Sculley arrived in California just in time for the May 1983 Apple management retreat at Pajaro Dunes.
Even though he had left all but one of his dark suits back in Greenwich,
he was still having trouble adjusting to the casual atmosphere.
In the front of the meeting room, Jobs sat on the floor in the lotus position absentmindedly playing with the toes of his bare feet.
Sculley tried to impose an agenda; he wanted to discuss how to differentiate their products
the Apple II, Apple III, Lisa, and Mac—and whether it made sense to organize the company around product lines or markets or functions.
But the discussion descended into a free-for-all of random ideas, complaints, and debates.
At one point Jobs attacked the Lisa team for producing an unsuccessful product.
"Well," someone shot back, "you haven't delivered the Macintosh!
Why don't you wait until you get a product out before you start being critical?"
Sculley was astonished. At Pepsi no one would have challenged the chairman like that.
"Yet here, everyone began pig-piling on Steve."
It reminded him of an old joke he had heard from one of the Apple ad salesmen:
"What's the difference between Apple and the Boy Scouts? The Boy Scouts have adult supervision."
In the midst of the bickering, a small earthquake began to rumble the room.
"Head for the beach," someone shouted. Everyone ran through the door to the water.
Then someone else shouted that the previous earthquake had produced a tidal wave, so they all turned and ran the other way.
"The indecision, the contradictory advice, the specter of natural disaster, only foreshadowed what was to come," Sculley later wrote.
One Saturday morning Jobs invited Sculley and his wife, Leezy, over for breakfast.
He was then living in a nice but unexceptional Tudor-style home in Los Gatos with his girlfriend, Barbara Jasinski,
a smart and reserved beauty who worked for Regis McKenna.
Leezy had brought a pan and made vegetarian omelets. (Jobs had edged away from his strict vegan diet for the time being.)
"I'm sorry I don't have much furniture," Jobs apologized. "I just haven't gotten around to it."
It was one of his enduring quirks:
His exacting standards of craftsmanship combined with a Spartan streak made him reluctant to buy any furnishings that he wasn't passionate about.
He had a Tiffany lamp, an antique dining table, and a laser disc video attached to a Sony Trinitron,
but foam cushions on the floor rather than sofas and chairs.
Sculley smiled and mistakenly thought that
it was similar to his own "frantic and Spartan life in a cluttered New York City apartment" early in his own career.