The first thing we knew was that we wouldn't be working for a while. We thought that we would take a quick break and then take another look. We took some snacks from the kitchen and the bathroom after we cleaned out our cubicles and desks. One week became two, which became a month, which became a series of question marks, as the idea of spending our workdays with other people seemed like a quaint memory, as the home office conversions made the very idea of spending our workdays with other people seem like a quaint memory. Birthday parties, answering machines, or properly functioning democracy are similar.
Some of us might never return. Every so often, we hear about companies re-examining their relationship with the office, which has been shown to be unnecessary or outdated.
Maybe it's better. It took this forced separation to reveal that the fuel we save and traffic we avoid is better in the long run.
Steven Ahlgren says that when he was bored and unfulfilled, he began taking frequent trips to look at a painting by Edward Hopper. I was drawn to its setting because I related to each and every workday at the bank. I was pulled back by its ambiguous narrative, which was about who were these two people, what was their relationship, and why the woman was looking at that piece of paper on the floor.
I'm a defender of the office. The big, dumb, lumbering buildings, with their slow elevators and water coolers, and common bathrooms with mysterious and disconcerting odours are what I'm paying tribute to. I am standing up for the poorly designed parking lot, the faulty wi-fi router in conference room B that drives everyone nuts, the bundles of power cords and the sun-faded personal photos hanging at a five-degree angle, and the fact that Janice from accounts knocked the holes into
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Maybe I'm biased. I wrote for the American version of The Office for its first four seasons. The British show didn't celebrate the concept of a common workplace as much as it should have. Tim Canterbury said that it was simply the place, where you share a bit of carpet with other people for eight hours a day, and that it might be all you have in common.
I am reminded of these photos every time I enter an office building, or overhear a conversation about office life: a promotion won or lost, the challenges of a new firm. I try to imagine how the moment described would look in a picture.
After two years of living in my living room, a shared bit of carpet sounds delightful. The office is the only place we have to deal with other people because of its problems.
This was true before the epidemic. The world was already made of atoms. Should we go to the store? Let's just have them delivered. Do you need a book, a toy, a flashlight, or a humidifier? We can order it from our couch and not have to go to the shop. One place we knew we had to share a bit of carpet was at work.
I went into an office with a camera to try and portray some of these ideas after leaving banking. I worked at this project from 1990 to 2001 in law firms, insurance companies, government agencies and always with the same approach: nothing would be staged and only the light that was available would be used.
I would think that the loss of that carpet was something to be celebrated. I understand. Offices can be places of emotional pain, or even abuse at the hands of cruel co-workers or bosses. Working from home has given some of us the chance to spend more time with our kids. We have had to spend all our time with our kids. For many, the flexibility to work from home might have been a blessing.
Humans were designed for a world where we never encounter other people, no matter how boring or annoying they are. We are meant to be around each other, exchanging small moments of conversation and mutual interest. We are meant to share experiences, bond over common annoyances and celebrate each other's birthdays with dumb hats and cupcakes. One of the last places where we can practice being around other people is the shared office.
As I became more interested in photography and less in banking, I began to notice scenes around me that reminded me of Edward Hopper's paintings. I was fascinated by the light in some empty offices and corridors when I was working late.
I have been reading and writing about ethics for the last six years. Negotiating with people we share bits of carpet with is the art of ethics. Learning about what others value, comparing that with what we value, and learning how to coexist are all part of the art of learning.
It is messy and discouraging, and it is also the very essence of being alive. We are both ethical laboratories and we are both the scientists.
I will admit my bias again. I have made a living from writing about people in offices and it is among the most fun in the world. They are filled with smart and funny people who make going to work feel good. My job is where I have had the most laughs in my life. If you read about the demise of the shared office, you may say: good riddance.
In meetings, my attention would occasionally drift from the matter at hand, and I would observe the subtle expressions and gestures of those around me. I saw that what was being discussed had profound consequences for others in the room, even though their emotions were usually concealed by professional decorum.
Something will be lost if we stop working. There will be no place on Earth where we have to negotiate with people we don't want to negotiate with. I submit, to those of us who may just now be slowly returning to our computers and other electronics, that maybe it isn't all bad.
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