Anatomy of a Friday Lunch

In my erstwhile life away from blogging, I'm a web development manager at a Silicon Valley tech company. About 50 miles' worth of freeway separates home and work, so when Friday swings around I generally choose to set up shop in the kitchen of my tiny apartment, hip-and-shoulder the cats off the table, and work from home.

One of the perks of the work from home on Fridays scenario is the boozy lunch with colleagues both former and present. Today I got the call-up from The Brown Hornet. Here's an anatomy of a Friday lunch.

Visualise a computer running Yahoo! instant messenger.

The Brown Hornet: Wanna get lunch?

The Polished Turd: Um, yeah, okay. Where?

The Brown Hornet: Somewhere in the Mission. Zeitgeist?

The Polished Turd: Sure, that'll work. If we're not into it I guess we can pick somewhere else nearby.

The Polished Turd: Anyone else coming?

The Brown Hornet: I can check.

The Brown Hornet: I'll be there at noon.

The Polished Turd: I'll check with a few others to see who's coming. See you then.

For those not familiar with the great watering holes of the City, Zeitgeist is a San Francisco dive bar institution. Boasting a great selection of beers on tap, including a few choice ales from the Russian River Brewing Company amongst others, Zeitgeist draws in a large crowd of thirsty punters, especially on a sunny afternoon.

I arrive on my bicycle a fashionable seven minutes after the appointed hour of noon. The Brown Hornet declares that has already ordered and that I should do so too.

"What do you want to drink?"

"Um," there are a lot of beers to choose from, most of which are exceptionally tasty, "how about the Mount Tam Pale Ale? That's a good one."

I fully expected The Brown Hornet to emerge with a pint each. Instead he's toting a pitcher and three glasses. As he drops the pitcher on the wooden bench in the expansive beer garden a few drops spill over the edge.

"That's probably more beer than we really need."

He's right. It is. The Brown Hornet goes on to explain that The Brit is likely to make an appearance at any time and put that third glass to good use, but this is The Brit we're referring to, and those who know him will attest that he rarely does anything either quietly or on time.

The golden liquid disappears as if there's a leak in the bottom of the glass. We discuss the departure of the incumbent CEO at my place of work—a place where The Brown Hornet spent about five years of his working life prior to absconding for a rival start-up—and our personal and career aspirations while the meniscus on the pitcher drops steadily lower.

Finally The Brit arrives, somewhat flustered and almost complaining about the mountain of work that's being heaped upon him.

The Brown Hornet and I have done a fine job of getting through that pitcher of high-potency ale. There's barely enough ale left to half fill The Brit's glass.

"Shall I get you another drink?" he asks, realising that his own thirst needs more slaking than the remnants of the pitcher can provide. Besides, there's a kielbasa sausage with sauerkraut and mustard on the way. I'm about two thirds the way through mine but The Brit's hasn't hit the table yet.

Mentally I run the calculations on how much beer I've already had, how much more I'm likely to drink in the company of The Brit, and how much I really shouldn't drink if I'm to return to my make-shift office setup in the kitchen. This would be the time to let common sense kick in, deny The Brit and be responsible. But it's a sunny afternoon at Zeitgeist. The beer's cold and the burgers hot. Ah, crap, who am I kidding?

"Sure, why not? It's Friday afternoon. I can handle another."