A friend of mine works at the only solace I have in fourth year: the pub. I may sound dramatic, but with constant questions asking what the future holds, and a 10 000 word dissertation on some niche topic that I definitely haven’t read enough about, a crisp G&T seems to be one of the few things keeping me from ripping my hair out.
When the perils of the week subside and the glory of a Sunday afternoon rolls around, I know exactly where I’m headed. Not alone, I might add. I might be in despair, but so are my girls, so we link arms and do the most exercise we’ve done all week to our cherished holy grail. Stumbling in, I make eye contact with my dear friend, let’s call her Pineapple (she’d quite like to keep her job), and an unspoken agreement is acknowledged. I slink up to the bar, confidently ask for my usual order — Tanqueray preferably, Gordon’s if necessary, Bombay never — and I’m in and out within 30 seconds. No questions asked, not a card machine in sight. And it feels glorious. Not only do I feel quite Bond-like thanks to my expertly executed nonchalance, my bank account also remains safe, intact, and untouched. Then the next one of us saunters up for the same purpose, and our foolproof plan goes on undetected. I classily sip and soak up this feeling. Gin has never tasted so good.
As the drinks are knocked back, round after round on my dear friend, my blurred mind and untainted bank card find themselves in a conflict. I am actively reaping the benefits of Pineapple’s position, and clearly, I am not overcome with enough guilt to stop. So, I find myself thinking about what is considered ethically unscrupulous behaviour, and whether I have tip-toed over into it? Is it less than ideal that I am a frequent visitor to an establishment I never pay a penny to? Potentially. However, in my eyes, the nature of said establishment bears utmost importance. A large corporate machine will survive even if Pineapple provides for those less fortunate (granted in whiskey and gin). Yet, a small, independent coffee shop built from the ground up, with a personal, warm flair to it, would not.
I do not feel ethically bound to such mechanical corporations; they probably don’t take the best care of their employees. But I also would never want to exploit said employees. Though I am eternally grateful, and yes, slightly hopeful a free drink finds my table, I never expect Pineapple to make that the norm. Gratitude must be the first and only emotion felt. Once expectation seeps into the equation, tensions will rise, kissing both the discount, and friendship, goodbye.
I suppose during the trenches, apologies, fourth year, providing your friends with a cheeky free pint every now and then can surely do no harm. Whether this remains the same the older we get I cannot assuredly comment on. Were I to put the gin down for a moment and engage in common sense, I can imagine the degrees of wiggle room for ‘on the house’ items — be that drinks, clothes, or food — reduce rather significantly. The context quickly shifts from cheekily checking whether your friend is feeling generous that day (she almost always is) to tacky, advantageous, and even sometimes embarrassing.
However, who am I to talk? For now, Pineapple is my God and gin is my fuel. Ethics aside, I can’t say I’m complaining!
Illustration by Charlotte Dorward (@_twostepsforward) for The Student
