A Place Where Everybody Knows Your Name
- PG Geldenhuys
- 3 hours ago
- 3 min read
Last week, I wrote about family. About being intentional about where and with whom you spend your time, about the tribes you belong to, about the importance of connection and community. About making 2026 matter in all the right ways.
And, even before my newsletter went out into the world, I got punched in the gut.
I take a lot of meetings at Workshop 17. The co-working space, with locations in Johannesburg, Kloof Street and Newlands, is a place where I have gotten used to speaking to audiences, training on business, AI and all kinds of other fun topics, and doing one-on-ones with clients, contacts and, occasionally, even SARS. Kloof Street is close to where my kids go to school, and the friendly, stylish, and convenient location has felt like a perfect remote-working spot for me.
I’m also someone who likes consistency and a touch of familiarity. I don’t like changing accountants, travel agents or lawyers, and Caroline and I tend to frequent Magica Roma because Edzio always makes us feel like his most important customers.
Over the years, I have gotten used to the friendly face of Asanda behind the coffee machine as you walk into the Workshop 17 Newlands location. He was everybody’s favourite barrister, where a ready smile was matched with a consistently awesome cup of coffee, and in my case, a greeting of “Hi Piet!”… even though I am not a daily visitor there.
He passed away unexpectedly earlier in January, and at his memorial on Friday, in a room packed with hundreds of friends and patrons, a chap stood up and brought home to me why the sudden loss of this guy, at this time, shook me so much. The speaker referenced the 80s TV show Cheers, and the idea of Norm… who always walked in to be greeted boisterously by name, and in Norm, the show had its soul: A place where everybody knows your name. And that was Asanda.
Culture is not a policy. Culture has atmosphere. The feeling that you’re not just in a place, but part of it.
I read two books recently that seemed to support this notion: The Correspondent by Virginia Evans, and Theo of Golden by Allen Levi. Both books feature elderly protagonists, map their journeys of growth, connection and redemption, and celebrate the beautiful opportunity to make an impact by focusing on the few, not the many. In both cases, I finished them feeling inspired, uplifted… and wanting to be better.
And I think Asanda made me feel the same way. I have grouchy moments all the time, but I have never ever seen him have one.
He decided, quietly, intentionally… that his role mattered. That excellence mattered. That people mattered. And without ever being asked to, he became the gold standard. Not because leadership mandated it. Because culture absorbed it.
Culture is not a slogan, it’s not an initiative, it’s not words on the wall. Culture is stories, individuals, and daily choices.
It’s the people you surround yourself with and the ones you allow to surround you. It’s the environments that gently reinforce the kind of person you want to become. It’s whether the place you’re in pulls you upward or slowly wears you down.
The best cultures don’t shout. They shape.
They’re built when ordinary people decide to make a space their own… and in doing so, make others feel like they belong too.
I have no ChatGPT prompt this week. I simply want to remember an awesome person who created magic every single day.