Free I’m Special by Ryan O’Connell Page B

new way of speaking and behaving. It’s an exciting electric shock to your system.
    One of my duties at Thought Catalog involved accompanying my boss to business meetings at bougie artisanal cocktail bars. The person we were getting drinks with would typically be handsome, straight, and young—the type of guy who was groomed for success and had never really spent time being unemployed and freaking out about his future. What was interesting about these business meetings was that nothing would ever get accomplished. You’d spend the first two drinks talking shop and then the cracks would start to appear in the work persona. The timeline of the conversation would typically go like this:
    ANATOMY OF AFTER-WORK DRINKS AND NETWORKING
    Drink one : You justify why you’re here and drinking a $16 cocktail on the company card. You discuss, in vague terms, the possibility of collaboration. You manage to talk for thirty minutes without actually saying anything at all. This skill of talking a lot without speaking definitively is something you learn pretty quickly. Soon, you’ll be going to meetings that are about having another meeting. It’s very confusing. You may have to lie down in the middle of the conversation and collect yourself.
    Drink two : You begin to loosen your necktie and gossip a little bit. “Oh, you know Bob Foreman in accounting? He worked with me at Pelaxaco. Yeah, he’s . . . an interesting guy.” You then measure your professional dicks to see who’s got the biggest one. “You worked at I Am So Blessed Industries for three years? Love that. They offered me a job once but I turned it down to work at I’m More Blessed Industries. That’s great that you took it, though. It’s an amazing starter job.”
    Drink three : You make the first mention of having a personal life. You acknowledge, in passing, having a girlfriend or taking a recent vacation to Bermuda. Maybe you talk about where you grew up and make a passing reference to your crazy college days. You’re basically saying, “I am drunk enough to admit that I am a nuanced person whose life means more than just having a job.” You circle back to your mutual acquaintance, Bob Foreman in accounting, and try to extract some shit-talking. “So listen, I love Bob, would die for him, but the man was an idiot when it came to managing a team, wasn’t he?” The discussion of Bob’s flaws happens slowly, and then it hits like an avalanche.
    Drink four : Bob is a fucking asshole. Bob is a life ruiner. Bob gave your friend Cindy genital warts. Also, that job of yours that you bragged so much about during the second drink is actually terrible. Your boss is an insufferable demon, and you make no money. To be honest, you shouldn’t collaborate together, because the company won’t pay him anything for it. Everything is terrible, ha ha ha!
    Drink five : You’re fucked. You’re ordering a shot. This night is officially turning into a mistake. You’re admitting that you’re cheating on your girlfriend with someone who likes to stick a finger up your ass. “Where are the hookers? Should we call a hooker?” You’re plotting ways in which you can get Bob fired.
    Drink six : “I fucking love you, man. You’re fucking awesome. Let’s start our own fucking company together.”
    Drink seven : If you’re not dead, you’re calling your coke dealer.
    I love watching someone put on a show, only to slowly settle into the person they really are. What fascinates me about the workplace is this unspoken requirement to adopt a new professional personality, even if everyone knows it’s all posturing. You become someone who has never cried over a breakup or thrown up from drinking or failed a class. All the things that make you human are hidden, and you pretend to be someone who always has their shit together. The only place you can really be