I’ve recently relocated. Well, to clarify, my parents have relocated, and since I still live with them, so have I. I suspect they were subtly hinting it’s time for me to get my own place. They didn’t say it outright, but the fact that they were eyeing up one-bedroom properties speaks volumes. In the end, they chose a mid-terrace house with a box room that now serves as my bedroom—and my designated workspace, should I decide to work from home (not that I ever will).
Why is this relevant? Because I’m now officially a commuter! Sure, I’ve always traveled to work, but it used to be just a short walk. Now, I take the train every day, joining the ranks of other workers on the move—though, oddly, nobody seems to wear suits or ties anymore. When did we all become so scruffy? Thankfully, my commute is in the opposite direction of the rush, so while the London-bound trains are packed, I always get a seat. Most days, I even have a table, which lets me fire up my laptop and get a head start on work—except when they bring out the old, wobbly trains. Then I’m stuck balancing my laptop on my knee as the carriage rocks around, making tasks a bit tricky. Once, I was reviewing an article for my boss and meant to describe it as “witty.” Instead, I accidentally typed an s and an h instead of the w. He hasn’t asked me to review anything since.
Being a commuter offers a fresh perspective on the working world. For the record, I am not a TWaT, despite what Kevin in accounts insists. We’ve had endless debates about it. “No, Kev,” I’ve explained repeatedly, “TWaTs only work in the office Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. It’s an acronym—do you not get that?” Still, he’s adamant I am one. Honestly, how someone so clueless landed a job in accounts is beyond me.
But commuting hasn’t made me less efficient at work—if anything, it’s the opposite. I use the train time to clear emails, plan my day, and finalize my stationery orders. That said, despite my reminders to submit requests by 5:00 p.m. the day before, someone always has a last-minute need. It’s usually Lucy in Marketing. “Sorry!” she’ll say, flashing an apologetic smile. “I was so swamped with a presentation the boss dumped on me last night that I forgot to ask for post-it notes and A3 300gsm paper.” I’ll sigh, feign frustration, and tell her it’s impossible. She’ll flutter her eyelashes and smile sweetly. I grin and say, “I’ll see what I can do.”
It’s essential to assert authority in my role, but who am I to stop Marketing’s wheels from turning? Besides, I know I can get her supplies delivered by morning without issue. Our local supplier is incredibly reliable. Once, I even managed same-day delivery for a box of copier paper Lucy claimed was "urgent." We didn’t actually need it that badly, but she seemed stressed, and I wanted to score some points for efficiency.
