Few people realize this, but many of the worst decisions in the history of business were made in offices. New Coke, the poster child for business blunders, was conceived in an office. The actual geniuses working in the Eastman Kodak labs invented the technology for the digital camera, but their “genius” bosses, who worked out of offices in Rochester, New York, screwed up big time by betting the future on physical film. Then there’s the infamous AOL merger with Time Warner—an awful idea that was further compounded by the fact that two offices were involved in the fiasco.
Honestly, I’d rather not dwell on these colossal fuck-ups. I’d rather write a silly story about frozen pizza, or home improvement projects, or the zany things baristas say. But Situation Normal isn’t just here for the laughs, it’s here to save the world from a really big mistake. And that mistake, my friends, is the office.
Google “back to office” and you’ll see the mistake I’m talking about. Actually, don’t Google anything! Instead, stay here and check out these screenshots of headlines from various media outlets👇
Obviously, there’s a big push to get workers back to the office. And after two-plus years of working remote, there’s an equally big counter-push to stay the fuck away from the office. The debate about where we work is a total shit-show, but the internet loves shit-shows, which is why we’ll probably be talking about the future of the office forever.
Now, I’m not a policy wonk, or a labor leader, or a business-human. I have no clue what the future of work will look like. But I have worked in an office, and I’m here to tell you that it was an unmitigated disaster. This is my story.
The Interview
In the fall of 2009, I felt like there was something missing at work. I liked my job as a trade reporter covering ad tech, and I liked the people I worked with, but I wanted more. I wanted to make the world a better place by building a scaled, decentralized, humor-based solution that leverages dynamic laughter protocols in social, mobile, and local environments. Naturally, I joined a startup.
Of course, startup is just a fancy word that means broke-ass company. The particular broke-ass company that I joined was in the content business, which at that time, was more than a decade into a historic ass-whooping at the hands of a massive technological disruption called The Internet.
Our founder was Oliver, a television writer-producer who saw the writing on the wall during the 2007-08 Writer’s Guild strike. By the time the dust had settled on that particular dust-up, Oliver had concluded that content creators were, technically speaking, doomed.
“If you can’t beat ‘em, might as well join ‘em,” Oliver told his assistant, Stan.
And so, Oliver created a Web series and Stan helped produce it.
Right away, there were problems. First, producing a Web series was expensive. Second, the “business model” for a Web series at that time was to put it up on YouTube, hope it goes viral, then ask your accountant about a tax write-off. Oliver and Stan probably should’ve called it quits, but instead they called me and asked if I was interested in a business proposition.
“It takes a long time to produce a season of the Web series,” Stan told me.
“And it costs a lot of money,” Oliver added.
“So, we’re thinking that we should have a website with funny articles to keep the audience engaged between seasons,” Stan said.
“That’s where you come in,” Oliver said. “We need a writer-editor who can run the website day-to-day, grow the audience, and make this thing a going concern.”
“Are you in?” Stan asked.
The job paid about the same as what I was making as a reporter, but it came with 100% fewer benefits. Still, I was eager to pivot my writing toward entertainment, and I liked the sound of “new media.”
Office Space
A few days before I was supposed to start my new job, Christina asked a really good question about the gig.
“Hey, where’s your office?”
“Office?”
“Yeah, you know, a place where you’re supposed to work. Where’s your new office, Michael?”
Suddenly, I felt like an idiot. The interview had been at a restaurant. Over Niçoise salads, we talked about the future of media, content strategies, and a bunch of other stuff. But we hadn’t talked about an office.
“I dunno,” I said. “Let me get Stan on the horn.”
“Hey Stan, quick question. Where’s our office?”
“Nothing gets by you,” Stan said. “We don’t have an office, yet. But I’ve been telling Oliver that we need to get one, and since you’re coming on board, I think we can make it happen. Sit tight.”
About an hour later, Oliver called me.
“So, you think we need an office, huh?”
“I dunno. The Silicon Valley firms started in garages. I guess a garage isn’t technically an office in the classic sense of the word. Also, the garage stories are probably more myth than fact, so…”
“Well, in Hollywood we follow the John Ford school and print the legend,” Oliver said. “But my garage is a mess. Let me see what I can do about some office space.”
“That would be great… you know, for productivity.”
True Bromance
The night before my first day, Oliver emailed me the address of our new office. Except, it wasn’t our office, exactly. The plan was to borrow office space from a coconut water company.
I met Stan and Oliver at the coconut water company bright and early the next day. Oliver explained that he was friends with a Brazilian man named Paulo, who owned the coconut water company. Then Paulo gave us a quick tour of their office, told us to drink all the coconut water we wanted, and directed us to an empty conference room we could use as our office. He even gave Stan a set of keys so that we could come and go as we pleased.
The three of us spent the next two hours in that conference room generating content ideas and writing them down on the white boards that lined the walls. With a few dozen promising ideas in the works, Oliver told us he had to get to his TV job. So, Stan and I buckled down to make some internet.
I was halfway through a listicle when Stan tapped me on the shoulder. He had placed three paper cups on the table in front of me.
“Do you wanna try some coconut water?” Stan asked.
“Not really.”
“Will you humor me?”
I didn’t want to be rude. For all I knew, Stan was a diehard coconut water guy who might see my refusal as yucking his yum. When in Rome, I told myself. Then I reached for the cup nearest to me and took a sip.
“Well?” Stan asked.
“It’s… bad. Like really bad. It’s too sweet, and I’m picking up notes of… dirt.”
Stan placed the second cup in front of me.
“Try this one,” he said.
“Is it better?”
“Just try it.”
I tried the second cup of coconut water. The flavor was different, but the taste was just as awful.
“Yuck.”
“No good?”
“Terrible.”
“What about this one?”
Stan placed the third cup in front of me. I picked it up and took a sip.
“Thoughts?”
“Yeah, here’s a thought: they should serve this stuff with a gasoline chaser. It’s fucking awful.”
“Good,” Stan said.
“Good?”
“Yeah, this is good news.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, we agree that the coconut water sucks. But what’s more important is that you didn’t hold back. You were honest with me. Honesty is important.”
“It is?”
“Of course it is. We’re in a subjective business, home-skillet. If we can’t be honest with each other about an idea, or a joke, or this dog-shit coconut water, we’re lost. Understand?”
Stan had a point, although I wished that he had made his point in a less disgusting way, and I wasn’t crazy about him calling me home-skillet. But I didn’t have any hard feelings about the coconut water incident. Stan took me out for lunch and to shoot the shit. Almost immediately, we became collaborators and good friends. For a time, we created really engaging content for the algorithms!
Big Little Lies
For the most part, Stan and I kept to ourselves in our borrowed conference room. We had a beast called the internet to feed, and so we worked 12-hour days to pump out as much content as we could. But every once in a while, the coconut water people would remember that they had lent office space to a writer’s room masquerading as a company.
Usually, they’d ask Stan and me if we were getting enough coconut water. We always said yes because we didn’t want them to bring us any more coconut water. But I may have taken that ruse a little too far when I begged off their offer to take a case home by explaining that I already had two cases in my trunk, and three more back at my apartment. It was a harmless lie, or so I thought.
One day, when Stan and I came back from lunch, the entire coconut water team was waiting for us.
“There they are,” Paulo said. “The two biggest coconut water fans in all of Los Angeles.”
We could’ve come clean right then and there. We should’ve told them that we never drank the coconut water they gave us, that we were sneaking other beverages on the outside, that we thought their whole business was coconuts. But instead, I said something like, “Yup, that’s us! We’re a couple of coconuts.”
Paulo laughed, then he said something about doing a branded content deal with us, assuming we had the traffic, which we didn’t.
“Well, we really need to get back to work,” Stan said. “The internet isn’t going to create itself.”
“Wait, we need your help,” Paulo said. “We’re testing a new product. It has açaí in it.”
“I heard açaí is about to have a moment,” I said.
Paulo snapped his fingers.
“Michael is on trend.”
“What’s ass-I-eee?” Stan asked.
Paulo frowned. He spent the next two minutes explaining açaí and its health benefits. Then he spent another five minutes trying to teach Stan how to pronounce açaí correctly. The lesson didn’t stick, but it didn’t matter. Our açaí class was merely prelude to a taste test, and unlike the last taste test, I wasn’t sure honesty was the best policy.
Stan and I drank the coconut water at the same time, but Stan spoke first.
“What do you think, Michael?”
I looked at Stan, my friend and collaborator. If someone had punched him in the dick at that moment, I would’ve been fine with it. But violence isn’t the answer, especially if the question is about coconut water. I needed to think fast. I needed to say something positive, and it had to be convincing.
“I think it’s your best product!” I said.
Stan shot me a sideways look. But technically, I wasn’t lying. The açaí coconut water was bad, but it was better than the other three flavors.
“I agree,” Stan said. “This is my favorite.”
“Why?” Paulo demanded.
This time, Stan passed the buck to me with a look.
“I dunno,” I began, “it’s just so… refreshing.”
“Invigorating,” Stan agreed.
“Yes!” Paulo said.
The rest of the coconut water team cheered.
“You see,” Paulo said. “They love it!”
Stan and I both raised our cups, but neither of us could muster the will for another sip.
“This is our newest product,” Paulo said. “Green light!”
Everyone cheered. Everyone except the coconut water company’s marketing director.
“You don’t want to test it wider?” she asked.
Paulo looked at us. His smile was as big as a coconut.
“Stan and Michael are our test, and they love it! It’s a green light.”
“OK,” the marketing director said. “Green light.”
Risky Business
A few months after Stan and I stepped way the hell out of our lane to help green light a new line açaí-flavored coconut water, the coconut water company took off. Suddenly, there was coconut water everywhere we looked. Remarkably, people even claimed to like the stuff. Within a year, Paulo sold his coconut water company to a major beverage distributor.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, dear reader. A lot of good decisions were made in that coconut water office. Even the questionable decision to rely on a couple of coconuts like me and Stan, while unsound in its methodology, did lead to success. And you’re right, Paulo and Team Coconut Water hit the jackpot. But eventually, the coconut water fad fizzled. And when it did, the people working at the beverage distributor’s office were left holding a bag of açaí-flavored shit.
Speaking of shit, our startup pretty much just flushed Oliver’s money down the toilet. Around the time the taste-makers crowned coconut water the beverage of 2010, we called it quits.
Oliver was kind in his assessment of what had happened.
“The internet just wasn’t ready for us,” he said. “Like a lot of great ideas, we were too early.”
Stan took a more cynical line.
“New media is a con,” he said. “It’s all the same work for less money.”
I agreed with Oliver and Stan. We were early on an idea that would turn out to be worth far less money than we hoped. But deep down, I knew the real cause of our troubles.
We had an office… and it ruined us.
Stick around and chat about the story!
I love hearing from readers like you because it makes writing Situation Normal so much fun! If you enjoyed this story, please let me know by leaving a comment below. Or, if you’re the type of person who likes a prompt, consider the following questions:
Do you work in an office, or have you ever worked in an office? Was the office a center of excellence, or the road to ruin?
Would you rather work remote, or work in an office?
Is your ideal work scenario aligned with your employer’s policy, or you #unaligned? How’s that working out for you and your employer?
What’s your favorite workplace comedy? I’m fond of the 1980s cult classic Head Office and the supremely underrated show Workaholics.
Let’s talk about coconut water. It’s awful, right?
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I used to work in an office five days a week at my old job - before COVID. I hated it. Bright white lights, I had a desk assigned in the corner with no windows and next to the stationary cupboard. I essentially sat in the dark. There was a depressing cycle of work, lunch, work, go home at 5:30, repeat for five days. No perks, no socials, no chit chat, devoid of joy - no decent places to eat.
Now (at a new job, thank god), I go into the office twice a week. I get to go the gym, I can make a fresh lunch at home (no more microwaving), no one is monitoring me, I have a flexibility to run an errand - life feels more free.
If someone told me I had to go back to the office five days a week. I would burst into tears.
Coconut water is a sham...however...have you had REAL coconut water...from an actual cracked open coconut? Because that is...very refreshing IMO on a hot day.
When I worked, it was in an office since we had to deal directly with the public. I would miss the interactions with the people I work with if I had to work from home, though I wouldn't miss the work.
Favorite workplace comedy: Scrubs
Coconut water sucks!