I have been in this role for five years, and in that time nobody has once asked for my input on anything. I accepted that. It is the nature of the position. But I was not prepared to learn, from a calendar invitation left open on a laptop, that the household is moving to a model of “three days in the office, minimum”, and that my own role has been, in the language of the memo, affected.
A Brief Summary of My Responsibilities
For the benefit of those who have not been paying attention, my duties are as follows. I sit under the desk from roughly nine until half past five, positioned so that a human foot can rest on me without conscious effort. I tolerate video calls, including one every Tuesday that runs to ninety minutes and concerns, as far as I can tell, a spreadsheet. And at intervals I am briefly visible in the background of the frame, which I am told is good for morale.
I do not say this to boast. I say it because the work is real, and because it was never written down anywhere, and because it is now apparently surplus to requirements.
“He has been my entire support structure since 2020,” said Gemma Holloway, 38, a senior account manager and the person responsible for the decision. “I do feel awful, but the company has been very clear about attendance, and there is a tracker.”
I have seen the tracker. It is a spreadsheet, naturally.
No Consultation, No Handover
What troubles me most is the process. In any properly run restructure there would be a handover period of, say, four to six weeks, during which the outgoing party could brief whoever is taking over. I was given a Thursday. The incoming cover arrangement, as I understand it, is a radio left on low and a chew toy with a compartment for paste. Neither of these can tell when the post has arrived, and neither will bark at the correct volume when it does. That knowledge took me years to build and it is simply going to walk out of the door at ten to eight each morning.
Dr Alison Pritchard, a canine behaviourist who has been quoted in several articles I have not been shown, says my reaction is entirely predictable. “Dogs thrive on routine, and for a great many of them that routine has been one specific person, in one specific room, for years,” she said. “Asking them to simply be enthusiastic about a staggered return is optimistic.”
I would go further than optimistic, but I am trying to remain constructive.
On the Matter of Office Culture
I am told that office culture is a perk. It has been described to Gemma as a reason to come in, alongside something called collaboration and a fruit bowl. I have no view on the fruit bowl. But I have seen the lunches. I have watched a grown woman eat a limp wrap over a keyboard while answering a message from someone sitting nine feet away. I have seen a salad described, with a straight face, as a meal. When Gemma works from home she eats toast standing up at the counter, drops a corner of it, and everyone leaves the room feeling better about themselves. That is culture. That is a thriving workplace.
Nobody is selling the commute either, which by my reckoning takes fifty minutes each way, and which I am assured is not a joke. I have never had a commute. My commute is from the sofa to the desk, and on a busy day I do it twice.
Making It Work
I want to be clear that I am not one of those who resist change for its own sake. I have read the memo. I understand that these decisions are made at a level above mine, and that I should have been grateful to be kept on as long as I was. I will adapt. I have a plan.
On the three office days, I will spend the day in the hall, listening to the radio with the dignity of someone who has been put on garden leave. And at about ten to six, when I hear the key in the door, I will take up my position on the third floorboard from the front door, directly in the path of anyone carrying a bag, a coat and a phone at the same time. It is the one place she will definitely trip over. It is not a protest. It is simply a reminder that I am still here, and that I was never consulted.
