itookthepillyougaveme

It’s important to define what we will be referring to when the term “culture” is used. That is, what it means in this context. Culture is dynamic, not static. It exists more so as a vector for people, politics, economics, geographies, that sort of stuff. Its constantly evolving in relation to these factors, dependent on which is more adjacent at any given time. So, to preface this, let’s try to paint over our own stagnation. Or we can continue to hold terms up upon their false stability. Easier that way.

So, let’s go up in my little reality that is deemed to be real. Workplace culture is an idea, that can be static in it’s normative definition, yet is still constantly evolving and being bent to align with specific jobs, employees, times of day. All factors, right.

At the bar. The one tourists go to. Where pretty girls go with pretty girls, where pretty girls take their dates. So there he was, existing on his little stage behind the sweeping curve of the granite countertop Whether he liked it or not, he was on display. New Couple at B11/12. The immediate unconscious, yet somehow mandatory profiling of them had begun. “Y’all know what you’d like to get started with?” Mhm. “Gin or Vodka. Right, do we have preference? Swell, straight up, dirty, or perfect?” Filthy. Will he put it on a leash? Of course. Dry? Extra Dry? “Would you like that up, or on a big rock?” Twists of citrus, olives, different types of olives. Pick your poison. Swell. That’s just one drink.

Patron’s personal preferences communicate identity. Of course, only to some degree. What is frivolous to someone, can be a shower of information to him. And vice versa. Cocktails are a fascinating way of pigeonholing people. Nothing uttered says so much. Too much uttered also says a lot.

Milagro. Silver. Neat.

Ah, no lime.

“Tracks”

People are always so taken aback, insulted even. Especially when they’re correctly profiled. Fuming because they know they look like they drink well bourbon. Double. Neat. Every time. That’s the thing. Pattern recognition isn’t sadistic. It’s inherently human. His brain is trained to identify reoccurring instances and map them out so he can predict and anticipate similar instances into the future. It’s evolution. Beverages are a great example of how items can be seen as status symbols. A martini becomes more than a drink, it’s an expression of what that individual wants to portray. When it boils down to it, formatting presumptions is part of his job. People want to be told what they want when they’re unsure. They want to be interpreted correctly. It’s human to want to be understood, even on a level that’s perceived as superficial. It’s all still a part of who they are.

He gets his own language too. However minimal. Sharp. Behind! Heard that. Five all day.

Blabbering perfunctories spewed from his coworkers on the regular. The weight that becomes placed upon things not due to their importance, but simply due to their consistence presence. Abhorrently engaging when you do exist in that world. He opted to 86 that shit.

Such things began to seep into his life, the one he carried externally. Prioritization of a profession that fueled him, yet was only a step in the staircase to something better. The flashing colour, so bright and oh so animated was lifestyle it pushed upon him, yet he knew how it burned. When he looked at his friends who were gradually driving themselves into the ground, using this industry of service as their vessel, there was no envy in his eyes. What he truly wanted lied outside of the madness and beauty of alcohol adjacent professions. And it became important to remember, to remind himself, of what he said to bar guests on the regular.

“Hey man, I just work here.“