I went to interview someone and they suggested that we meet at Sierra, Yaya Centre. It was a lunch meeting.
I don’t fancy lunch interviews because I can’t multi-task—eat my burger (because they have the best burgers) and ask questions. Plus burgers can be messy. Anybody with a beard would know. (Yes, even some females). Anyway, she was fun.
She was telling about the time she almost died in a car crash in Europe and spent two weeks in ICU. That story got me really thirsty. I just wanted a drink. But it was just after midday.
“That incident taught me how fickle life is,” she said and that was my cue to summon the waiter and order a single of Gentleman Jack because in my head that isn’t quite like drinking. Drinking is ordering Glenfiddich.
It says “I’m not going anywhere. Let’s stretch our legs under the table.” Jack, on the other hand, says, “OK, maybe one and then we can go build the nation.”
I never drink at lunch and I certainly never drink during interviews but the story of death and her waking up after the head-on-collision, in a mangled wreck, and looking out of the window and seeing that the car was actually dangling from a cliff and one sneeze would plunge down tens of meters below into the crevice and her crossing her heart and passing out. Oh that made me break all rules, because, come on, life is fickle.
We were seated outside in the terrace which is easier to have a whisky from than inside which is more fine-dine-y. Sierra is always a great place for a meeting, especially if you want to eat steak and have wine.
It’s never dropped in standards. It’s like those favourite uncles who you always think can’t fall. And the wait staff never changes, which says something about the establishment. So next time you find yourself in a meeting and the person is talking about death, you will be forgiven for having a drink.