It’s my last day at CES, the world’s largest consumer tech show, 1000 trucks of gadgets on show, 200 shuttle buses to carry more than 100,000 attendees to and from their hotels. But enough already of all that serious reportage – what’s far more interesting is all the various kinds of hack in the press room.
Now, press facilities here are excellent – doughnuts, Starbucks coffee, all gratis and on tap – so that guarantees a larger-than-normal cross-section of people squeezing their frames into terminally uncomfortable chairs, around tables being ruthlessly cleared by a crack team of Vegas waiting staff. Sitting in here is much more amenable than actually rolling round the show floor, after all.
There are a few personality types, easily recognisable by dress and behaviour.
1. The star hack It sounds unlikely to those outside this sphere, but there are a few Big Names in tech journalism, and they know who they are. In fact, they’re quite obsessed by who they are, and would like you to acknowledge, in some way, tacit or otherwise, their undoubted stardom. In order that they catch you catching their eye and so catch you – bingo! – recognising them, they like to offer some useful visual clues as to their sheer globetrotting greatness. For a start, they like to dress like the Great American Journalist. Some sport big hats, others loud stripy shirts. I’ve even seen a pair of braces, and what looked dangerously like spats.
2. The Japanese hack Easily the most excited of any of the groups, the Japanese hacks are really into their tech. Toting tiny laptops, they’re battering copy out – but seemingly work only in teams of two.
3. The Captain America This wild generalisation is actually based on only one chap, who I saw yesterday. In his 40s, I’d suspect. He was dressed all in black, apart from the stars and stripes badges – sew on and pin – that adorned his cap, shirt, pocket-covered body warmer and – yes – even his trousers. Organisational tools, from a PDA to those large hobs to hold all your keys (and there were many) – dripped off him. He was methodically taking the various press kits we’d been issued with, and inscribing his name, address and telephone number on each (trust me, there are plenty – thousands? – to spare). What would happen to them should his orderly array of pens, arranged in the top pocket of his industrial strength ranch shirt, were to get out of line or – good grief – fall out? We can only imagine, but you’d have to fear it would involve a gun.
4. The David Brent/Gareth Cheesman clone It’s supposed to be a press room, but the term gets stretched – there are more than a few people who write about the stuff they also sell/distribute, and they hang out in here too. Most are in some tiny, tiny niche – ask, and they’ll tell you they’re doing the number one website for Flash-memory based toastie makers in the EMEA region. EMEA? It’s what American tech companies call Europe, the Middle East and Africa, because it’s shorter than “that bit off to the right on the map” (TBOTTROTM). Consider themselves strangely superior to most other forms in the room: “I know you guys are looking for the sensationalism angle,” one explained to me this morning with his knowing nod. “But I’m here really looking for the p u r e f a c t s.” Pure facts in the future of Flash-memory based toastie makers, that is, you complete twat.
5. The Brit hacks Of which I’m a part. Hungover, occupying an entire round table, we sit around swearing a great deal and discussing the extent of the drinking last night. Carefully avoiding the glances of the Star Hacks, we’re still laughing at Captain America, with everyone’s accents becoming more and more like Hugh Grant’s with the passing hours. Some of our number are plotting a long drive into the desert tomorrow that can only end in disaster, but will at least provide a rich source of anecdotes for the next trade show, when this bizarre circus kicks off again.
