"I forgot the nozzle for my butt cushion!'
It is statements like that that make me realise how much I've missed working in the office. At present our little team of pusillanimous virus avoiders are still getting away with spending one day out of the working week in the office. The rest of the time we continue to lurk under the blankets in our various domiciles while the term "working week" becomes increasing deserving of the inverted commas.
I have missed the office and the vibrant interplay of personality on personality (although apparently HR are delighted that the interplays of my personality have become somewhat less vibrant) and just being in the presence of other people. People going about their daily tasks, greeting their fellows and bemoaning the fact that their forgetfulness has left them without a vital component of what I am going to assume was part of a sophisticated sexual fetish and not merely an attempt to get comfortable in the office. I heard the nozzle comment and knew I was back.
Each Tuesday such of our team as can be coaxed from their panic rooms slink nervously through the city flinching at every near human contact (and read that however you wish) until they gather their courage in both hands and charge for the doors to our building in a desperate attempt to put the disease laden outdoors behind them as quickly as possible.
It has to be admitted that the building management and my employers have have combined to make the experience of reentering the corporate domain as surreal as possible. Signs abound warning us not to congregate in groups. One of those signs is over the single hand sanitiser dispenser in the lift lobby that we're all encouraged to use.
Lift use has been speeded up by making the whole process of ordering a lift take longer. Rather than have masses of people crammed into slow moving lifts a handy new app allows one to order a bespoke lift that will whisk you and others heading in your direction (up) to your destination. At least in theory, in practice the lobby is a crazed scrum of people hysterically waving their phones at an intermittently functioning security sensor which periodically permits the fortunate to enter a lift. Once actually on the floor the quickest way to access our offices is to wait for somebody walking by and hope they let you in, in violation of all security and disease prevention protocols. Don't worry, they will.
I can't speak with authority about the women's toilets (honestly officer) but the men's have helpful advice on such matters of personal cleanliness as washing one's hands and when one should perform such an act. This starts off sensibly by stating "after you have used the toilets" and rapidly deteriorates to the point whereby it is warning you to wash your hands after handling animals or animal waste. This is not really useful to office staff unless you are part of the team that mucks out the ferret fighting pit we maintain in the loading dock. I lost fifty dollars there last week. Some people say it's cruel and degrading, others complain that matches clash with partner meetings.
Once you have navigated the lobby (ankle deep in hand sanitiser) and persuaded the security sensor to provide you with a lift and finally imposed on a less than security conscious colleague to give you access to the floor you can finally take your seat (if indeed you still have one) and commence the days work. At the end of the working day you have to wipe down your desk with a wet wipe. I would encourage you to do that as soon as you arrive. After all there are only so many hours in the day and you've already spent most of them just getting to your desk and besides the ferret fights start at three.
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