It started with a Teams message. It always does. And next thing I knew I was sitting in The Irish Times kitchenette, surrounded by fruit, with my colleagues making what I can only describe as confused faces. Or at least more confused than usual.
As Maria Von Trapp once said: “Let’s start at the very beginning. A very good place to start.”
Emojis, that’s when I first went public with my suspicions. I understand where the young folk are coming from. And not just because I’m hip and cool and basically down with the kids, though this part is also true. I understand why they feel sending a thumbs up emoji in response to a carefully considered WhatsApp message is akin to an act of war.
Where once you couldn’t think about a thumbs up emoji without picturing the former minister for trampolines, Stephen Donnelly, these days those of us with high social clout recognise it for the passive aggressive animated thingy it is.
“I’m just acknowledging your message,” one editor tries to insist as I flag my concerns across a box filled with satsumas. (Or were they mandarins? Who can really tell?)
Another shares a tale of sending a message with an emoji – and he wasn’t even sure it was the right emoji for the situation – without as much as a second thought. “It’ll do”, was his devil-may-care view.
My eye started to twitch.
I explained a love heart emoji response means you like the message or appreciate the sentiment. It is not an open declaration of love for the person, nor is it too informal. Informality rocks anyway. I’ve never much cared for stuffiness. Sure I don’t even use the -nifer in my name.
Someone tried to suggest I might be overthinking the whole thing.
Of course, I was overthinking the whole thing. This is my modus operandi. My view still stands.
[ Teens and screens: How much mischief can they really get into?Opens in new window ]
It was at this point I realised what was going on. I am a Gen Z trapped in the body of a Gen X. And I’m not sure some of my colleagues even know the correct emoji to use when something is hilarious.
The conversation around the small oranges moved on. I shared an experience of chatting to a young woman who explained to me that hot-desking made her feel unwelcome and irrelevant in her workplace. “Wherever I lay my laptop, that’s my desk” started playing in my head, at the memory. But I resisted the urge to sing. “She felt she wasn’t essential enough to have a desk,” I continued. She was just anyone, who could sit just anywhere. As Paul Young finally left my thoughts I remembered my own indignation at someone sitting in my place.
Allow me to set the scene, away from the kitchenette. Picture it, Tara Street, 2026. We’re on the features floor. The air is sweeter there. I, as the good Lord intended, sit beside Patrick Freyne, who sits beside Rosita Boland. Until one day I walked into the office and someone else was sitting at my desk.
Everything felt off. Our row was disrupted. I sat at someone else’s desk and subtly threw him the evil eye. At least I think I did but to be honest, I wasn’t wearing my glasses, which, on account of that “body of a Gen X” thing, means without them I largely experience the world in soft focus. So God knows who I was actually directing my daggers at.
Either way, he didn’t move. And I was all at sea. “Who am I and what’s my word count?” I found myself repeating over and over again. I may in a trance-like state have even started drooling too for all I know. I can’t be 100 per cent sure. I was dazed and confused. I’d been hot-desked.
And it was horrible.
Worse than you can possibly imagine.
Alas this is life now. Nothing is certain, not your desk, not your emojis, not even your generation. Gen X peeps get on social media to post about being in the mood for pyjamas, the couch, and being asleep by 9.30pm. Whereas me? I’m in the mood for dancin’.
But when I find myself in times of trouble, I turn to the words of the greatly admired by Gen Z philosopher, Ryan Gosling. I’m just Jen and I’m Jenough. And I’m good at doing stuff.
Put it in a Teams message.