BENCHES AND BOOKENDS

In the end it was a very similar day to the one on which I had started. April 2nd, 2012 had been bright and warm, and I was late, looking for my passport - an essential these days for anyone checking in to a new job.

I didn’t really stop to view the beauty of the lake that day. I remember throwing my battered old car round the squeaky corners of the car park, swinging into a spot on the open top floor and then hurrying inside to make sure I’d still be okay to start.

Louise welcomed me in. She’d be the first person I’d meet on Day 1, and she was kind enough to take me through all the induction paperwork, to take me down to my desk and let me start on the journey of what turned out to be 9 years, 3 months and 6 days.

Today, I sat on a bench by the lake and I watched the sunlight fall through the leaves. 9 years, 3 months, 6 days. That’s a long time.

I wondered what all the tech writers I worked with would say if they could pass by, one by one, to join me on that bench.

“How long?” Steve would say. He’d shown me the ropes in the first few weeks, then left after three months. I don’t regret to tell you that I quickly started changing those ropes. I imagined myself telling Steve all about it, with a sort of wry ‘I know what I’m doing’ smile.

“Wotcher Matt!” Stephen would say as he came along next. He’s tall, athletic, kind-faced. I liked him. When he left, way back in 2014, he implored me to ‘keep the flag flying for docs” - which I promised him I would. I’d tell him all about my bold idea of ‘agile documentation’ and how I took his concepts of content creation and UX, and tried to make a difference.

“You won’t believe how long it took us!” I’d say.

“I bet I would,” Stephen would reply. I’d laugh at that,  and then the geese would fluster as they squawked by the bank.

It wouldn’t be long before Contractor Phil turned up with his trademark pot plant under his arm. I doubt he’d want to stay long with me on that bench: first to say ‘loyalty to companies is misplaced’, last to want to interact with pretty much any of the places he took his pot plant. I’d feel sorry for him.

The conversation with Louise (a different Louise) would be brighter I think. She was clever and ambitious, yet somehow prone to getting herself into awkward scrapes. She would tell me all about how great her current job is, then ask me about my plans.

“I’m amazed you’ve lasted this long, Matt to be fair,” she’d lilt in her Limerick accent. I’d hope that she’d want to talk about the times she got caught in the rain around this very lake, or some of the astonishing social dramas that happened to her, and I’d be reticent to tell her what we did to the docs when she left in 2017 for a ‘better job’. My guess is that civility would keep us both from talking about some of the more difficult times we had had when I was trying to be her team leader, and wound up feeling very miserable about everything. I think I’d ask her to forgive me and I’d try to tell her that I’d only ever sought to be honourable.

“Ah you’re grand, Matt,” I’d hope she’d reply. And then everything would be sort of alright.

“Heya Matt, long time!” The mid-west accent, and sunny aspect of my old manager, Erica. She’d join me on that bench, Starbucks cup in hand, sipping her iced macchiato with soy milk. “Tell me what happened with the portal.”

I’d be sheepish. The portal had been her idea, and it was brilliant. We’d worked hard on it and put an extraordinary amount of time into making it work. Then our company got bought and we were summarily asked to ditch it, just a month after Erica had left.

“Hello, hello,” I imagine another voice approaching. Clive, former RAF pilot and all round gent would come and join us. “What did happen to all that work, Matt?”

We’d laugh a while, then Clive would tell a story about how his dog once licked something it shouldn’t have, while Erica would share about her online plays and projects, and then gradually, without talking about work at all really, I’d be on my own again with the geese and the swans. Nothing about a job is ever really about the work, is it?

The lake has been a wonder. Just to see it through the window was a joyful thing - full in winter, sparkling in summer. To walk around it has been a treat. Lilies and fountains and birds and fish, right at the edge of the office. I’ve been blessed.

I think my phone would ring next - preferably with the Teams ringtone. Ha! Zeenat and I jokes about his catchy it is, then I played on the piano for her. While I feel certain Zeenat would be the first to give me an actual hug, most of my interaction with her has been completely remote.

“We’re really gonna miss you, Matt,” she’d say, and in fact, did, just a couple of weeks ago. I’d watch the lake for a bit and then do my best to assure her that everything would be okay, that she has everything she needs, all the skills and processes and resources to ... “keep the flag flying for docs.” I’d chuckle - though she wouldn’t know why.

I’d think of all the help I was given, and how at each point of departure, Steve, Stephen, Phil, Louise, Clive,  Erica... the wind still blew sweet and refreshing, and things suddenly felt new again, though tinged with sadness for a little while. I don’t expect it to be any different when I’m gone.

HR Louise was there again today, just like she’d been on my first day, 3.368 days ago. She welcomed me in, took me to my desk and I handed her my laptop bag. It seemed fitting somehow that she’d been there all the way through, just doing her job but also being perpetually helpful through all of it, and now bookending what had turned out to be an unforgettable chunk of my life.

The office was dead empty. Sixteen months of silence had seeped into the place, giving it a very quiet and melancholy atmosphere. I tidied my things from my desk and chatted to Louise about holidays and houseplants, our voices echoing weirdly around the room. Then, when all was done I made my way to the exit.

“I’ll miss our chats,” she said. Me too. And with that she kindly wished me all the best and waved goodbye.

I was out, through the revolving door and into the sunshine. I turned back, just for a moment, then smiled. Then I climbed into the car and headed down the road.