OFFICE CONFESSIONS: THE WFH EDITION
Remember the golden era of office filth? When Friday meant three pints at lunch, two hours of “catching up on emails” (sleeping in the loos), then a Christmas party so grim no one spoke about it ‘til March? That era of stolen staplers, cigarette breaks that lasted an hour, and “copying your arse” on the photocopier just because you could?
Well, lads – it’s back. Sort of. The offices are gone, but the filth lives on – only now it’s happening in living rooms, box rooms and dodgy shared flats with a dodgy Wi‑Fi signal. We’re talking naked waist-down Zoom meetings, unmuted rows with the missus, and the kind of post-lunch solo sessions you definitely wouldn’t have pulled in front of Steve from HR.
We got three brave blokes – real names changed to protect their careers (and relationships) – to spill their best WFH sins.
1. “The No-Trousers Tragedy” – Mark, 34, Manchester
Big client pitch, hundreds of people on the call, and I’m trying to look like the next Lord Sugar. Crisp shirt, hair slicked back, even ironed the collar – but below the waist? Full commando. I’d just got out the shower and thought, “Sod it, no one’s seeing me from the waist down.”
Halfway through, the cat goes feral, chasing a pigeon round the flat. I jump up to close the window, and bang – 48 megapixels of naked Manc lad on screen. Couple of gasps, one scream, and some German bloke calmly says: “Interesting presentation, Mark.”
Still won the pitch, mind.
2. “The Mute Button Masturbator” – Dan, 29, Croydon
Lockdown did weird things to us. Me? I started sneaking a crafty tug on my lunch breaks. No commute, no flatmates – felt like I’d cracked the system. Problem is, one day I forgot to shut the laptop lid. I thought I’d muted myself and turned the camera off. I had not.
Cue the head of marketing shouting, “Dan – are you… are you alright, mate?” Worst bit? I didn’t even finish. Can’t look at spreadsheets the same way anymore.
3. “The Dressing Gown Degenerate” – Lee, 41, Leeds
Remote working has turned me feral. Started off promising – desk setup, coffee in a flask, proper routine. By month three? I’m Hugh Hefner without the mansion. Dressing gown 24/7, penguin-print pyjama bottoms, and socks that could walk themselves to the wash.
Got so bad I once answered the door to the postie mid-Zoom call wearing nothing but a tie and a grin. He didn’t flinch. Just went, “Another one for next door, pal?”
Honestly, if the company ever makes us go back to the office, I’m handing in my notice. I’m too far gone.
Got One Worse?
Think you’ve done filthier on the company clock? Email [email protected] and we’ll print the worst. Anonymously, obviously – we’re not monsters.