Taco Cats and the Toxic Commute

I made an important observation this week. At least I think it’s important. And maybe a discovery.

If there’s a negatively charged topic at work, a conversation you don’t want to have these days, it has to be “Return to Office.” Sure, you still don’t want to talk about religion at the lunch table and, God help us, politics are off the menu completely. But RTO is the number one four-letter word, and not because there is any dissention in the ranks. Rather, just the opposite: The mere mention of “back to the office” spurs a literal tsunami of rage and bile from everyone within earshot. Then three things happen, in roughly this order:

• One, you’re instantly in a lousy mood, regardless of how you happened to be feeling just one moment before the topic was breached.
• Two, the concept of time bends, and you lose the next 15 to 75 minutes as a growing perimeter of people devolve into their own specific tales of woe.
• And finally, an unfortunate, metaphorical shroud is cast on the next interaction you have, whatever it happens to be. Often, it will be a Zoom (or in our case, Teams) meeting in which there’s an 83% chance the phenomenon will happen all over again, perpetuating and expanding the gloom.

It’s like a pandemic, kind of, which is an unfortunate coincidence, considering how we all got here in the first place. I mean, it wasn’t all that long ago that we all commuted into the office five days a week and – whether it was an easy commute or a descent into Hell – thought nothing of it. It was just part of the requirements of the job, like wearing shoes. No sense thinking about it, let alone pining for something better.

And then we got to know Covid and worked from home for a while. And for most of us, the world didn’t end. Most of us learned balance and how to be productive with far less structure, far more freedom. Yes, I suppose there are people who abused the situation and worked less, or less effectively, as a result. But in my own non-scientific research I saw very little of that. Mostly I saw people settle into being responsible, accountable and productive – every bit as reliable in the virtual world as they were in the physical one.

My own commute is, and has always been, the aforementioned descent into Hell. I live in Montgomery County outside Philadelphia, and work in what we call “Center City.” It’s 29 miles, give or take, door to door. And it requires travelling the two worst highways in existence, US 422 and Interstate 76 (AKA the Schuylkill Expressway). For those outside the Delaware Valley, that’s pronounced SCHOOL-kill, named for the adjacent Schuylkill River, which is where we hide the bodies.

If you want to see a pretty good representation of my commute you should watch the “Dennis and Mac Move to the Suburbs” episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (Season 11, Episode 5). I recognize that It’s Always Sunny is a very specific taste, not for everyone, so I’m not going to try and convert anyone. I’m just saying the scenes in that episode, depicting Glenn Howerton’s character driving into Philly on the Schuylkill, may have been based on illegally recorded videos of me on my commute.

Every now and then there are road rage shooting incidents on Route 422. I’m not saying I condone them; only that I understand them.

Now here’s my observation. I’m proud of it, actually; I think it shows great self-awareness, which I’m a big fan of. I was at work, in the office, and talking to a colleague I don’t get to see in person very often. And THE TOPIC came up.

She said, “How are you liking being back in the office?” And I did something a little controversial: I thought about it. I thought about it long enough that I realized I was staring blankly, and so did she.

“Bad, huh?” she filled in for me, figuring my brain had shorted out somewhere.

“Actually,” I said, slowly, reasoning as I spoke, “I like being back in the office.”

She gasped, like I had just admitted to cannibalism. And I continued, “I hate GOING into the office, though.”

I mulled that over in silence for a few seconds and then, more confident that I was right, said it again: “I really hate coming into the office. But when I’m here, I actually like being in the office.”

I can’t say with any certainty that others have the same experience, but I think many probably do. It’s just counterintuitive and wildly unpopular to acknowledge it out loud. I am basing that conclusion on the fact that – unlike what happens when someone says they hate being back in the office – there was no immediate groundswell of support. We just kind of moved on, with the conversation taking a safe, meandering turn away from risky waters. ?

But I am sticking by my observation, although I recognize how unpopular it is – even privately. I mean, let’s be clear. No one likes to admit they are better with a little less freedom, a little more direction. That’s just crazy. Wouldn’t we all just be happier if we were masters of our own schedule and priorities? Maybe not. I can say with absolute certainty the days I work from home are often longer and yet less productive, at least from a work point of view. I eat more when I work from home. I go to the bathroom more, which is likely related to the previous observation. There are benefits, like I can do laundry on Mondays, so we don’t have to burn prime weekend time doing it. Or I can scoop the litter box if it catches my eye.

But when I’m in the office, I see people and have conversations. I work through lunch most of the time, which some would say is bad, but I never mind it. When I talk with people in the office, we usually spend more time talking about non-work things (compared to a Teams call) but it’s never at the expense of the objective at hand. I guess it’s about relationship building, but that’s not why it happens. It’s just nice to talk to people you like, and it ultimately seems to make the work part more effective. I don’t claim to know why, I’m just sure that, for me, it does.

And then it’s time to go home – whenever that is, sometimes before 5:00 and sometimes well after – and the veil is stripped away. There’s no way to time the ride home for purposes of avoiding toxic traffic. Any departure time from 2:00 PM to 7:00 PM or even later yields the same likelihood of purgatory. There seems to be neither rhyme nor reason, and opposing traffic – eastbound into Philly – often looks even worse. That could be due to a concert, a Phillies game, or both. But it could just as easily be due to absolutely nothing: the random taunt of a capricious traffic demon.

This past Friday I took the day off. Or at least that was the plan. I had spent a very satisfying three days in the office participating in a leadership meeting that allowed me to connect with several colleagues I genuinely like and respect, many of whom I don’t get to see in person very often. And I had committed to accompanying my mom to a doctor’s appointment Friday afternoon, so it was a perfect summer mental health day. In theory.

In practice it was less perfect. I had to rethink my plans and refine my time in Workday to reflect HALF a day off, and the other half I worked from home. There was just too much to catch up on, too many things to do. I was on a Teams call with one of my peeps – someone I rely on heavily to make sure things don’t collapse whether or not I happen to be physically or mentally present.

“I thought you were off today,” he said, innocently enough.

“Shut up,” I replied.

Anyone who is familiar with trying to split up a work day can fill in the rest of the story: I got absorbed in whatever I was doing and logged out later than I had planned. I ran out of the house wearing a decidedly work-from-home shirt: this one a brightly colored golf polo with pictures of cats in taco shells on it. (And a cat burrito, just for variety.) I figured I still had plenty of time to pick up my mom, and the GPS confirmed it. But then I entered the US 422 vortex and watched as my estimated arrival time ticked later. And later. And later. The longer I was in the car the longer it said I would be in the car.

No accidents to blame. No real explanation from the “traffic on the twos” I tuned into on the 24-hour news radio station. But steadily, the duration of my trip creeped and creeped until it was clear I was not going to make it in time. I called my mom and we agreed she would grab an Uber and I would meet her at the doctor’s office. She was not at all concerned. She actually suggested I turn around and go home – not a big deal. But to me it was a big deal, and I was not about to cede my future to something as purely evil as the Schuylkill Expressway. Plus, to be completely honest, the traffic going the other way looked equally ridiculous. So on I went.

By the time I walked into the waiting room of the doctor’s office, having navigated street construction, a poorly designed parking garage and what seemed like thousands of individuals out enjoying a sunny July day instead of being inside working like they clearly should have been, I was more than fried. I was murderous. Workday cut short. Ludicrous midday commute. Late to my commitment – to my mother, no less. People sucked. The world is pointless. Hail Satan.

I was way down the rabbit hole. The smile on my mother’s face when I peeked into the waiting room did absolutely nothing to soften my heart.

“Oh you’re here!” she said, with absolutely no irony or sarcasm. She was legitimately glad to see me. I opened my mouth to let fly about how I’m never going to try and do this again, and how absolutely miserable I was, and….

“Oh my God,” a voice to my left said. “Oh my God!” she repeated.

I turned, ready to lunge at someone for no good reason.

“I LOVE your shirt!” the nurse behind the desk said, standing. “Oh my God,” she said again, “the doctor’s going to love that. She loves cats and tacos!”

I just looked at her and blinked. Like a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

“Come here, you need to see this shirt!” she continued, calling two of her colleagues out to the desk. They came out, and the uniform appreciation of my Cat Taco shirt continued

Except now I was 100% pulled into it. I was smiling, talking about where I got it, talking about my own two cats at home. Another patient joined in the conversation, before changing the subject to my new sneakers (Hokas, good for my plantar fasciitis). What made me pick them? Did I recommend them? They don’t look as fat on the bottom as some she had seen in the store.

My commute was erased. It never even came up. It was a good visit, a pleasant experience. All the bad karma I had been prepared to perpetuate was gone, replaced by Cat Taco shirt karma.

Driving home I thought about all the pop culture references that have tried to teach us about the power of good over evil. I mean, Harry Potter’s mother’s love saved him from Voldemort, after all (I hope that wasn’t a spoiler for anyone). My daughter and son in law often refer to “the power of anime friendship,” which explains how a group of people learning to work together toward a common goal, or against a common enemy, is the single leading element of any hero’s journey.

But this was something much simpler and more primal. I internalized all the bad energy and was ready to spew it back into the world, completing the circuit. An unexpected, unscripted burst of positive energy dissolved it into nothing. I thought about all the times I’ve observed my wife telling someone she likes their hair, or their shirt, or their jewelry. Strangers, for no reason. I’m sure I’ve rolled my eyes, a lot. But now I was on the receiving end. And look what happened. It helped.

I immediately resolved to be more mindful about what energy I’m putting out into the world. I’m really going to try.

And I’m definitely buying more cat shirts.

I feel compelled to share that I ordered this shirt from Obnoxious Golf. I have no relationship with the site and receive no commission. I will say I was very pleased with the sale I found and how quickly my first order arrived - I'm sure I will be ordering again!