I miss the cakes.
Chocolate sheet cake with buttercream frosting for someone’s birthday. King Cake during Carnival season. Caramel Doberge with too many layers to count and just enough sugar to spark a workplace-wide coma by 2 p.m. There was always something share-able in the breakroom. Donuts someone picked up on the morning drive. An extra bag of Frito’s left over from a 4th of July party. Or just Barb from Accounting’s latest experiment because “the kids won’t eat this at home.”
I miss the coffee pot.
Three burners, two for “real” coffee and one begrudgingly reserved for decaf – as if the decaf people deserved to be shamed into submission. There was the comforting hum of the brewing cycle, the gurgling of a pot brewing, and the occasional passive-aggressive Post-it about cleaning up coffee grounds. I even miss the coffee that tasted faintly like burnt plastic. It wasn’t good (a little too bitter and a little too lukewarm), but it was communal.
I miss the refrigerator.
Brown paper bags lined up like little mystery parcels. Plastic containers with cracked lids; their contents slowly congealing into question marks. Jason from IT’s 12-pack of Diet Coke. And, inevitably, the lone yogurt cup abandoned for so long it becomes part of office folklore. That fridge wasn’t elegant, but it felt… alive. A quiet sign that we were all there together, living parallel lives that sometimes intersected over salad dressing and leftover lo mein.
I miss the sounds.
The distant hum of a copy machine spitting out packets someone will forget to pick up. The huckle-buckle of chairs rolling across the plastic mats laid on top of the too-thick carpeting. Snippets of conversations floating in from the hallway – plans for happy hour, a vent session about “that client,” and someone quietly rehearsing for their big presentation. It wasn’t always peaceful, but it felt alive.
I miss the rituals.
The mid-morning stroll to see “who’s in” today. The impromptu lunch run because someone mentioned tacos. The end-of-day routine of packing up and wishing colleagues a good evening – small bookends that gave structure to the blur of tasks and meetings and gave our days a sense of rhythm.
And yes, I even miss the awkward bits.
The forced “fun” of team-building games. The overzealous HVAC system blasting arctic air. The smell of someone’s fish microwaved at noon. The moments that gave us something to collectively grumble about because collective whining, of course, builds camaraderie.
Don’t get me wrong – I like working from home. Yoga pants are great. The coffee tastes better. And there’s no risk of a random “fire drill” at 3:30 p.m. on a Thursday. But some days, I realize what I’m missing isn’t the cakes or the vending machines or the need to walk in from the parking lot during a torrential rainstorm.
I miss the texture of it all – the shared laughter, the strange little routines, the sights, the sounds, the smells. That sense of connection you can only get by being together, side by side – in person.
Even if all we’re doing is simultaneously rolling our eyes at the jammed printer.
