While writing an article on Work the other day (which is a bit like a horse writing about quantum physics) I began looking for a beautifully shot, vaguely relevant, inoffensive photo to put into my entirely misguided article, because that’s just what you do.
It was while doing this that I discovered something slightly off-putting; that being, that almost every beautifully shot inoffensive photo of a work-space is just a little bit weird. Take for example, this one:
This might look like a work-space, but look closer. Where’s the work?! Where’s the filthy phone charger? Where’s that tattered notebook full of unrealised ideas and missed meetings? Where’s the three empty coffee cups, or the stinking bag of gym clothes? Nobody in their right mind can possibly be this clean and simultaneously keep four plants alive.
This is either a desk of lies, or that of a serial killer.
So, follow me dear reader, on a disturbing little tour…
I’m not very good at finance, but even I can recognise this financial plan might be a little lean on details. Just who has this level of illusory superiority? What the hell are they doing?! Never mind the fact their business is apparently called ‘Business Company’.
At least that cactus won’t need much care, it’s arguably the most convincing thing on the desk.
I know what you’re thinking; how have you survived this long without adorning your work-space with peacock feathers? That said, despite the artful positioning of these obviously crucial feathers, what kind of psychopath puts their phone face-down on a desk?
Macbook: Check. Easily manageable cactus: Check. Face-down murdered iphone: Check. Moleskin notebook: Check. Emotional support pineapple: Check.
Indulge me for a second: You arrive at your co-working space, you walk in, and as you’re looking for a spare desk you see the above scene laid out on the desk next to you.
Yeah, I’d run too.
I don’t even know what’s real anymore. The more I look at these images the more surreal they become. I’m fairly convinced this is some kind of Duchamp’esque artwork; a devastating social critique involving millennials or the environment, or loneliness. I honestly don’t know anymore.
You know that part in a psychological space thriller where the protagonist accidentally skips through time and ends up in a strange, minimally furnished, brightly lit room? Well this is that room, and pretty soon an 80 yr old version of yourself is going to sit at that desk while you look on in terror.
Ugh. Look, when they’re arranged like this, then they’re all obviously murder weapons.
That’s all I’ve got for now, next week I’ll talking about beautifully shot inoffensive photos of travel, and how everyone seems to use old paper maps while standing on the edge a cliffs in the fading light.