Two weeks ago I was in California on business and visited a super-cool advertising agency. The agency was so super-cool, in fact, that just walking through the place made me feel extremely uncool, old-fashioned, and anachronistic. Seriously, I might as well have been wearing a hoop skirt.
One of the things that made this agency so super-cool was that you could take your dog to work. The place had an open floor plan, and everywhere you looked there were dogs: some in cubicles behind baby gates, some trotting merrily out the door with their owners. And many, many napping. Fascinated, I grilled one of the people who works there, and she explained that you have to sign a contract that your dog does not bark, does not have accidents, and plays well with others. (Ah, that all humans should sign such a contract.)
Since that time, I’ve been obsessed with taking my dog to work and weighing whether or not it would be a good thing.
- someone to hug in the middle of the work day
- someone to complain to in those moments when telling my coworkers what is really going through my head would be rude, ridiculous, or perhaps illegal
- a constant, living reminder that I do have a life outside the four walls of my office
- someone to force me to get outside on a nice day, no matter how busy I am
- dog hair all over my office
- no more eating in my office, because my dog is a shameless beggar/bottomless pit
- after a day spent in meetings, my dog would begin to hate me
- not to mention lose his belief, crucial to the man’s best friend dynamic, that I am someone who knows what she’s doing
- my dog would be a major distraction when I am forced to focus on some task I hate, like looking at anything on an Excel spreadsheet
Of course, contemplating taking my dog to work is like contemplating how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, as I do not work for that kind of a company. But we can all dream, can’t we?