I was annoyed I had to return to the office on that last day. Precisely on that last day.
It was one of those fall rainy days that started calmly, like in slow motion, with the smell of rain coming from the ground, and bright leaves, orange and brown, covering the streets between my home and the subway. But by the time I got out at 23rd ST Station, the rain had morphed into a quite loud storm, with dark clouds and intense winds, and while I was waiting to cross 6th Avenue, lighting illuminated the skies for a split second, and I saw how the One World Trade Center building, way south and tall like a giant, appeared and disappeared behind the clouds. Then the traffic lights turned green, and a bunch of new yorkers pushed forward against the rain.
The office had not changed since three years ago, except for the fact that it was empty. I smiled, thinking how unsuccessful had been all efforts from new management to bring people back to the very expensive Midtown building after the pandemic. The lobby was still white, with aseptic white walls, aseptic white leather sofas, and an aseptic front desk with the company’s name in fake gold letters. The posh pink orchids on both sites of the desk were not fake, I guessed.
I scanned my badge, the little led light went green, and muscle memory pushed the door open. And there they were, rows and rows of empty desks. I could see a couple of heads here and there, but I certainly didn’t see any team pictures, or family pictures, or plants, or fun mugs, or swag remnants from past conferences.
I walked towards my desk, silent as a ninja. The smell was different but still familiar, a mix of disinfectant, the remnants of someone else’s perfume, and fresh coffee. I heard footsteps, the pointy kind, the one only stilettos produce. Most probably from the perfumed lady, I thought, and also most probably from some director or VP, I assumed. I swiftly disappeared behind my desk seconds before the footsteps stopped a few steps away and gave way to an explosion of nasal squeals in the form of “hi” and “OMG” and “how nice to see you.” I lowered my head.
Laptop plugged and loading, shrieking ladies finally gone, I decided I would take my last free office coffee. I had taken those coffees numerous times during long nights before deadlines, when the office walls were covered with motivational messages and pet pictures, when a director or VP would secretly produce a bottle of scotch from their hidden stash, and they would spike your coffee if the day had been extra tough, when your coworkers were your friends and drinks after work happened every day.
The coffee didn’t taste the same. I unplugged the laptop. No one would care if I left early after all. I headed to my manager’s office. I had never met him in person before, and I had no intention of spending more than five minutes with him that day. There were some formal salutations, I handed him my laptop and my badge, we both wished each other a very weak “good luck,” and I left the office before lunch on my last day, without looking back.
