The making of an office ghost town

The morning of Wednesday, March 11, 2020, I scrolled through Twitter while getting ready for work, as had become my custom since early 2017. Although I had disavowed myself almost two years earlier of conspiracy theories and titillating promises of secret indictments pushed by agitators like Louise Mensch, I hadn’t quite rid myself of the habit of believing that some bombshell might drop, forcing Congress’ hand to start a second impeachment inquiry of the president. Besides, the night before, two major news stories hit near home: One, Joe Biden won the primary in Michigan and four other states, while losing only North Dakota, tipping the race with Bernie Sanders squarely in his direction. Second, just after polling places closed, the first two cases of coronavirus were reported in Michigan. I was eager to get a quick handle on the news on my way out the door.

Something stopped me in my tracks. It was a Twitter thread of an on-the-ground report from Northern Italy. I had been hearing concerning reports on NPR about high infection and hospitalization rates stressing healthcare facility resources, but this was something else. This was specific and terrifying. Patients were parked in the hallways, needing oxygen with none coming. All units had become COVID units, and stroke and trauma patients were left without care. Staff was getting sick and overwhelmed, because their shifts weren’t ending. And the report came with a warning: Learn from us. We’re a well-resourced, affluent community. We didn’t understand the threat, and now we’re under water with no way out. Quarantines won’t help alleviate the crisis for a couple of weeks. And this is coming to you, America. You are us.

I had recently accepted a new job that was designed to be 100% remote. That Monday, I had given about three weeks’ notice at my current place of employment, so I knew that I was spending my last few days in the building. My team had just moved up to the very newly renovated third floor earlier that month. It was a beautiful, new, sleek, modern space designed by a firm that was making a name for itself by creating spaces that fit the culture of their clients, while using environmentally sustainable materials. The company had invested a large sum of money and inconvenience into this upgrade, but it did not disappoint. Earlier that week, several of us in this new office space had started stocking up on tubs of hand sanitizer, and I took extra care to wash my table in the lunchroom before and after eating. I used paper towel as a prophylactic to open drawers and doors, and tried not to touch any surface without immediately washing my hands afterward. I watched nervously as nobody else in the office did the same.

I had a few meetings that week in small huddle rooms, where I sat at the opposite end of a 30-inch-wide table from one or two other people at a time in a glorified phone booth with sound dampening. I figured I’d be fine as long as nobody coughed and I sanitized my hands once I left. I did not share pens.

That particular Wednesday, I took a lunchtime walk with a teammate through downtown Ann Arbor. We picked up beverages at our favorite coffee shop and walked to the Michigan Union, where he stopped at the ATM. I wondered to myself about the wisdom of his pushing the buttons on the machine with bare fingers. We made an informal bet about when the University of Michigan would close campus to in-person classes; Michigan State had just announced that they would do so earlier in the day.

I headed home that evening, worried about how I was going to keep myself safe at the office going forward and with the reports of unfathomable death and illness from Italy swirling in my head. The newest stories were about the cancellation of basketball tournaments and the suspension of the NBA season. Nebraska men's basketball head coach Fred Hoiberg gave everyone a scare when he looked like he was going to pass out at a Big Ten tournament game and the entire team had to be quarantined in the locker room until it was determined Hoiberg had the flu, not COVID. (The remainder of the tournament would be cancelled the next day and the NCAA tournament eventually followed suit.) I knew I had to stay home. I emailed my team and told them I would no longer be coming in to the office; I would be working remotely for the rest of my time on the team. My last day with them had transpired unceremoniously.

In my email, I used some fairly dramatic language describing Italy’s situation in an attempt to put the fear of God into them: Italy is becoming a flaming mess. We’re on the same path; let’s not be part of that. Let’s all stay safe and keep others safe. My language wasn’t taken well by all.

The next morning, March 12, I had a dentist appointment that I still can’t believe I kept. I then picked up a bottle of whiskey at the suggestion of the coffee walk teammate, because this thing could last a few weeks or even months and I should probably be prepared. I came home and tuned in to a last minute all-hands meeting the company CEO had called. He talked about coronavirus and its effect on the company’s immediate plans: For the time being, there would be a hiring freeze, and more information would be coming about the planned merit raises. Oh, and by the way, we were closing the office for the next two weeks starting at the end of the day, so grab your PC and plan to work from home for the rest of March.

I had been gradually taking my personal items home from the office over the previous few days, quietly (I still hadn’t told more than a few people outside my team I was leaving), but I still had a couple books and a calendar at the office. So at the end of the day, I drove downtown and grabbed the last few items from my nice, new window seat in the office. I took one last walk through the expensive, beautiful new office space and gazed out the 3rd floor window. A colleague from another team saw me taking in the view and asked me what I was thinking. I turned and looked at him. I was startled to see he was wearing a face mask. “Just a precaution,” he said. I told him I was not planning on ever being back in the office and let him know I was leaving. I could tell he was surprised. He wished me luck and said something nice about having worked with me, and I think he meant it.

On my way out of the office, the front desk manager smiled and shrugged. “See you next month, I guess!” I smiled back and walked through the door, careful not to touch the handle. In the stairwell, I said to myself, “I don’t think so.”