I spend many hours in corporate receptions.  But it is never time wasted.  These are the liminal shorelines between the world outside and the inner workings of the organisational machine.  A patrolled borderland; a crossing that requires proof of identity and the scrutiny of papers.  Only when legitimacy has been established can the journey continue.  At a personal level, these are places of transition.  Moments before I may have been thinking about other things – a tv programme, a weekend run – but when I turn through the revolving doors, my identity elides.  I focus on the coming meeting and the conversations that may take place.  But even this work persona is compromised.  Here, I am a stranger; an outsider – the supplicant at the gate craving entry.  My security card is, in this country, worthless tender.

So perhaps this unease, this uncertainty make me more receptive to what I see.  And what I – or anyone can see – if they take care to look carefully enough, is a window – opaque and perhaps grimy – but a window none the less into the organisational soul.  Often there is marble, light, atria – hard, composite surfaces blending with soft leather furnishings.  They suggest a promise of what the organisation is and how it would like to be seen.  Every item – from the artful vase of flowers by the receptionist to the lithographs on the wall – projects a story.  Sometimes the story is literal.  Displays that hint – or sometimes shout – at the organisation’s history: its founding myth, its beginning, middle but, of course, never its end.  There may be corporate books or magazines on  the hardwood tables.  These in turn may include stories that convey the values, the ethos, the everyday culture: a day in the life of our logistics manager in Redditch; a client’s tale of exemplary service.  Stories that sustain and support identity and brand.

Of course, you must also look for what is not there.  What might you expect that is not on public view?  The organisation’s madwoman in the attic – the story that is suppressed and fettered.

Finally, look at the dramas that play before you as you flick through the corporate magazine, maybe a small coffee to hand, all the time glancing at your watch as you await the emissary who will convey you across the border.  How do these embody or subvert the knowledge and intelligence you have gained through the more explicit stories around you? As employees pass through, do they smile, talk, joke – acting out the value of ‘collegiate’ so proudly displayed by the lifts?  Is the strident value of ‘respectful’ demonstrated by a friendly ‘hello’ to the security staff and receptionist; or is there a purposeful aversion of eyes that tell a different tale, a more truthful tale?

And each time you wait, the stories build.  A palimpsest of impressions, insights and intuitions that help you navigate the uncertainty and unease of your fragile, visitor’s status.


5 thoughts on “Reception

  1. Wonderful, evocative first post Ian! I can feel the liminality of the reception area from your writing. We all spend far more time in these ‘inbetween spaces’ than we think about. An area of justifiable interest to library & information science. Welcome to CityLIS!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Your post got me thinking about the role of metaphor and how that might influence people’s thinking. Here the reception is a border crossing. But what if the liminal space was a shore line? Lovely writing Ian. I’m going to enjoy this.

    Liked by 1 person

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