2031: an ordinary day Working From Home in the future
Thursday. Last day of the working week. Just five hours of solid grind until the weekend.
He eased himself into his hot tub, feeling the heat slide over his Crocs and then his Speedos, as he settled onto his ergonomic cushion with lumbar support. His keyboard floated before him and he drifted towards work.
He had no regrets. This was the gruelling toil of “Working From Home” that he’d chosen; the life to which he’d dedicated more than a decade. He thought back to when he’d started out on this career path. Work had been so different in 2020, back when people met people “face-to-face”.
He shivered at the thought.
Then came the pandemic. He remembered that day in October 2021 when the John Lewis sales figures had appeared, reflecting the profound and long-lasting change in the way that Britain worked. Sales of neckties, briefcases, passport covers, and filing cabinets had all gone down. Sales of thongs had also sagged, suggesting that more people were more worried about visible panty lines before lockdown than they were after. In their place had come all the items now considered de rigour for the home office: the hot tub, the big screen TV, the scented candles, pizza ovens, and slippers for every kind of business meeting.
As if responding to the thought, his 86-inch TV flared on the wall, distracting him for a few moments with an ad for the latest home-working essential. It was the new Peloton model. At last, the company had managed to merge two of the biggest must-buys: an exercise bike with built-in pasta machine. A five-mile workout could now produce one sheet of lasagne. He understood the health benefits but wondered if the effort was worth the reward.
He didn’t have a chance to finish the thought as Skype lit up his monitor.
He checked to make sure his shirt and tie overlay was enabled and that the stubble filter would prevent the caller from seeing his dishevelled state. Naturally, the “flush removal” software had been in place since 2024. There could be no more embarrassing moments like as happened in May of 2020 when the sound of a toilet flushing interrupted arguments in a Supreme Court hearing.
Suitably protected from shame, he picked up the call.
“Hi John,” said his colleague, also wearing a virtual suit and tie. “We need the customer satisfaction figures by the end of the day.”
“No can do,” he replied. “You know that’s two hours of hard work, which contravenes the new workplace regulations against hard work.”
“Well, first thing on Monday then…”
He clicked his teeth. “Tuesday at the earliest.”
“Damn,” cursed his colleague. “I’d forgotten we’re trialling the three-day working week… Fine. Tuesday, but I want it before your first lunch break.”
Static broke up the picture for a second and the computer-generated façade briefly disappeared. For the briefest of moments, he saw his colleague as he truly was: sad and wan, a heavy growth of beard framed by a room that looked like a midden. The image flickered again and the new reality was back: the image of a clean-shaven professional in immaculate surroundings…
He hung up the call and turned his mind back to his work.
He managed two phone calls with customers before a timed rush of bubbles reminded him to take a break. It was eleven o’clock and he’d already been working 20 whole minutes.
He stretched, pushed the keyboard away, and wondered about using his pizza oven (195 per cent sales increase during the original pandemic) but it too would require effort.
He instead floated contently on the plume of bubbles and contemplated a new line of work. He’d put in enough years now to look for something with more seniority. Something with more free time and less hassle. Maybe even a job with a “statement desk” (another work from home essential) suitably large and impressive enough to remind people that his work was important. He didn’t want anybody to think he’d only been attracted to the work because of the huge salary.
No. He was doing this to help people.
That, after all, was what it meant to be a GP.