What starting a job remotely taught me about British office culture

Let’s rewind, for a second, to summer 2019. It’s 7.37am and you’re considering a third hit of the snooze button. It’s after-work drinks tonight (meaning someone has loosely suggested heading out “for one”) so today, unfortunately, is a hair-washing day.

On the bus to the train station, you scroll through Instagram, noticing your best mate has posted some Instagram stories from last night that you’re certain will have been deleted by the time you reach the office. 

You arrive two minutes late (the bus got stuck behind one of those weird party floats which is powered by 10 people peddling) to see your work wife clutching a sausage and egg McMuffin. She looks at you with a guilty grin but says nothing.

Someone on the desk expresses an arbitrary dislike of your favourite contestant from Love Island, having dipped into the series for the first time the previous night, and you look up from your emails, unsure whether there’s time to weigh in before your morning meeting. 

Another colleague stands up to announce a tea run, in what you’re certain is an excuse to talk to the designer who sits at your desk, has a stunning dress sense and only speaks to say ‘Good morning’ and ‘Have a great night!’.

Under current lockdown rules, at least four things in this scenario are illegal or against guidelines. Regulations state that, if your job can be done from home, you should be working remotely. Last April, during the first lockdown, almost half of people in employment were doing some work at home, according to the Office for National Statistics (ONS). London rents continue to crash as people seek roomier home office space elsewhere, while estate agent Hamptons reported a 5.5 per cent increase in rural rents last year. 

Last month, I started my job at a social distance. I’ve never met my colleagues but I do know a small square of their respective living rooms in frightening detail, and I could take a solid guess on their favourite emojis.

Working remotely comes with huge advantages (the more trivial of which include the fact that it’s harder to spot a greasy fringe over webcam, and that no one can smell tuna sandwiches via Slack). But, when it comes to learning your colleagues’ little idiosyncrasies and gauging how they’re feeling, little compares to the sight of a full-fat coke and bag of Maltesers from the vending machine to tell you someone might be stressed and/or hungover, or to a passing comment about an ill child or a bust-up with a partner to warn you off badgering someone about an overdue admin task. 

Without shared surroundings and observations (and, of course, having one too many G&Ts over a peeled-open bag of Kettle Chips on a Friday) ‘getting to know you’ chat doesn’t happen incidentally. Not returning to five office-based days a week will likely have benefits for all our wellbeings but, come summer 2021, I hope there’ll be the chance to spend at least a little time defending my favourite Love Island contestant in person across a bank of messy desks.