Being an office tourist

Last week I got to work somewhere where you’re allowed to wear jeans. JEANS, people. In an office!

I haven’t worked in a place where jeans are allowed to cross the threshold for years. It’s been many dark years of black tights and sensible skirts. Some more sensible than others, granted.

I get the need to brush your hair (although bed head is a strong look for those who can pull it off) and not turn up to work in a potato sack, but I’ve never understood the attitude that somehow what I’m wearing will affect my ability to do my job. There are rumours of workplaces where women aren’t even allowed to wear trousers.

Anyway, I was excited. My jeans were excited. So, naturally, I totally forgot about the more casual dress code and turned up in a shirt, trousers and pointy heels like an overdressed fool.

But for day two I dusted off the denim and it was goooood.

Because last week I was an honorary commuter again for two days.

For the record, I can confirm that it takes about 12 minutes for commuter rage to return and I am just plain in awe of anyone who has to go near the Victoria line in the morning. Wow. That is a just a new level.

But really, it was quite nice to get on a train and feel a bit like a tourist.

Just four weeks in to my freelancing career I wasn’t sure how I felt about going back into an office again, even if it was just for a couple of days. Part of me had wanted to make a clean break from office life for at least a few months –  a sort of office juice cleanse detox, if you will – while another part of me is still concerned that talking to the wall is only a hop, skip and a jump away.

And so, I boldly went.

I went to an office I’d never been to before, and have come away desperately lusting after a tap which produces boiling water on demand. It’s like MAGIC!

I worked in an area I haven’t worked in before, and spent too much money on lunch.

I worked with people I haven’t worked with before, and mostly remembered to not make inappropriate jokes around strangers.

And it was really nice (thank you very much for having me).

It made me realise I don’t need to swear off office life for good. But now I’m ready to spend some more time with my beloved desk  at home, where denim is also allowed, even if I do have to wait for the kettle to boil.

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