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The Duration: A Week at the Office
At the start of the week I made a resolution: I would get up every day, put on a shirt with a collar, choose a good tie, step into shined shoes, and go to the office.
Previously I went downtown once a week to walk around and take the civic temperature, look at the construction projects, document the empty core. But this week I decided I would go to my desk, and sit there, and work. So I did.
The tie probably looked absurd, like an affectation, a sign of a bygone era – what’s next, bud, a straw boater? But you stand up straighter when you wear a tie. You feel put together. And you’ve always the option of loosening it with an aggravated growl if things get bad. What do people who wear nothing but sweatshirts do to indicate that they’re serious and ragged and ready to cut through the nonsense and get that damned Peter Parker to get some pictures of that damned Spider-Man menace, already?
The Last-Man-on-Earth vibe is strong downtown . . .
. . . except for the workers in bright safety vests working on all the things that need fixing or building. There was fresh landscaping around the building across the street, waiting for someone to admire it. There were new signs in the skyway telling us to cough into our elbow crook, and stay home if sick – hey thanks, never heard any of that.
The first day back at my desk was strange. The fourth felt absolutely normal. Except that the office was completely empty.
Well, almost; there’s one other writer who decided to do go back, and a few others drift in. “There’s no one here!” growled our famously cantankerous sportswriter when I saw him last week. “It’s the safest place in town!”
But today I was all alone. The newsroom is a large place. It has many wings, several floors. The lights are on, the monitors are all running – people were supposed to leave their PCs on for remote access. All of the big news monitors and displays of web traffic and story-trending were dark; a monitor by the door played congrats to the people who had service anniversaries in March. The big board where the month’s feature stories are planned was likewise stuck on March. I felt, again, like Charlton Heston in post-plague Los Angeles, looking at a calendar from long ago.
Except Chuck didn’t have access to fresh pizza. I did. The pizza joint in the skyway was open. It never closed. On a normal day they had 25 huge pizzas in every possible combination ready for the lunch crowd – maybe ten pies today, but it was hot and fresh. I had lunch at my desk, using a knife and fork I’d brought from home. Man, it was delicious. Then I filed a column, thinking: if there wasn’t any newspaper – if there wasn’t anyone else – I would still do this, for a while. But then I’d stop.
Had a call with some new Ricochet advertisers. You’ll love them! I discussed the new products while wandering around the empty office, ending up in the big conference room where the top editors assemble the paper, sitting in the big chair at the end of the long table, feeling like the pirate in the Tom Hanks movie. I am the editor now.
While I was on the call I got a notification from my phone: my parking meter was about to expire. Another routine from the Before Times. I fired up the app and added some time. When I’d done that on Monday, it had felt like an echo of a previous life; now it was routine. Again.
Left the office at the usual time, and walked past the great globe in the lobby. It’s a relic from our old building, restored. It revolves at the same pace as the Earth itself. When the Wuhan Virus slammed down they turned it off, and it’s been stuck in the same damned place ever since.
It will be plugged in again, soon. And the globe will turn.
Published in General
I knew someone would pick up on that. Yes, I do, when I’m downtown, because the alternative is washing my hands give times between store and the end of the meal, what with all the doors, buttons, chairs to move, and so on. Even before this all began I was not a big fan of touching public things then using the same hand to pick up food. Hence the knife-and-fork for the pizza at the office.
Civilized!
Ari,
… but just a bit compulsive …
I EAT FRENCH FRIES WITH A FORK
I will be so glad when the meshuggah virus is history.
Regards,
Jim
I usually use chopsticks for french fries.
Ari,
Are you sure there weren’t Mandarins in your family tree?
Regards,
Jim
My Granddaddy used to always tell my mother she was Chinese. The way he explained it was that every fifth child who was born in the year she was born was Chinese, and she was his fifth child. So, it’s possible I’m half Chinese. But not very probable.
For a while now, I have been thinking about buying a typewriter. I do a lot of writing, and almost all of it goes on the Internet, but I’d love a working, antique typewriter to use for personal correspondence.
Of course, as a general rule, I don’t really participate in any personal correspondence, but I tell myself that would change if I owned a typewriter. And some high-quality paper. And one of those expensive pens for signing my name at the bottom of the letters. I wouldn’t want to go to the trouble of typing a letter on some old-school personal letterhead, then sign my name with a Bic disposable.
I’m curious about the globe. How long has it been there? And, more to the point, how accurate is it as to the current political geography?
Ari,
I know a retired lawyer whose wife’s handwriting is so bad that when she signs something he yells at her, “What is that Chinese!” It’s possible she might be but not probable.
Regards,
Jim
Now, we’re talking. Here’s mine. A 1927 Underwood. I used it in college.
As for the fountain pens, I have quite the collection. Also, seals and sealing wax, because of course one needs that as well.
I got a haircut yesterday. After 2 months, it felt awesome.
Plus there is always pencil and paper. Or quill, ink and paper. 😁
Or fountain pen and paper or typewriter.
When there was the big several day outage in the Midwest and over to New York State several years back, I used a pad of paper and one of my fountain pens.
But it is precious time, no matter the reason you get them in your care. I think, ultimately, this time will be a blessing to them. Enjoy them .
Are you Puff, the magic dragon. with the sealing wax, and other fancy stuff?
Where’s the keys for emoticons?
That’s what my horrorscope tells me.
There is a special shift knob for that. 😜
Paul,
You tie the emoticon to the pigeon and then …
Regards,
Jim
Press the Windows logo key, then tap the period key.
I no longer fit the description of young but I worked from home for a couple of years when I was younger (pre-pandemic) and did not handle it well. It’s been better during the pandemic – I’ve been able to stay more focused and productive. But I MUCH prefer an office. If I got offered a remote position in the future I think I would try to find some hole in the wall to rent close to home to work from.
@annefy
I confess my reaction was, “What – only 3 people.” But then. like you Annefy, I live in California.
Egad! Next you’re going to tell me John Kerry eats a Philly cheesesteak sub smothered in Swiss cheese with a knife and fork . . .
“Go stand in the corner and think about the choices you made.”
Should be good – they ship with a DYMO label maker.
I stick with the clay and stylii, but I guess some people are slaves to fashion.
That’s pretty sweet. An Underwood is at the top of the list for me, if I ever decide to jump in.
I had a pigeon drop on of those emoticons on my car just the other day.
How old is that globe, and does it reflect the current borders as it turns? I love globes and old maps.
Now that is old school!