After years of working in an ecommerce startup, the author has come to miss one thing that dominates the office landscape of tech startups: the high-rising stool chair. In lieu of cubicles with their low desks and chairs that characterize established corporations, tech startups prefer a much more flexible arrangement where people are always on the move, working wherever they can find space to put down their laptops. To facilitate the mobile nature of fast-moving employees, startups employ a series of these high-rising chairs, alongside equally high small tables.
Without a doubt, these stools are not comfortable. Many have no back support for the user to attain the bare minimum of relaxation. The tenseness of the user is only reinforced by the fact that many do not even have bottom-support cushions. Stiff backs and bottoms are coupled with dangling feet, as the stools are high enough that most users with their average heights never hope to sit on them while their feet are firmly touching the ground. From the uncomfortable designs, it is clear that the stools are for people to work quickly and leave quickly after their work is done.
For people seeking a comfortable place to get their work done steadily, there is surely plenty to grumble about the high-rising stool chair. But in their deliberately "faulty" designs, the stools represent the very essential character of what it means to be a startup employee, a fast workers who must always be on his or her feet in order to anticipate sudden meetings to go to, sudden new tasks to be done, and even sudden business trips to another country. The high-rising stool reminds the user that sitting and relaxing is against the nature of their work, and should simply be avoided.
In other words, the high-rising stool chair, while representing discomfort for the user, is also a symbol of productivity. Whether or not efficient, the stool reminds the user the need to keep moving to the next task, not to be in one place, and definitely not get too relaxed or comfortable during the process of any work. That idea of continuous movement is the epitome of what it means to be a startup person, one that startup companies have never failed to remind its less-than-stellar employees. The high-rising stool chair is the visual and physical manifestation of that reminder.
Unfortunately, the dynamism of the tech startup is often missing in academia. People sleep on top of their desks just to feign their exhaustion after supposed productive bouts, despite the fact that most students have little concrete obligations beyond a couple of hours of classes everyday. Research, it is implied, contrary to tasks of startup employees, is not about getting things done as quickly as possible; it is instead about careful deliberation, extensive search and analyses, followed by composition geared for perfection. Taking months to present output is not only tolerated but even subtly encouraged.
So the high-rising stool chairs, despite being present in various study areas in university campuses, remain largely unused unless other chairs are all occupied. Many users of study areas are there to sit for hours, devouring works of academic literature or composing their own. Their sense of concentration and perfectionism can only be distracted by chairs that cannot put them in maximum amount of comfort. The high-rising stool chairs, far from giving them productivity and efficiency, are only likely to prevent them from creating the best outputs that they possibly can.
Of course, to equate outputs demanded by academia and by tech startups has its own set of fallacies. Startups only move forward by a whole procession of small tasks. One task not being completed on-time derail future work of not only the procrastinator him or herself but also dozens of other collaborators. Academics do not face such collaborative constraints most of the time. One's own delays rarely affect others and the institution as a whole unless the delay is so egregious as to affect reputations of projects, conferences, and the institutions themselves.
Maybe then, it is the lack of pressure from colleagues that make academics a bit too relaxed. They happily work in their own comfortable pace, oblivious to the going-ons of both others within the same institution and the wider outside world. Their eyes are trained on papers published with few months in delay of the latest knowledge, even though the modern era of cyberspace means hours and days are enough for dramatic changes in the real world. Respecting the high-rising stool chairs, and using them a bit more frequently, it might be assumed, would lead to at least some initial deviation of the isolated nature of the academia?
Without a doubt, these stools are not comfortable. Many have no back support for the user to attain the bare minimum of relaxation. The tenseness of the user is only reinforced by the fact that many do not even have bottom-support cushions. Stiff backs and bottoms are coupled with dangling feet, as the stools are high enough that most users with their average heights never hope to sit on them while their feet are firmly touching the ground. From the uncomfortable designs, it is clear that the stools are for people to work quickly and leave quickly after their work is done.
For people seeking a comfortable place to get their work done steadily, there is surely plenty to grumble about the high-rising stool chair. But in their deliberately "faulty" designs, the stools represent the very essential character of what it means to be a startup employee, a fast workers who must always be on his or her feet in order to anticipate sudden meetings to go to, sudden new tasks to be done, and even sudden business trips to another country. The high-rising stool reminds the user that sitting and relaxing is against the nature of their work, and should simply be avoided.
In other words, the high-rising stool chair, while representing discomfort for the user, is also a symbol of productivity. Whether or not efficient, the stool reminds the user the need to keep moving to the next task, not to be in one place, and definitely not get too relaxed or comfortable during the process of any work. That idea of continuous movement is the epitome of what it means to be a startup person, one that startup companies have never failed to remind its less-than-stellar employees. The high-rising stool chair is the visual and physical manifestation of that reminder.
Unfortunately, the dynamism of the tech startup is often missing in academia. People sleep on top of their desks just to feign their exhaustion after supposed productive bouts, despite the fact that most students have little concrete obligations beyond a couple of hours of classes everyday. Research, it is implied, contrary to tasks of startup employees, is not about getting things done as quickly as possible; it is instead about careful deliberation, extensive search and analyses, followed by composition geared for perfection. Taking months to present output is not only tolerated but even subtly encouraged.
So the high-rising stool chairs, despite being present in various study areas in university campuses, remain largely unused unless other chairs are all occupied. Many users of study areas are there to sit for hours, devouring works of academic literature or composing their own. Their sense of concentration and perfectionism can only be distracted by chairs that cannot put them in maximum amount of comfort. The high-rising stool chairs, far from giving them productivity and efficiency, are only likely to prevent them from creating the best outputs that they possibly can.
Of course, to equate outputs demanded by academia and by tech startups has its own set of fallacies. Startups only move forward by a whole procession of small tasks. One task not being completed on-time derail future work of not only the procrastinator him or herself but also dozens of other collaborators. Academics do not face such collaborative constraints most of the time. One's own delays rarely affect others and the institution as a whole unless the delay is so egregious as to affect reputations of projects, conferences, and the institutions themselves.
Maybe then, it is the lack of pressure from colleagues that make academics a bit too relaxed. They happily work in their own comfortable pace, oblivious to the going-ons of both others within the same institution and the wider outside world. Their eyes are trained on papers published with few months in delay of the latest knowledge, even though the modern era of cyberspace means hours and days are enough for dramatic changes in the real world. Respecting the high-rising stool chairs, and using them a bit more frequently, it might be assumed, would lead to at least some initial deviation of the isolated nature of the academia?
Comments
Post a Comment