a Four-in-the-Morning High

Six Shots, Data Structures, and a Four-in-the-Morning High

Joseph Hong

the first shot

brings confidence. Mise-en-place. You’ve been preparing for this moment for the entire day, going through the motions over and over again. Your surroundings are immaculately messy, a carefully constructed chaos only you can navigate. A blank monitor in front of you, with a couple of motivational quotes stuck to its frame to keep you from breaking down, surrounded by a stack of textbooks for reference. A keyboard and mouse to your right, wiped down with a dab of hand sanitizer that leaves them smelling like strawberries, carefully balanced on top of a mug of questionable liquids and a pile of snacks for late-night munchies. An assortment of writing utensils a little bit above eye level, sorted by color and size, placed alongside the top of your alcove in a loving manner—these are your tools of trade, after all. Everything you’ll need tonight is exactly where you need it to be, and you could probably do this blindfolded. But you won’t of course, because that’s just plain foolish. Today is about getting things done, not showing off to some nonexistent audience like you usually do when you’re alone. Well, to be honest, it is about showing off—just a little bit. You like a challenge, and this is no exception: finishing a code in less than three hours. Your professor said that at most it would take five, and at least it would take three. You might not be the smartest of the bunch, but you believe yourself to be the most resilient. You crack your knuckles and grin, ready to take on the task in front of you—it stands no chance against your mise-en-place.

the second shot

makes you realize the true power of mise-en-place. You roll the contents of the shot on your tongue, savoring the sharp taste—the bitterness—

and feel a slight buzz of energy rising up from within, along with a sense of wonder towards the French term. It’s not just a word that chefs use to denote a clean kitchen space; it goes beyond that, pointing to a way of life—a philosophy, even—that boosts efficiency and productivity in the midst of a hectic schedule. Your fingers glide across your keyboard, typing away at symbols and characters without so much as a single moment of hesitation. The light clacking of plastic-against-mattealuminum and your steady breathing are the only sounds in the otherwisesilent room. Mise-en-place. Put in place. You linger on those words as you jump from line to line with a terrifying speed.

the third shot

brings a slight feeling of disappointment. You were so sure that this story would have ended with the second shot, but things aren’t going as smoothly as you expected. Less of a breeze, more like a … small gust? You’re coming across more problems than you thought you would, so you might be staying up for a bit longer than you originally anticipated—maybe thirty or forty minutes more? You manage to smile as you type away, occasionally pausing to scribble down a segment that needs some more work. Mise-en-place. Put in place. Something like this was expected. That’s why you have extra shots, just in case things get delayed. This is only a slight setback, so you’ll be done with this thing in no time. You nod, convincing yourself of this, and continue tapping away at the keyboard, albeit at a more cautious pace.

the fourth shot

tastes bitter. Imagine ninety-nine percent cacao chocolate, but worse (somehow). Things were never supposed to have turned out this way.

You’re already two hours behind schedule and the number of problems increase with every line you add. You chuckle with despair, bleary eyes trailing over the latest message that the terminal displays. If it’s at the point your computer is telling you “fatal error: the number of errors is too great” then it’s safe to say you’re pretty screwed. The very action of having to delve into your reserve shots is a glowing tribute to how stupidly optimistic you were back in your mise-en-place, where everything went according to plan. The red letters on the display are like burning coals that press deep into your self-esteem, sizzling away at what you believed to be the indestructible technique of putting things in place. Accounting for everything is impossible, it seems. Until today, you didn’t even know that there was an error for having too many errors. You laugh at that, but freeze when you hear a hint of hysteria in your voice.

the fifth shot

is when you realize that you’re not straight thinking anymore. In fact, words seem to mix up a bit amongst themselves and some words like what look like what. The smallest things bring a smile to your face and for some reason you keep laughing. It’s not funny, your brain tells you. Yes it is, your brain replies. For a moment you feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience as your head tightens in on itself—or is it your brain presses against your skull—and you feel woozy. You laugh again, then frown as you look at your terminal. Another fatal error. You shrug, not really caring either way. At this point, it’s about getting things done and not showing off—for real this time. Real? What is reality? You sit and ponder what makes something real and delve into the depths of epistemology and ontology, of what you know you know and know you don’t know and don’t know you know or don’t know you don’t know, before finding yourself watching videos of kittens. Click, goes the mouse.

Clack, goes the keyboard. Woof, goes the cat. What? You blink rapidly, trying to keep your eyes from drying out. You curse yourself for being so distracted, then proceed to look up whether or not water is wet.

the sixth shot

lies untouched, next to a haphazardly-placed bag of chips. Next to the bag of chips is you, giving the Gettysburg Address to the empty air. Giggling with glee, you take a small bow to an invisible audience and hit ‘Enter’ on your keyboard. Fatal error. Seasons change, friends come and go, but errors will never leave you. To be honest, you’re not really sure what you’re doing anymore and what’s in front of you is something that some person was working on a few hours ago. You check the time. 4 AM. It’s been ten hours since you first set out to ... You frown, not sure what you were trying to do. To be honest, you’re not really sure what you’re doing anymore and what’s in front of you is something that some person was working on a few hours ago. You check the time. 4 AM. It’s been ... You frown. Something feels redundant, but you can’t place a finger on it. You shrug, tugging your shirt collar with your index finger as you let out a wide yawn. You need to finish this soon. You frown yet again. What do you need to finish? To be honest, you’re not really sure what you’re doing anymore and what’s in front of you is something that some person was working on a few hours ago. But what does that have to do with you? Well, to be honest, you’re not really sure ... You catch yourself mid-thought and yell out “Eureka!” as you jump up from your chair, point a finger up at the ceiling looming above you. That’s what’s been bothering you this entire time, the sense of redundancy—it was your frowning! What else could it be?

You decide there and then not to frown again, then turn to look back at your computer monitor. It’s in screensaver mode now, thanks to your little

mental escapade, but a tap on ‘Enter’ brings everything back to focus. Focus. You frown. Suddenly, you’re really, really in the mood for some pho.

the final shot

is what you take in order to bring everything to a close. You look out the window, into the glaring afternoon sun. Yesterday was a nightmare, and staying up all night was not a good idea. You spent the next day in bed, regretting every shot you took and how it messed up your sleep schedule. However, that’s in the past now. It’s been put away, put in place; out of sight and out of mind. You chuckle to yourself as you take a sip of the shot and let its soothing heat and bitterness slide down your throat, settling happily at the pit of your stomach. You managed to finish the code somehow, despite the thousands of errors that came your way. Three hours turned to ten, but you pushed through and got it done. Times got bleak and at one point you’re pretty sure that you went crazy. Everything seems a bit hazy, like it was all a dream—though the end result sits in front of you, running without a single error. You’re not really sure what happened last night, but what you do know is this: mise-en-place rules.

Wait.

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