Kafka at Work
March 14th 2007 04:25
I was thinking about the open-plan approach to offices that's the norm for most places these days: people working with a bunch of other people at other desks or workstations all around them, no privacy, no place to have a quiet conversation with another member of staff, sometimes no place to hang your hat - if you still wore one.
And then I remembered my horror at the local Work and Income Offices when I first walked in there - I was looking to see if I could enrol as unemployed at the time.
A vast acreage of desks - the building was formerly a supermarket, so there's plenty of open space. Each desk exactly so many feet from its neighbour on every side; each desk with its own telephone, its own
computer, and absolutely nowhere to hang your hat, because these aren't even workstations. They're desks open to everyone, including the public.
Here the public can be asked to go and see Mr So-and-So, whose desk may be right towards the back of the area. You pass all these other people trying to have conversations with clients. The clients are huddled up against the desk for protection, because it's like having to have a conversation on the stage of a theatre, with everyone looking at you.
And the lighting is dim; not impossible to see by, but someone dim, like the distance fades into gloom.
Many of the staff are miles away from a window or a door. And did I mention there's nowhere to hang your hat? Or your coat? Or put your lunch? Or have photos of the kids? This is a pared-down office of bureaucracy: no frills allowed.
I'm sure there were pot plants - they go with the territory - but I doubt that they have any real life.
And it's patently obvious to everyone if you have a quiet conversation with another member of staff. It seems so impossible that this should happen, in fact, that most of the staff appear to be glued to their chairs.
Kafka would have loved it.
And then I remembered my horror at the local Work and Income Offices when I first walked in there - I was looking to see if I could enrol as unemployed at the time.
A vast acreage of desks - the building was formerly a supermarket, so there's plenty of open space. Each desk exactly so many feet from its neighbour on every side; each desk with its own telephone, its own
Here the public can be asked to go and see Mr So-and-So, whose desk may be right towards the back of the area. You pass all these other people trying to have conversations with clients. The clients are huddled up against the desk for protection, because it's like having to have a conversation on the stage of a theatre, with everyone looking at you.
And the lighting is dim; not impossible to see by, but someone dim, like the distance fades into gloom.
Many of the staff are miles away from a window or a door. And did I mention there's nowhere to hang your hat? Or your coat? Or put your lunch? Or have photos of the kids? This is a pared-down office of bureaucracy: no frills allowed.
I'm sure there were pot plants - they go with the territory - but I doubt that they have any real life.
And it's patently obvious to everyone if you have a quiet conversation with another member of staff. It seems so impossible that this should happen, in fact, that most of the staff appear to be glued to their chairs.
Kafka would have loved it.
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