“Too bad,” the vaguely familiar guy said. “We’re throwing a shindig at Franklin’s. Let me know if you change your mind.” I didn’t place him until he stepped off the bus: my study partner in the only computer science class I ever took. It was impossible to escape Stanford in San Francisco. I searched his name and read about the meal-delivery service he founded that promised to make millennials feel like they could cook restaurant-quality dinners at home. They took care of the hard parts for you; the butternut squash, for instance, was pre-chopped into bite-size squares, and the spices were measured out in neat little packets. Who did the prep work for services like his? Not him, I was certain. I recalled my meetings with User Operations, in which we evaluated the work of our new content reviewers, an anonymous team in the Philippines.