Authenticity, Electricity, and Spaghetti Bridges
There are two things that can instantly make adults philosophical: power outages and politics.
This week’s Lunch began not with lofty reflections, but with electricity—or rather, the absence of it. Fruitloop casually mentioned that she might not have power for the afternoon. Which, in South Africa, is not drama. It’s a normal Thursday.
Frank’s brain immediately began building contingency plans like a well-meaning general preparing for a small but dignified war.
“What happens if your phone dies?” he wondered aloud, already mentally redistributing responsibilities and backup documents.
Fruitloop, calm as ever, replied, “I’ll make a plan. Don’t worry.”
The moral of the story appeared quickly: in case of emergency, charge the inverter. And perhaps your optimism.
But as often happens at this table, a practical systems problem opened the door to something much deeper.
When Systems Fail, What Holds?
Technology dependency led to a wider reflection: when things go wrong, do we rely on improvisation—or on values?
Fruitloop steered the conversation gently toward the real topic of the day: authenticity at work.
Is it possible to be 100% yourself in a professional environment? Or does survival require a certain amount of… strategic silence?
Rosie paused when searching for the right English phrase—everyone waited the way this group always does, patiently, like holding space for a kettle to finish boiling.
Her answer was honest. Loyalty and sincerity matter to her. But in professional settings, sometimes you don’t say everything you feel. Not because you’re false. Because you are choosing the moment.
“Sometimes it’s not worth it,” she said quietly.
And there it was—the tension many of us recognize. Authenticity versus harmony. Truth versus timing.
The Entrepreneur and the Employee
Nathalie offered another layer. If you’re an entrepreneur, she suggested, you can build your work around your values. But as an employee? Sometimes you have to operate “like a robot without feeling.”
Frank disagreed. Politely, but firmly.
He described a railway company wrestling with faulty metal components. He reframed their product as a patient in a hospital. If the metal box were a person, how would each department—finance, quality, engineering—care for it?
The metaphor softened the room.
Because in the end, work is not done by systems. It is done by humans. Humans with names. Humans with reputations. Humans who must decide whether cost-cutting in Poland is smart economics or quiet disrespect for in-house expertise.
Bruce, ever the calm calibrator, gently warned against letting emotive overtones hijack constructive dialogue. Manufacturing decisions are rarely national betrayals. They are often complex trade-offs in imperfect systems.
And perhaps that was the real heartbeat of the discussion:
Authenticity is not purity. It’s navigation.
The Perfect World (Which Doesn’t Exist)
Nathalie pointed out that directors do not always create environments where values thrive. Sometimes financial comfort traps people in jobs that slowly erode them.
Frank nodded at the uncomfortable truth: many stay because they are “financially fat.” Secure. Comfortable. Unwilling to risk the leap.
Bruce added a quiet wisdom: there is never a situation where you can be 100% authentic.
Sometimes, he said, there is creative value in silence.
Rosie smiled at that.
It felt less like suppression and more like maturity.
Leadership in the Wild
Fruitloop shared a story about protestors without water in Johannesburg. The premier told them he had also experienced water shortages—and simply stayed at a hotel to shower.
The table collectively winced.
Bruce observed that reconnecting with angry citizens might have worked better if the premier had queued at the local river.
Leadership, it seems, is not about announcing your inconvenience. It’s about sharing it.
Then Fruitloop contrasted that with her own town’s mayor—out at 6:00 a.m., directing traffic, fixing infrastructure, earning respect quietly.
No speeches. Just presence.
Authenticity, perhaps, is less about declaring your values and more about showing up before sunrise.
The Police Officer of Our Dreams
As is tradition at Lunch, when things become philosophically dense, Janita tosses in a “Fruit Loop question.”
“If you hired an authentic police officer,” she asked, “what kind of tickets would he write?”
The room relaxed.
Rosie would issue tickets for anger. “Please calm down. More love, please.”
Nathalie would penalize cheating and corruption.
Bruce chose honesty and transparency over blind loyalty—particularly in institutions where loyalty has protected the wrong people.
Frank, speeding occasionally and photographed by traffic cameras, kept his answer practical.
Suddenly the hierarchy of values emerged: is honesty higher than loyalty? Is fairness higher than obedience?
No one solved it. That wasn’t the point.
The point was that even in playful hypotheticals, our priorities reveal themselves.
Building Bridges Out of Nonsense
And then came the grand finale.
“If you had to build an authentic bridge,” Fruitloop asked, “using weird materials—what would you choose?”
Tobacco, suggested Frank, tightly packed.
Water, offered Bruce.
Chewing gum, said Nathalie—flexible and resistant.
Natural juice blends from Rosie. (Healthy infrastructure.)
Dried spaghetti from Fruitloop—fragile alone, surprisingly strong together.
Cheese and tomato sauce were proposed as binding agents, though Frank admitted he would likely eat the cheese during construction.
Somewhere between spaghetti and surfable water hoses, the metaphor quietly did its work.
Authenticity is like dried pasta.
Individually brittle. Collectively resilient.
So, Can We Be 100% Ourselves?
Perhaps not.
Workplaces are systems. Systems have constraints. History leaves fingerprints. Money complicates everything.
But authenticity might not mean saying every thought.
It might mean:
- Acting from care, even in disagreement.
- Choosing silence without surrendering integrity.
- Fixing traffic at 6:00 a.m. instead of booking a hotel.
- Packing tobacco tightly.
- Or holding your spaghetti together long enough for someone else to cross.
By the time Bruce had to leave, the meeting had moved from electricity outages to ethical architecture, from protest politics to pasta engineering.
Which is very on brand for Lunch.
No one solved authenticity. No manifesto was written. No truth detector was invented—yet.
But something gentler happened.
Everyone left a little more aware that values are not declarations. They are daily decisions. Often small. Often unseen.
And maybe authenticity at work isn’t about being 100% yourself.
Maybe it’s about being just honest enough to build the bridge—
and kind enough to let others cross it with you.
