Tripod: Virtual Office: Randy Williams

Dialing In For Dollars
by randy williams

There has been a lot of hype over the last several years concerning the concept of the virtual office. If one buys into the marketing line of companies like OfficePlus, the modern employer's ability to sling together space for temporary projects and ad hoc "teams" is serendipitous and beneficial for all. Very cost-effective, don't you know? But while preparing this story, I had occasion to flip through a catalog of easily assembled desk surfaces and computer tables. The "work positions" snap together like Legos -- new surfaces are added to long cubicle-style "walls" as more temp workers are hired. And when a project is over, the whole enchilada can be broken down and stuck in a closet or warehouse somewhere. Cool, except that I kept having a disturbing mental picture of a warehouse full of discarded worker drones -- sort of like the robot graveyards in "Star Wars."
Thank heavens I've never had to function in that sort of dehumanizing "work hotel." But I am something of an expert on another type of virtual office: I spend about a third to one-half of my time working for Tripod from my home computer. While parked in front of my trusty Mac, pounding out content, I am linked to my colleagues in Williamstown (and to my section's columnists) only by the slender fiber-optic thread of a dial-up PPP connection.
It should be said at the outset that this arrangement is one largely of my own design. Tripod is a young, dynamic, rapidly-expanding company. That is a polite way of saying that the atmosphere at Tripod World Headquarters often resembles the scene in Coppola's "Dracula" where Renfield and the inmates have taken over the asylum.
Okay, I'm exaggerating. But the fact remains that there are dozens of us crammed into tiny spaces. And we each have different work ethics and styles. That carnival atmosphere just isn't, for me at least, conducive to serious, cerebellum-intensive work for me. Everyone else at the 'Pod seems perfectly content to thrive and produce in the midst of such friendly and stimulating chaos. But I found that I just didn't get anything done, that much of my time at the office was spent in frustration, and that I would wind up bringing work home and toiling into the wee hours of the morning just to stay caught up. And that was seriously impacting my so-called life.
Therefore, I have long since fallen into a pattern of spending my mornings at home, producing reams of content in peace and quiet. Then, I drive over to Williamstown to spend my afternoons in meetings and confabs with my colleagues. I am able to make the transition from cyberspace to meatspace flawlessly. I'm more productive, and the time spent alone has me eagerly looking forward to mixing it up with the Tripod gang when I slide into the office. This little start-up company is forward-thinking enough to trust me -- as long as my work gets done and I bring my butt (and occasionally my brain) to important planning sessions, everyone is happy.
Further, there are more personal advantages to working in my SOHO (small office/home office -- I like that term because it makes me feel like a trendy NYC artist type). I am writing this column from the comfort of home, and I didn't have to worry about grooming or dressing or high-tailing it to the office at the all-important moment of truth when inspiration hit me like that shot of adrenaline Uma Thurman got in "Pulp Fiction." I can sip hot cocoa from my vintage 1960s Adam West "Batman" mug, cue up some nice Elvis Costello or John Coltrane on the CD player, and write in a nurturing atmosphere, surrounded by the things that give me pleasure.
And speaking of pleasure, for all you know, I could be wearing nothing but a pair of fuzzy sheepskin chaps and a grin wide as the mighty Mississippi River while these words are being composed. That outfit probably wouldn't even raise an eyebrow at Tripod, but I could never get away with wearing it to work on Madison Avenue. Those people wear pin-striped chaps.
So this is a positive, upbeat story with a happy ending, right? Well, yes and no. You've heard of Warrior Kings? I'm a Worrier King. And there are some details about the whole work-from-home movement that concern me a great deal.
Such arrangements are becoming more and more commonplace, and not all the people being asked to work out of their humble abodes are as thrilled about it as I am. Telecommuters save firms huge amounts of money in overhead -- you know, pesky things like office space, electricity, furniture, equipment, coffee and doughnuts. And companies like to save money -- more loot to go around for the big-wigs and the investors that way. So more and more people are being expected to have a home office from which they can work exclusively -- and that can cause several problems.
For starters, there can be just as many distractions in the home as at the office. Here, in the apartment of a single guy in the rural splendor of Western Mass, that is not usually an issue. But what if I had kids who needed attention, constant phone calls to answer, or a wife who didn't understand why I spend all my waking hours wired up to a faintly humming box and staring trance-like into a cathode ray tube? Are such meaningful relationships even possible for the constantly connected?
Moreover, I am fairly self-disciplined. But many people with whom I've spoken relate horror stories about working from home: They find it all too easy to become sidetracked by the TV or computer games or what have you, and then they can only finish their projects at the last-minute under extreme duress. Many people need a work environment that imposes order and discipline, just as they need feedback and input from co-workers. Being forced to work at home negates all of that, and it could leave potentially top-notch employees floundering.
But perhaps most troubling is the fact that virtual offices and cheap electronics are increasingly being used to place an unreasonable demand on many employees -- that they are always available, always on-call, always waiting at the other end of a connection to dial into work and produce automatic results.
You see, the virtual office can be anywhere -- a work "hotel," your home, or wherever your laptop computer happens to be. For all you know, I may have lied about writing this from my apartment. I could be using a portable and working on it between shots at Vinny's Billiards, even as my poor unfortunate colleagues are slaving away at the office. If I can get all the pool-cue chalk off the keyboard, I'll be sticking with my first story, though.
All joking aside, I strongly resist the idea of being that easy to find. Call me paranoid if you like, but I treasure the moments when I can leave the pressures of the job behind and have some privacy. I used to be very alarmed by those AT&T ads where the guy would receive a fax or an important e-mail on the beach in Bermuda. A gospel choir would be singing "now's a great time to be alive" on the soundtrack as the narrator rhapsodized about the marvels of being wired for input 24/7. I fail to see what's so damned great about that -- and if I ever manage to get my happy ass on some of that tropical white sand, I'm going to be harvesting sea shells, not information.
Cell phones, beepers, digital pagers, laptop computers -- I've resisted all of these gizmos for many years. It's not that I don't get off on gadgetry and convenience as much as the next land mammal -- it's just that I think they have their place. And those rare times when I'm able to get away to enjoy nature or the theatre or an art exhibition or the company of good friends -- well, that is not the time or place to interrupt my hard-won serenity. Very few emergencies can't wait a couple of hours until I'm back in work mode.
I am constantly amazed to see people all around me functioning like empty vessels awaiting information, always more information. Whenever I fly these days I see folks plugging their laptop computers into phone jacks on the seat in front of them and computing away, oblivious to their surroundings. Sometimes, as I see them all hunched over their PowerBooks and ThinkPads, I can almost imagine a guy in a Brooks Brothers suit standing at the head of the galley, cracking a whip over the backs of his slaves like some brute in an old Viking movie. The cries of "Row, damn you, row" have been replaced with "Work, disseminate kilobytes, keep up!" That's not as catchy, but it seems to be hellishly effective.
That vision may or may not have been the result of all that Celestial Seasonings tea I ingested back in the '70s and early '80s, but it is, nonetheless, more than a little unsettling. I used to enjoy talking to my fellow passengers on planes. Remember that? Conversation without computers? In the age of chat, e-mail, videoconferencing, and the "avatar realm" of the Palace, such a notion probably seems about as quaint as a horse-drawn honeywagon. But people used to enjoy having conversations with each other, making new friends and acquaintances, debating and probing ideas and issues -- face to face. Weird, huh?
A few weeks ago, I went leaf-peeping with some friends from work -- the sights and smells of Autumn in the Berkshires are truly heavenly. But a funny thing happened. We were unable to talk about anything but computing and the Web. We resembled nothing so much as junkies waxing nostalgic about that last, numbing high. Here was binary withdrawal taking place amidst some of the most mind-blowing pyrotechnics that ol' Maw Nature has to offer -- and it struck me as more than a little sad.
Which may explain why I often feel more alive and vibrant during my visits to New York City than I do here in Billsville. There, among the bums and winos and downtown hipsters, one has to step lively, to remain alert and aware of the physical surroundings at every moment. And there I am reminded that most Americans still aren't living exclusively in the digital domain. A loud and pungent wave of women and men from all walks of life refuse to be confined to the world that is visible on a monitor.
Anyway, I'd be a real dumb-ass schmuck to walk around the Big Apple with a bunch of expensive electronic gear. That's just asking for trouble. And, truth be told, it does me a lot of good to leave all that stuff behind and enjoy the very human rhythms of the city, far away from the virtual office.
Despite the convenience and occasional pleasures of working wired, it might do us all some good to find a place where we can do that.

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