Hui to Zui

Published in Funeralcare Magazine, June 2020

To call the last three months different is an understatement, to say the least. Rattled awake into an unrecognisable world comes close. No amount of planning could have prepared us for life under lockdown.

The earliest murmurs of change were heard as we drifted into a New Year, most of us without the “Xmas break” familiar to family and friends. Murmurs of a new coronavirus came with the suggestion to avoid travel to mainland China. Planning to transit through Guangzhou on honeymoon, my new groom and I were sure we’d be unaffected. On the eve of our wedding flights were cancelled and we scrambled to rebook. Oh, the stress. Oh, the cost. Oh, the inconvenience.

Donning a mask to contain a newly-acquired cough, I hoped that health checks throughout Vietnam would see us staying at hotels and not hospitals. Spending hours in airline offices and airports we cancelled, rebooked and rescheduled flights as the daily landscape changed. We kept fingers crossed to avoid a two-week quarantine on our return on March 1, as I focused on starting a new job on March 2. Looking back it feels so selfish, so blind to the big picture.

Each new day brought a more serious message, but we embraced the novelty of it all. Handshakes, hugs and hongi became akin to social death. I volunteered to demonstrate the "East Coast Salute" to ninety colleagues at a week-long training session. Jacinda Ardern beat me to it on national television.

Another reality check arrived that same week - could our industry graduation go ahead as planned? We struggled to assimilate information and evaluate alternatives, and felt the weight of making an unpopular decision. The disappointment when we realised we had to cancel. When would we be able to reschedule? Would we be able to reschedule? Disappointment turned to despondency.

Hotels started to decline bookings, and airlines to cancel flights. Despondency gave way to relief as I managed to get a flight home. I hugged my parents and my adult children before we withdrew into our respective bubbles. We arranged grocery runs to allow me to glimpse them through closed screen doors. We arranged the hopefully temporary shutdown of our businesses.

Meanwhile, our work continues unabated in this brave new world. Initially we embrace a new life-work balance. Working from home, marvelling at deserted beaches, and streets devoid of vehicles. We are grateful for being locked in with the means to connect to the outside world. Slowly but surely the focus returns to work-first.

In my new job, Microsoft Teams meetings increase in frequency, and duration. Phones become the poor cousin. A quick glance at the team on Teams shows who is busy and who is available. From outside our organisation we hear “Sorry, I’m not available then, I’ve got a Zoom meet scheduled”. Or, if you’re in my neck of the woods, a Zui (Zoom + Hui).

In my old job, funeral directors struggle with making arrangements by phone instead of in person. Video-conferencing brings people together for virtual funerals in a way that livestreaming cannot.

On the home front, family schedule a Zui for each Level 3 Sunday and I groan inwardly.

We learn to switch between three video-conferencing platforms, Zoom, Teams and Google Meet (the rebranded Hangout). Each of the three platforms releases new versions as they clock what the others are doing and scramble to remain King-of-the-Castle. We learn that headsets are invaluable, and we should join meetings muted. We learn to put our hands up when we have something to contribute. We learn to unmute when we start talking or risk looking like guppies while our fellow participants point and laugh.

I interview candidates for two positions and everyone marvels as how well we’ve adapted to this new way of life. We take turns to talk. We listen actively. We are super-aware of our body language and eye to camera contact.

We discover that home broadband is not the same as business broadband. We learn to turn off both audio and video when our colleagues start to stutter, freeze or melt. We learn that using virtual backgrounds can make parts of your head, shoulders and hands disappear amusingly. We learn that showing up to a meeting in trackpants and a bowtie will earn applause and not require you to undergo a psychiatric assessment or find a new job.

We have learned to embrace new technology, and quickly. To be flexible, to expect the unexpected, and to be generous in our expectations. We have learned resilience. Those of us in safe homes admit that we really rather enjoyed it while it lasted. And we spare a thought for those who were not so lucky.