirty jokes. He spoke in a booming voice that was hard to ignore. He was one of those people you either loved or hated, and most people in the van didn't seem to love him much. To his credit, Bebe couldn't care less what anyone thought of him and kept the jokes coming as the shuttle whisked the Microsoft interns through the exterior gates of Bill's mansion and began to climb a steep hill.

Matt expected to see something truly grand at the top of the hill -- a modern-day Xanadu -- but was surprised to see a large, generic split-level structure that looked like it had been airlifted out of a suburb. Bill's house was drab, but the view it commanded was beautiful: a panoramic view of hills, lakes and forests. As the van parked, Matt could see small armies of khaki-shirted security guards checking the ID cards of people filing into the entrance.

"OK, MR. MONEYBAGS, WE'RE HERE!" Bebe shouted. "LET THE PARTY BEGIN!"

Despite Bebe's expectation of a Roman orgy, the party soon turned out to be quite boring. There were tables set out on the back lawn, manned by chefs in white uniforms who served everything from smoked salmon to pasta. The "entertainment" was no better, in Bebe's estimation. A single forlorn DJ, set up in a small tent emblazoned with the "MS" logo, was playing middle-of-the-road '80s pop tunes from the likes of Huey Lewis and Culture Club.

"What the hell kind of party is this?" Bebe asked Matt.

"Relax. There's free beer."

Matt slapped a bottle of Heiniken in Bebe's hand and that was sufficient to shut him up long enough for Matt to begin studying the scene. The party was crowded with a sea of young faces, interspersed with the occasional Microsoft employee, who looked like everyone else Matt had met during his interviews: white, well-dressed, generic appearance, median age of 30.5 years, and so on. Matt could tell there was a lot of ass kissing going on. Each of the Microsoft employees was mobbed by four or five interns who smiled and nodded a lot and seemed to be hanging on their every word. Matt scanned the crowd some more for the man himself, Bill Gates. A few minutes later, he spotted him at the farthest corner of the lawn, surrounded by a larger-than-average crowd of interns and various janizaries.

"There he is," Matt said to Bebe, pointing toward Gates.

Bebe looked, blinked, and responded in a completely obnoxious fashion. "What a nerd. I bet I could kick his ass with both hands tied behind my back."

Matt laughed. Bill did look like a nerd -- he was tall, lanky, in his late thirties, with slightly stooped shoulders and thick glasses whose frames were older than the music that was playing. But what was most notable about him was his hairstyle, or lack thereof. It was the standard geek-issue, bowl-shaped cut, which, even from afar, looked especially greasy.

"You think with all the money he's got he could afford some shampoo," Bebe quipped, and then suddenly asked Matt, "Hey, how much would you give me if I went up and asked Bill where's the pisser?"

"The what?"

"The men's room."

"You wouldn't dare," Matt said.

"Try me."

"All I've got is 20 bucks," Matt responded incredulously, handing him the money.

Bebe jammed the bill in his shirt pocket, and went over to another group of Microsoft interns and made the same offer.

"If you touch him, I'll give you $50," said one.

"I'll give you $100, but you actually have to piss on his leg," said another.

"I'll touch him for $50. C'mon, ante up, you guys."

Beer in hand, $150 of venture capital in his pocket, Bebe strolled to the other side of the lawn, took a deep breath, and strode up to Bill, who was lecturing a small crowd of Microsoft marketing people on the future of interactive CD-ROMs.

He came up behind Gates and flicked him on one of his bony biceps, flat out interrupting him.

"Hey man, where's the pisser?"

Gates half turned around, stunned. Bebe stayed the course. "C'mon, dude, I gotta go bad. Where's the pisser?"

Bill remained speechless. It took him several seconds to recover.

"The pisser," said Bebe. "You got one or do I have to use the lake?"

Bebe did a pee-pee dance for effect, and Bill and the rest of the crowd stared in shock at his rudeness. To everyone's amazement, Bill cracked a slight smile as he gave Bebe the directions.

"Through the house. Second door on the left."

"Thanks, dude," Bebe responded, dancing away.

A wave of repressed laughter surged through the crowd. Those who weren't appalled by Bebe's actions were impressed to no end. The consensus was that he was some sort of idiot savant -- a genius when it came to computers, a maniacal boor when it came to everything else. By the time Bebe had returned from "the pisser," he had become a genuine legend -- no one in the history of Microsoft had ever had the guts to talk to Bill that way before, much less get away with it.

"Just tryin' to have some fun, y'all."

"You're lucky you didn't get shot," said Matt.