Back to business, and straight back home again

So I drove to a client meeting yesterday. Yes, it was a long way away, but then again I choose to live a long way away from most places. I like it.

It was at a business park, close to a motorway junction... much like many others I've been to. You get there a bit early, spend almost as long as it took to get there looking for somewhere to park, then try and identify which of the many identical buildings you're supposed to be in.

Once you find it, you tell the person on reception who you're meeting, fill in an ID pass, then wait for around half an hour or so past the appointed meeting time, until someone comes to meet you with apologies of 'It's just sooooo hectic'. (Fortunately, the time was easily spent in small talk with another freelancer there for the same meeting, and our ushers - or suits - from the agency we're working for.)

Then you're paraded through an interminable rat's maze of floors and 'open plan' cubicles that each contain a grey-looking human, typing away at something. 'Phew,' you think, 'Rather them than I.' (I've done it, I toiled in the bowels of the IBM building on the Southbank for almost two years, then another 6 months in a business park around the back of Terminal 4 at Heathrow. Then close on 3 years for an Internet startup, then about another 10 years for various agencies - although they tend to have much nicer work environments, if not hours.)

After being ushered into a small room crammed with chairs, someone offers you coffee while someone else is still trying to connect a projector to a laptop. This goes on for a bit.

But now...

Coffee arrived, we opened our notepads and sat expectantly. The meeting host grabbed the nearby Star Trek phone to dial into a conference call with someone who was too busy to be there in person. The other freelancer helpfully pointed out the cable from the laptop was plugged into the wrong socket on the projector. And a presentation appeared on the screen.

"Oh, I don't have the presentation in front of me, just tell me what you see and I'll dig around in my memory banks..." said our invisible phone guest. Our shoulders sagged a little, including those of our host.

About an hour later, we'd got through about 20 relevant slides, and about 40 irrelevant ones. He dialled off, and in through the door burst our next Product Manager. She was actually good. Told us what we needed to know, didn't tell us what we didn't need to know, even cracked a few jokes. I think she even said 'bugger' at one point. Then she raced off for another meeting...

At this point, one of the suits said in a cracked voice, 'Um, could I have some water please?" (Two hours in a hot stuffy room can make you do crazy things like this). Water was duly administered, in thumble-sized plastic cups.

Our next presenter was wheeled in, clutching a piece of paper. "Um... I haven't received a presentation or anything,' said our host. 'Oh," he said ala quelle surprise, 'That'll probably be because I wasn't asked to give one, I just thought I'd be here answering questions."

He was duly shuffled off to find a presentation, then came back and spent the next hour and a half explaining, in the most miniscule detail, things human beings shouldn't ever need to know about technology.

We'd over-run by about half an hour at this point. Every time he took a breath, we all began to (tactfully) put caps on pens, and shuffle our papers. Then he'd start again. I saw the two suits looking at their watches, and mumbling things about the creative director having waited in reception for a while by now (us freelancers were due to escape - they, poor souls, had another 2-hour meeting lined up after this one).

Eventually our host brightly suggested that - although they needed to move on to the next meeting, why didn't I (and t'other freelancer) make use of this gentleman's time by staying on and asking any more questions we had? In my most polite manner - and I hope without sounding at all desperate - I suggested that he'd been so thorough, I simply didn't have any more questions. The other freelance very eagerly agreed.

So we made our escape... escorted back through the cubicles of grey things tapping away (we'd never have found the way out unaided). And fled into the dark, rainy evening. I greeted the Maxi like the old comfortable friend it is and then spent another two hours driving home.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not dissing the people that work in places like that. It just makes me appreciate how lucky I am that I can (mostly) do my job in a cosy cottage by the fire. (Or even on the most foul afternoon... under a blankie on the sofa.) I like to think I've paid my dues (I've done late nights, early mornings, 20-hour shifts, calling people back into work at 9am on a Saturday after I've made them stay there until midnight the night before, and in one case watching an entire summer go by through the office windows).

And yes, I earn less money now. But I wouldn't swap it for anything.