My worst fear has come true. My parents were maybe, possibly, perchance right.
As a twenty-something who started college during the height of Covid, I’m well acquainted with online work and Zoom calls.
This made my entrance into the remote-leaning corporate world pretty seamless. Though I did have to hang up my Zoom calls for Microsoft Teams, the sweatpants work attire stayed put.
I happily welcomed this remote, corporate world. A job was a means to an end. I clock in, I do my work, I clock out. Being remote gave the ease of doing exactly that—no need to waste time socializing with coworkers and no need for creating relationships.
A few months into my first job a company-wide survey was sent out to test the waters of hybrid working. The results of this survey were largely ignored and it was set—one mandatory in-office day became the new company policy. The agony.
I had little to no respect for this new rule. I saw no upside to sitting in LA traffic only to arrive at an office (with no snacks, may I add) to fight for a desk that inevitably didn’t have a monitor, and then continue to take all my meetings at my desk, headphones in, Teams camera off.
Think of how much productivity I was sacrificing by having to go to the office! Doing my laundry! Petting my cat! Scrolling on TikTok! Wearing no bra!
The elders of my family were stuck in their prehistoric ways. They couldn’t appreciate that my high screen time and lack of social interactions were actually a good thing. (For reasons I have yet to figure out)
Maybe it did feel a little strange and isolating to only have digital interactions with my team members and no interactions with my wider colleagues outside of one-off pings, but I was getting my work done and getting a paycheck and getting to roll out of bed at 8:59am. The trade-offs felt fair. Work was for work, anyways, and working remotely helped keep those boundaries up.
But then I started at a new job that had no regard for human rights—mandatory two days in office. And to make it even worse: they soon upped it to mandatory three days in office. The horror, the disrespect, the blatant disregard of ethics and morals.
Did I even have enough non-sweatpants to support this new lifestyle? Do I remember how to engage in real life interactions? Do my handshaking skills need a refresher?
I was wary of this complete overhaul of my online work life. Members of my family continued to boast the value and benefits of working in-person. I tried to communicate to them that the world had changed since they started working in their corporate careers—life was now digital. I finished off my final year of high school online, started my college experience on a computer in my childhood bedroom, and entered the workforce while plugged into my kitchen outlet—if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
But as a slave to capitalism, I had no other choice. I was now a hybrid worker: three days in-office, two days at home.
I could concede that maybe it was more effective to work in-office. An unanswered Teams ping was now just a swivel of the chair, a complicated task now avoided email and emails of follow-ups with a ten-foot walk to a coworker’s desk. Meetings were more interactive and productive—I could actually see people’s faces and their reactions to the words being said.
This has made it the most horrific and horrible time of my life. I’d have to admit that maybe, just maybe, they were right this whole time. Sure, the personal desks, restocked snacks, and free coffee bar certainly helped, but I started to actually see, and maybe even enjoy, the value of working in person.
It makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
I’ve been able to develop personal relationships with my coworkers and often look forward to getting to interact with them in person. (Gross!!!!)
I can bore you with my these were real people with real lives all along! realizations, but in reality, it’s simply the human and social interactions I’ve come to value. I look forward to the impromptu one-on-ones that become filled with conversations about anything other than work, and I willfully linger in conference rooms after meetings for those moments of genuine interactions and shared sighs of having to return back to work. (Misery really does love company)
This feeling stirs from getting to say good morning to our office manager every day, and waving at the office dogs enough that you start to get to know their owners. I’ve gotten to know our office barista (free coffee always helps win an argument) like I’m a regular. I feel exhilarated when those I don’t work with on a day-to-day basis know my face and name.
I suppose it does feel nice to be known.
While I so cheerfully cherish my two days where I get to work at home, getting to experience social connection on those other three days is, and I hate to say it, pretty nice. (Three days is my max of socializing, though)
I came of age in an online world where the thought of water cooler talks and relationships with coworkers felt archaic and uncomfortable. I was used to solitude and the feeling of anonymity behind my camera-off calls. Work was just a thing you must do.
I hadn’t had the opportunity to learn just how much more meaningful work can become. I’ve learned real-life interactions are, unfortunately, incredibly fulfilling and feeling part of a workplace community also feels maybe, like, pretty good or whatever. (Having only a twenty minute commute has also helped sway my in-office opinions)
Should my family ever use this article against me to prove that they maybe actually know a thing or two, though, I will deny. My stubbornness is much too strong to actually say those words I know they so badly want to hear, so I’ll settle at this: they certainly weren’t wrong.
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