Now we’re facing the prospect of hot desking, what next?

Trudy was already not in a good mood when her boss landed it on her that they would be hot desking from now on. By Christine Manby

(Tom Ford)

It’s been 20 months since Boris Johnson announced the first lockdown and told us all we would be working from home, and it’s been three months since my boss Bella started trying in earnest to persuade everyone back to the office. Back in September we settled on a new regime of three office days a week, only to discover that everyone wanted their three days to be Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday in order to preserve their secret long weekends. With no children or other dependents, I drew the short straw and ended up covering Mondays and Fridays. Last Monday, however, Bella insisted that everyone came in for a very important team meeting.

I was in a good mood for a Monday, having celebrated my big birthday over the weekend with an impromptu night down the pub with my friend (and favourite former postie) Glenn, who made me feel glad that I’d gone to the bother of getting my hair and nails done for the “date date” that didn’t happen. That “date date”, Robert, texted me on Monday morning to say that the PCR test he’d taken had come back negative and perhaps I’d like to reschedule. Suspecting that there had been no PCR test, I said I was busy until January. That wasn’t entirely untrue. The run up to December 25th is always a nightmare before Christmas for PR professionals, as we compete to get our clients’ products in front of shoppers.

Thus I think we all expected Monday’s meeting to be the usual “show and tell” where we each outlined the progress we were making with our various Christmas campaigns. I was looking forward to sharing the social media competition I was going to be running for #Yne (pronounced Hashtag Wine), the alcohol-free, root-based beverage. It was called “Win Your Dry January” and the prize was 31 days’ worth of swede-flavoured sauvignon blanc substitute.

When we were thinking of the competition question, George suggested we ask entrants to tell us what would drive them to drink. “The thought of 31 days of root-based, alcohol-free beverages would do it for me,” he added. We settled on the usual “Like, share and have your name pulled out of a hat by a bored Bella Vista PR employee.” Same as all our competitions. Only there was never a hat and the winner was usually chosen for having the name that most sounded like a euphemism for a sexual act.

At that Monday meeting, Bella nodded through all our presentations but it was clear from her demeanour that she had something big on her mind that was distracting her from the genius of our social media posts. After George had given his report, Bella leaned forward and said, “Now I’ve got some exciting news.”

Were we going to be taken over by a bigger firm who would make us all redundant with a generous pay-off? I knew that every single person in that room apart from Bella had their fingers crossed beneath the meeting room table for that particular outcome. I’d been at the firm for so long, my pay-off could be enough for a loft conversion. I was mulling the possibilities of all that extra space when Bella said, “With everyone coming in just three days a week, we really don’t need so much room.”

I tuned back in to what she was saying, “So I’ve decided to let out the meeting room and the back office…” Which was where George, Sarah and I had our desks. “…to a group of pilates instructors.”

“What?” George said what we were all thinking.

“How is that going to work?” Sarah asked. “Are you making us redundant, Bella?”

The hope in her voice was heart-breaking. Sarah had accidentally moved to Scotland during Lockdown Three and Edinburgh to Fulham was a long commute.

“You’re going to ‘hot-desk’.” Bella made inverted commas around the words. “Which means that nobody will have a desk of their own.”

We all knew what it meant.

“Instead, your personal belongings will be kept in the new filing cabinets which you might have noticed blocking the toilet door when you came in.”

I certainly had.

“I need two volunteers to get those cabinets into place, then I’d like you all to empty out your desk drawers. And when you’ve finished that, there’s a special treat.”

Bella ducked beneath the table and came up with a box from Carrot’s Cakes, the vegan cake shop. Carrot’s Cakes was a recent addition to the Bella Vista PR client list, so it didn’t occur to me that what was inside the box would have any particular relevance to me. Bella said, “Ta-da!” as she revealed the egg-less Victoria sponge in the shape of a giant 50.

“Who’s 50?” George asked.

I pinched the top of my nose.

“Who?” Sarah echoed.

“It’s me,” I admitted. “I was 50 this weekend.”

There was a pregnant pause before George gallantly insisted, “You don’t look it. But why didn’t you tell us?”

“Ageism?” I suggested.

“But I just did that campaign for Under The Arches Assisted Living…”

“Yes. And sent Sarah a packet of adult nappies you’d pinched from the photo shoot for her fortieth,” I reminded him.

“50 isn’t old,” Bella said vehemently.

“I know,” I wailed. “Give me some of that cake.”

“Empty your desk first,” Bella said with a wag of her finger.

George, Sarah and I slinked to the back office to do as we were told. After we’d had a good bitch, of course.

“I think this could be a blessing in disguise,” I suggested to Sarah. “Bella will see that this hot-desking thing is a disaster and having already rented out our room to the pilates people she’ll be only too glad when you finally come clean about Edinburgh and offer to hot-desk at your kitchen table full-time. If she refuses, then I’m sure you could call it constructive dismissal. She’s given away your desk.”

Sarah brightened up at that.

We each placed our things in our designated drawers in the filing cabinets and claimed our cake, glowing with the secret knowledge that we were going to make hot-desking the perfect excuse to stay home. While I was getting the last crumbs out of the corner of the cake box, the new occupants of the back office and meeting room came to claim their space. Dressed all in matching sports luxe, the pilates instructors surveyed their new domain. And us. George subtly indicated that I had chocolate frosting smeared on my cheek. I had a feeling there wouldn’t be much cake in the office from now on.