COMMUTER PROGRAMMING

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-19-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     I remember back in the olden days when I was a commuter. I left a perfectly good house each morning to get on the train with hundreds of thousands of other people who were already in a bad mood because they had to do the same thing. We were all in it together, competing for a better seat at every turn. Then that little pathogen came along and clipped our wings, and there we were, blissfully at home with our lonesome selves, every day, every hour, every minute, every second.

     Two years later almost to the day I was back on the train, and for one fleeting moment, it felt good. The shoe was now on the other foot, partly because, with "The Great Resignation" employees were feeling their power, and partly because I haven't worn shoes for so long that I'm out of practice. Working sometimes from home and also in the office a couple days a week, pretty much when I feel like it, wearing whatever I like, not doing anything that might break a nail, I'm part of the hybrid workforce, much like a cockapoo or a schnoodle, only taller and less well-trained. And so many people are leaving the labor pool that companies are happy with whatever they get.

     My own department has seen two people leave for other positions that don't require them to come into the office at all. Technically, they don't have to even exist. They can fabricate a fake identity and a computer-generated past as long as they do their job. Companies themselves aren't even sure they want us back full-time either. All that corporate real estate, the heating bills and maintenance staff savings are probably staggering. Maybe all this is at the expense of collaboration, but trust me, I collaborate much better when I'm left alone.

     The company sponsored a survey to find out the level of employee satisfaction. Were our needs being met? Agree, Strongly Agree, Occasionally Strongly Not Disagree or Agree to Disagree. No, as a matter of fact some of my needs are not being met, and if you'd like to meet them, I'd be happy to introduce you. Do we feel like our managers are listening? No, but the last thing I need is a bunch of people listening to what I have to say, because then I feel pressured to say things that make sense. Do we feel as though we have a voice? Do we feel like the company is helping us achieve our goals? No, no, no, NO! I'm used to my old relationship with my company, where I have goals of doing as little as possible and getting paid as much as I can for it, and the company plays the part of the goalie. And these days I feel like my company and I have been through therapy together, and all of a sudden I am its significant other.

     I can't be bothered with a tie anymore, dress shoes are yesterday's news, and so is any shirt that has more than two buttons. If I hadn't spent all those years making fun of dudes who wear shorts and sandals to work, I'd be doing the same thing myself. And now my company says, "OOOH, snazzy!" Instead of, "Why don't you go right back home and change, and I'm not even talking about your clothes." Now my company wants everyone to be included, wants everyone to feel comfortable and engaged. I think if I were living my journey, living my truth, it would love me even more but I'm always lying to myself about what my truth is. If I was racially-ambiguous, gender-confused and religion-fluid I could make myself an HR darling and get myself a fat raise, only I wouldn't use the word "fat."

     I was just glad to be out among real people again, until I remembered that real people can really drive you crazy. There's no quiet car on the train anymore, and there was a guy going over all the future minutes of his 11 o'clock meeting in such loud detail that I felt I was totally up to speed on the presentation by North White Plains. I wondered if his firm could use a stay-at-home employee with a fake identity. Then when I went to unlock my bicycle outside of Grand Central, someone had stolen my mirror. Perhaps it was someone who wanted to see where their journey had taken them. And along the way some guy in a really ugly car had his stereo cranked up so loud that all you could hear was indiscriminate bass notes that had probably jarred loose all his dental work. I pictured him in an intimate moment at the age of 50 with a much younger woman (48), who was whispering something in his ear. And he gives her his devilish grin and says, "What?"

     And then a UPS guy pushing a huge cart full of packages lost control of it and dropped them all over the sidewalk. People stopped to help him pick them up up, and I thought maybe there's hope for us after all. My advice is, don't live life looking in the rear-view mirror, and that goes double for the guy that stole mine.