I remember the commute for my last ‘proper’ job. A grand total of 6.5 miles, and it’d take me 50 minutes to drive that distance. (There were no viable public transport options, and you’d only cycle if you liked the notion of dying on those roads.) One day, my manager got wind of this. She knew where I lived and asked me why it took so long. Traffic coming off of the motorway, I said; and if only I could rock up a bit late every day, I could leave the house 45 minutes later and cut my commute to well under 15 minutes. Her immediate response: “Well, why don’t you? You often stay late anyway.” (She rightly surmised that was down to the same traffic going the other way.)
Then I moved departments. By then, I’d started arriving at around 9:10 every day. I was a web designer back then. It didn’t matter a bit when I did the work, as long as it got done—which it did. The tech director one day, angry and possibly hungover, saw me come in and berated me in front of the entire floor. I was called lazy. Told I was setting a bad example for everyone. I shot back that he didn’t seem to mind—or even notice—I worked an hour late almost every evening. Cue: a trip to THE OFFICE. My (new) manager backed me up. The director was fuming. I kept my job, but he wanted me in on time every day or there would be consequences. The net result was I worked precisely to my hours, spent a lot more wasted time in my car, and lost all respect for the company.
This was around 2000. I’d hoped attitudes would be more like my old manager by now, but they really aren’t. It’s insane that the UK is still obsessed with people looking like they’re working hard rather than actual productivity. This is the same bullshit that’s for decades kept the entire country as one of the least productive of comparable nations and infused a lack of meritocracy. (My wife had something similar. Her desk was a mess at one job, because she had so much to deal with. Her co-worker did less work but her desk was neat, and so she was always praised as being great. No-one checked the data. It was all about appearances.)
Fuck all that. Things need to change. You don’t live to work—you work to provide for your life.