The sense and nonsense of working at the office
It's been two weeks since I started working for a new client.
When we signed the contract, working two to three days from home was allowed.
Then, just days before I started, they cut it down to one day for regular employees and zero for consultants. Just my bloody luck.
In the last 3 years, I've grown accustomed to working a few days a week from home - a direct consequence of experiencing a global pandemic rather than something I deliberately sought or needed. Before the pandemic, I would have never dreamed of working from home.
I had no reason to.
I had no relationship, lived in a cramped one-bedroom apartment, and had no garden or terrace to escape to when cabin fever struck. Initially, I didn't know where to crawl from misery. Working all day every day from home was a torture, and I looked forward to be able to return to the office.
But then, something shifted. As the world slowly opened up, the benefits of working from home stuck with me. No more losing two hours a day to traffic. I got in better shape with less back pain because I could go to that 8 p.m gym class. I was on top of my laundry, putting in one load before work and hanging it up on my break.
I even could see myself have kids.
Before, I wouldn't have even considered it. When and how could I have fit children into my schedule, when I couldn't even make it home on time?
These past two weeks have been a harsh reminder of life pre-remote work.
I leave very early and return after dark, riled up by rush hour traffic. I get back home with just enough energy to scramble some dinner together fast so I don't eat too late and lie awake with a stomachache. After dinner, I have no energy to go to the gym, thinking about the next precious hour and a half of relaxation before I have to hit the hay to do it all over again.
But the thing that gets me the most is that you. Constantly. Have. To. Look. Busy.
It seems like those in charge believe chaining us to our desks will magically boost our productivity. It only forces people to be professional pretenders, playing like toddlers with their first toy cash register.
I had almost forgotten about the countless hours I spent behind my desk on quiet days, staring into nothing, daydreaming about my next handsome prince or princess.
Nothing drains energy as much as having to pretend to be busy, stretching out tasks to avoid the dreaded downtime, because heaven forbid you get caught standing still.
Working from home has let me in on a not-so-secret secret: practically nobody puts in a solid eight hours of work each day.
Second, as it turns out, I'm very good at pretending to be busy. I always knew I should have gone into theater.
Sardonic wave
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