We were asked to keep the last hour of the working week free for a ‘special team meeting,’ and when I pressed my boss for more information, all she said was, “We’re going on a magical mystery tour.” This didn’t look good.
The call centre weren’t told that much. As the time ticked around towards three, they were asked to collect their things. “We’re going out, and we’re not coming back here.” Eyebrows raised, but suspicious ones with it. We were put into cars, and driven off, not knowing where we were heading. A right turn towards Hulme, a left turn down Old Birley St… until we got to……here.
“This is one of the places we’re looking at for our new office,” said my boss, “what do you think?”
It’s in deepest, darkest Moss Side.
“We’ve got a meeting room here, which we can use for _________…”
Yes, but it’s in deepest, darkest Moss Side.
“…and the call centre and envelope machine can go here…”
Here in deepest, darkest Moss Side?
“…the kitchen has its own dining table…”
That’s lucky, because there’s not really anywhere to eat in deepest, darkest Moss Side.
“…I think it’s a really exciting opportunity.”
I think it’s a big bag of sweaty balls, if I'm being totally honest. It makes no strategic sense at all to move out of the city centre - not when we're reponsible for _________ across the whole of GM. Not when all the other teams in the __________ sector are based in the middle of town. Not when our central government contacts are based by Piccadilly. It's fucking daft.
And personally it stinks too. It's the death knell for lunchtime cultural outings to the museum. No more meeting up with friends for a vegetarian lunch in the Buddhist cafe in the Northern Quarter. No nipping out at lunchtime to visit Waterstone's. No daily contact with the city. What a kick in the balls.
Driving your staff somewhere new, and telling them that's their new office is a particularly shabby way to communicate that news.
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