Just when I was starting to truly feel comfortable working from home and had figured that, after nearly six years of it, I would not be going back to the office, I was called back to the office. We are working under a hybrid schedule a few days a week, and then we also work from home.
This meant much more than just readjusting to the workplace environment. There was now the issue of resuming expenses for transportation in terms of bridge tolls, gas and parking. Meal planning is another animal altogether, and a topic for another time.
I’m using a different bridge to get to work now, and I fill my tank more frequently. The mileage didn’t change much (about 11 miles), but now I know my car won’t last me as far into retirement. The major highways are brutal proving grounds for motorists, where speed limits are posted but are actually based on a mass-approved code of conduct which is considerably higher. In this world, everybody stays in their space. One doesn’t tailgate too close or lag too far behind. Somebody zooming past and crossing three lanes at 90 is speeding, and nobody likes that.
At least the parking is subsidized, and of my three location choices I may have made the wisest one. First, it’s a covered garage and not an open parking lot (I avoid needing to scrape ice or remove snow, which was a plus during the extreme weather). Second, it’s a short but much-needed walk. Third, it’s well-tended and feels safe.
Over the years, my memories of work and my life (which, let’s face it, are interchangeable) have been based upon where my workspace was located. Let me explain.
In the early years, I worked in the windowless basement, where our small contact center was among three dark central call-taking departments. We shared space with IT and the mailroom, which still had a huge shredder the size of an industrial washing machine. My next big leap was when call processing was moved to an upper floor, and we received cubicles with orange burlap walls. The nearest window for me was yards away.
We then moved to a secondary building, and I could push my chair away from my desk, look around the cubicle wall (which was now a neutral grey) and see a window. After that, I transferred to a different building, and the cubicle walls partially hid the windows, but I was against those walls and saw the outside world readily.
At last, I was sent to an office in which I had a large cubicle with several windows directly behind me. I saw sunlight and approaching rain with equal joy. Then that building was shut down in 2020, and we began remote work from home.
Now I have a large cubicle again, but the windows are steps away for those of us in the inner circle. The managers have the window offices, which is fair.
However, the building isn’t filled with the activity of six years ago. In fact, if there are 30 people on my floor, I think we have a crowd. The last day in the building each week can almost always be mistaken for a Friday, yet there is still work from home to do. It’s an effort to reach what will be the new normal, but it’s good to have other human beings nearby again. When working at home feels like being a caretaker in a graveyard, with the other empty homes on the block silent as tombstones, it helps to know there is a journey which will end with something resembling what we used to know.
I don’t speed to get there, but I anticipate it every time.
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