Discover why playful rituals, humour, and shared beliefs—like believing planes fly on gin and tonic—are essential ingredients for thriving, efficient teams.
I have a belief—and admittedly, it’s not one that would pass muster in aerospace engineering circles—that planes only fly if someone on board orders a gin and tonic. This started years ago when travelling with team members who were anxious fliers. It began as a playful reassurance.
Not wants one. Not thinks about it. No, someone must commit. Ice clinking, gin unstoppered, tonic fizzing in a plastic cup. Only then can we truly defy gravity.
Of course, this belief is patently false, but that’s not the point. The point is that it’s usefully false.
People instinctively get it, especially if they’ve ever gripped the armrest during takeoff, pretending calm. Explain that “planes run on gin and tonic,” and most often they look bemused, then smile, then quietly nod, as if agreeing it makes more sense than physics right now.
Often, people take the idea and embellish it. On one trip to Montreal, a team member who’d travelled with me previously, and embraced the idea, went to the trouble of checking the beverage service for our upcoming transatlantic flight. Wide-eyed, he looked up from his phone; the service menu lacked gin. This news was conveyed to the group with genuine disbelief and bafflement. And so we headed straight to the airport bar—his reasoning being that if the gin and tonic were safely inside us, and we were safely inside the plane, the flight would remain perfectly safe.
Not all heroes wear capes.
It’s shared absurdity. Social glue. For some, it made flying bearable, even enjoyable. It invites them into nonsense, briefly replacing anxiety with camaraderie.
This isn’t about gin or even flying. It’s why there’s never any pressure or judgement around drinking—because it’s not about the drink itself. It’s about the power of irreverent belief: the little myths we carry, not because they’re true, but because they help.
The Value of Useful Nonsense
The gin-and-tonic theory is ridiculous—but like all good nonsense, it serves a purpose. It calms nerves, invites smiles, and quietly transforms private fears into shared experiences.
Teams often overlook this.
We talk about efficiency, pipelines, roadmaps, and velocity. Yet, most teams don’t run on sprint points—they run on vibes, on culture.
None of it’s “optimal.” None would survive a Six Sigma audit. Yet remove it, and teams change. The unspoken rhythm, that quiet bond—that’s what actually makes things work.
These shared irreverences can vanish if not protected, or fail to be instilled if their importance isn’t recognised. They don’t seem essential at first glance, but they’re quietly powerful. They create safety, connection, humanity.
They’re teamwork ephemera: invisible but essential. Without them, energy drains, jokes falter. Teams keep working—but they’re running on fumes.
The Cult of Optimisation
This doesn’t dismiss the value of process. Process avoids chaos, scales teams, and also gets things done. It’s not either / or.
Yet, somewhere along the way, process became sacred. Tools became gospel. Efficiency swallowed everything unquantifiable.
It starts with good intentions—streamlining, tracking. Soon come dashboards, retros that feel like audits, and culture starts sounding hollow.
Then vanish the other little things. Their absence is difficult to notice at first. Eventually, the team still functions, but joy disappears. The output remains, yet the soul is quietly automated away.
That’s the danger of optimisation: it doesn’t just trim fat—it can inadvertently cut out the heart.
Which brings us—beautifully, tragically—to Benny.
Benny on the Wrong Side of the river
There’s a moment in The Mummy (1999, obviously) that captures what happens when teams prioritise systems over people.
Teams can gather all the resources1, technology, and processes imaginable, confident they’re prepared for any challenge. But without genuine human connection and shared direction, they’re Benny—fully equipped but unable to get where they need to go.
Because in the end, it’s never about having all the horses. It’s always about being on the right side of the river with your people.
Faith in People, Not Just Process
Faith rarely looks as expected.
It’s not always grand declarations or logic. Sometimes, it’s ordering a gin and tonic at 30,000 feet—not because you need it, but because it feels like you’re helping hold the plane aloft.
It’s irrational. Unverifiable. And exactly what’s needed.
Teams function the same way. You can’t optimise your way into trust or schedule genuine rapport. You can’t KPI your way to a team that genuinely enjoys working together.
Human stuff—shared jokes, odd rituals—is the fuel that turns process into practice and colleagues into collaborators.
Yes, build processes. Use tools. But leave room for nonsense. Protect your rituals. Smile at the gin drinker in seat 14C convinced they’re keeping the plane airborne through sheer willpower.
Because when turbulence hits—and it will—it won’t be your burn-down chart that carries you through.
It’ll be the people.
- As a personality quirk, I struggle to refer to people as resources. When I mean people, I’ll make the differentiation. ↩︎
