A is for Alcohol

I'd really prefer to be drunk as I'm writing this. But, as it will be several days before I am blessed with an evening of libations, I must write from work, where I most dream about being drunk. Or high. I can just hear Jolie flipping out about this post so far, so I will continue on this escapist thread, focusing on alcohol as related to the workplace.

The 9 to 5 job. Welcome to the land of happy hours, of weekend binge-drinking, of lunchtime scotches-on-the-rocks. There is nothing like the daily grind to make you feel like washing it all away. Sitting in front of a computer for 40-some hours a day, week after week, dulls the senses. Dealing with perpetual "how're you doin" greetings; the endless quest for coffee, sugar, and Fridays; the khaki pants and sensible shoes - it's enough to make you forget what exists on the outside of the flourescent-lighted officescape, and within yourself. I see alcohol as the smelling salts of the corporate life, an on-demand wake-up call to the senses. In my more pessimistic mind, I view it as a desperate dash towards a freedom I once knew intimately, and I understand why people become alcoholics. It’s easy to become trapped if you become a slave to the dolla.

I refuse to give in to the feeling of entrapment because I look towards a better, brighter existence outside of this churning corporate beehive. I don’t know what it takes for people to stay in a job that they hate until retirement. I'm not afraid to be poor again, though I remember how unpleasant this is (maybe "poor" could be our P word). I hope for an eventual occupation that reminds me of life as much as alcohol does. And I think this is most people's goal, but the endless exhausting cycle of work and family and obligation wears them down until they give up on it all. Not me. My survival instinct is very, very outspoken. I don’t believe it could ever allow me to sacrifice my integrity for a “decent living wage” for the duration of my good years. Until then, I have vodka.

Alcohol shows people for who they really are. What is usually censored is blurted out; how mature or immature a person is, what they have pent up inside them, and how they really feel about you are all revealed when they are drunk.* For this reason, it’s not easy to get to know one’s co-workers unless you have a few cold ones with 'em. (For this reason, also, one knows their restaurant co-workers all too well.) I have had extremely limited drinking experiences with my corporate co-workers. And these are those experiences, and what I have learned from them:

*Mind you, this all goes ditto for self-speculation and understanding, but we'll get into that later.

Some of Beth's workplace-related alcohol stories:

My current boss asked me to happy hour one evening with her husband. She’s a little lady, and was trashed after one glass of wine. What came out was silly and free-spirited. Amongst other things, she told me about how she fell asleep on the sidewalk outside a bar one night. She also paid for all the cocktails. I knew we’d get along in the future.

At a company function where liquor was available but limited, a manager who I always viewed as closeted was doing shots with her staff. She started acting like a sorority girl and afterwards forbid me to post any pictures of her from the event. Since then, I’ve seen she’s living a lie and feel quite sorry for her. It’s all very clear, through the window of alcohol.

While living in NYC and working at Bear Stearns, I worked for a man that had mastered the art of incorporating the outside drinking life into his general workday. Fred was a handsome, eloquent, Irishman in his late 60s, who came to Bear after a lucrative career as a lawyer to work under an old friend. I was paired with him for reasons unknown, and it took me a long time to figure out what my responsibilities were under him, mostly because our weekly one-on-one meetings were held in restaurants over pre-, during, and post-meal cocktails. Often, these meetings would carry on for over 3 hours. When I would open a folder to discuss a pressing work topic, Fred would reach over and close the folder, saying “We’ll talk about that some other time.” Then he’d order another Talisker on the rocks. He was never suggestive; more paternal, and we’d talk about his children and our personal histories until we were the only ones left of the lunch crowd and the waiters started hovering like kindly vultures. While this made me increasingly uncomfortable, he never paid them any heed, and eventually, on his cue, we’d rise from our posts and I’d support him out the door as he staggered back to work. I didn’t often drink with Fred, because of the excruciating headaches that would punish me when I got back to my desk, attempting to finish my workday under the guise of sobriety. I did spend many of those hours in the restaurants staring mystified at this man, who just seemed beyond all concern for conventions or scandal. He performed as if he were above the law, and maybe he was. There is no punch line to this story. To me, Fred conquered the system in his own way, and I hope he's still socking one to 'em.

I plan to write again later on this topic. There are oh so many avenues to explore.