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When I moved to London 10 years ago, part of the draw of city life was working in a swanky office. I’d wake up early, dress smartly, grab a coffee en route, cram onto the Tube and then walk through town, passing iconic landmarks on my way. I felt lucky.
The ritual of the daily commute and office life made me feel like all the schooling, tuition fees and job applications had amounted to something – that I had amounted to something.
Don’t get me wrong, there were times when the daily grind would grind on me (not least when there was a TfL strike). But overall, I relished the ceremony of it all, as though I was playing a part. Dare I say, it was fun – and that’s before I even get to the joys of having colleagues and a “work wife”.
I can’t remember when the novelty wore off, but it did. That bright-eyed, eager twentysomething turned into a jaded, exhausted Londoner who felt like a cog in the machine. I did the commute, but I was on autopilot. Gone were my manners when it came to taking a spare seat; scant was my patience with fellow travellers (especially those with backpacks). I no longer had tolerance for tourists who gathered at the top of escalators during rush hour, trying to decipher the Tube map – what a great place to stand!
And then came the pandemic.
Unlike many people at that time, I was still going into the office quite frequently – not through choice, I might add. The London Underground was eerily empty and felt like the backdrop to a dystopian zombie movie. Clutching my hand sanitiser, I would make my way into an empty office, do a temperature check, and then head up to the desks sectioned off with Perspex partitions.
The joys of office life were completely lost. I barely saw my friends, I had to wear a mask all day and there was an ever-present fear that I might catch Covid. I couldn’t see my family and loved ones, but I could sit five seats away from my boss.
Perhaps the only thing worse was when we were forced to work from home. No longer deemed “key workers”, my colleagues and I had second screens and work laptops delivered and our interactions limited to Zoom and Slack – the only two things in life more exhausting than a commute.
It was especially isolating as I lived alone. I would go whole days without speaking to a single human – sometimes, during my daily walk, I would pop into Sainsbury’s just to chat to a cashier. I can only imagine how those who entered their first-ever jobs during this time felt.
So when the news was announced that we could start returning to the office, I was both relieved and apprehensive. Like many others, I had become an involuntary recluse and the idea of leaving my flat was daunting at first. But I was all too ready for a taste of normality – and the pressure from employers paying sky-high rent in central London was so enormous that a lot of us didn’t have much choice in the matter.
It started small – with “hybrid working”. But then, soon enough, I was expected to go back in five days a week. “Five?” my non-media friends would cry. “Yep…”, I’d say, quietly resenting them for working in other industries. What I wasn’t quite prepared for was the resentment I’d feel for people in my own company, which bizarrely allowed some workers to do three days in the office while the rest of us schlepped in every day.
The most notable differences between office and remote work were not being able to roll out of bed five minutes before my shift or do washing and housework throughout the day, and my diminished bank balance after paying for travel and lunches out. But the advantages were also significant. I felt like a human again and I had a reinstated sense of purpose. It was also far easier to communicate with colleagues and manage my team.
It doesn’t surprise me that the WFH debate has continued to rumble on over the past four years – nor that the latest ONS stats show that 27 per cent of all workers in the UK have a hybrid setup (or that those in more senior positions are more likely to adopt this model). The sudies also show that those who WFH get an extra 24 minutes in bed and 15 minutes to warm up or exercise. What does surprise me is my stance on it all, now.
Had you told me a decade ago there would be a day that I would willingly avoid the office, I would have laughed in your face – after all, what’s the point in living in London and paying extortionate rent if you are not actually going to experience the city?
I wholeheartedly believe that young people entering the workplace should… well, enter the workplace. Some of my best friends are people I’ve met through work and some of the best advice I’ve had has been from mentor-like figures in the office. Had the same spiel been delivered on Slack, I doubt it would’ve had quite the same impact.
But the older I get, the more tired I become. No two people are the same – and, yes, some people will take the p*** while working remotely or struggle to focus when they’re not in an office environment, but the majority of people can (and should) be trusted when not under the eye of their managers (who, incidentally, the research shows, often avoid a five-day week themselves). It all comes down to choice, respect and trust.
Times have changed. Can we please change the conversation, too?
