“Remoted” Day 365 (Tuesday)

Pre-pandemic tax seizure.

One year ago on this date was the last time I walked from the John Street parking garage down Merrimack Street to the bank and my desk in my cubicle in the fourth floor office downtown. Like many other days, I paused for pictures along the way. On this day, it was through the windows of the burger joint that had been seized by the state for unpaid taxes, leaving tables set for customers with bottled water and silverware in the shuttered space. 

It’s the day I mistakenly thought I was being “relocated” to another department by the People Rearranger in charge of facilities, having misheard when he said I was being “remoted” – jettisoned right off company property to temporary seclusion at The BungaLowell, two miles away. 

It was the early days of social distancing. The thought was, if distancing was executed well enough by society in general, the other popular buzzword of that week could be achieved to  “flatten the curve” of the rate of infection to manageable levels for hospitals to keep up.

Here it is, a year after that last confusing day at the office and sitting at my desk in my coat, waiting for the People Rearranger to return and escort me to temporary quarters in another department. This was the “split teams up to avoid having an entire department out sick at once” philosophy.

I imagine I looked like Mummu as I sat there. Countless times she would have her coat and gloves on, ready to go wherever it was we were going, and some combination of Mom, my sister, or I would be sidetracked getting out the door to drive her. She never wanted anyone to have to wait for her, so she was often roasting in her coat waiting for everyone else to get their act together. That was me last year, waiting at my desk for the next piece of information, not comprehending it wasn’t an alternate workspace elsewhere in the bank, I was going to be working from my house, for possibly a couple weeks. Ha! A couple weeks. Now it sounds so innocent. So naive. And slightly miscalculated by about 50 weeks.

Looking back, a few things should have been done differently one year ago. It was definitely the right move to take the snacks from the drawer, but more pens, highlighters, and notepads would have been helpful. As would any of the several lap blankets or the shawl from my file drawer. The plant on my desk, given to me by my former manager on my first day, and the succulent a colleague gave me at Christmas should have been taken home. Talk about neglectful plant parenting. 

Awesome office mates.

Any nervousness a year ago centered on the emerging scarcity of toilet paper and disinfectant and the unknown of the new virus. A year after leaving it, my nervousness centers on returning to the office. It’s going to feel like the stressful yet exciting first day at a new place all over again. 

The dogs, having recovered from the suddenly ever-present hovering human presence, will certainly suffer from the sudden lack of it when it’s time to go back. And I will miss them, too. With apologies to my awesome human colleagues at the office-office, my home office colleagues are pretty amazing. Sure, they don't bring bagels and baked goods, but they cuddle, and that is worth a lot.

It's quite possibly the weirdest personal anniversary I've recognized, not that working all day and watching movies and typing all night are exactly "recognizing" anything. It's just more of the same of the continuing weird that now feels routine and normal.