The Province

Pandemic partnershi­ps

Admit it: You're missing your work spouse

- LISA BONOS

Loy Xingwen saw Connor Morozumi lugging a large plastic bucket down the street in Atlanta.

“That's Connor — you're going to be working with him,” Loy's graduate adviser told him as they drove past.

Loy and Morozumi were both 20-somethings about to start studying for their doctorates in population, biology, ecology and evolution at Emory University. Four years later, they're seasoned scientific collaborat­ors, having spent several springs as roommates researchin­g how early snow melt affects plant pollinatio­n in the Rocky Mountains. They've also gone for hikes together, and gathered for backyard barbecues.

Loy, 31, and Morozumi, 32, have that special connection that often sparks in workplaces — platonic pairs who refer to each other as their “work spouse.”

These profession­al duos might not have become friends if it weren't for the serendipit­y of being in the same grad school cohort, intern class or office pod. Unlike romantic pairings, there are no vows to say when someone is your work husband or wife, and monogamy isn't required.

When the coronaviru­s pandemic sent many workers home, it threw these twosomes for a loop. Much of the joy and synchronic­ity of the work-spouse relationsh­ip comes from having a similar mission while dealing with shared challenges (that chatty co-worker in the next cubicle, an unreasonab­le boss or an over-air-conditione­d office).

The proximity of an office

means it doesn't take much planning to meet up for coffee, lunch or happy hour. Or just shoot a glance and know, without saying a word, what your work spouse is thinking.

Before the pandemic, it was not uncommon to see a work wife or husband “more than we saw our actual spouses,” says friendship expert Shasta Nelson, author of The Business of Friendship.

“We might know more about what's going on in their life than our actual friends.”

As COVID-19 has dragged on for months and, according to one June estimate, 42 per

cent of the workforce is working from home full-time, how do these profession­al besties stay close? And what could happen to such relationsh­ips if an office is slow to fill up again — or never does?

Loy and Morozumi have mind-melded so effectivel­y that, before the pandemic, “we'd be in a room and a professor would say something and we'd know whether it was overbearin­g or incorrect or problemati­c or correct. I'd look at him and he'd look at me — and we'd both start laughing,” Loy says.

Now that those types of meetings are happening over Zoom, Loy says he tries his best to text Morozumi “really hilarious things” so he struggles to keep a straight face.

“Watching him squirm brings me much joy,” Loy says.

They have made the ultimate pandemic commitment — after consulting with partners and roommates, each added the other to their COVID-19 bubbles so they could work together in the small office they share on Emory's campus instead of having to trade off days and

clean thoroughly in between.

Cami Kaos, 44, and her work wife, Courtney Patubo Kranzke, 44, are used to connecting while not seeing each other in the office every day.

They both work for WordPress, a Web publishing company that since 2005 has been “distribute­d,” meaning that all of its workers are remote.

Though they both live in Portland, they first bonded while on work travel, and discovered they several shared interests (science fiction, cocktails, food).

Pre-COVID-19, they would get together for cocktails once a month or to co-work while at a nail salon.

They haven't seen each other during the pandemic (Kaos is high-risk), but they've found other ways to stay in touch.

For Patubo Kranzke's birthday, Kaos and a few other friends had a virtual party on Patubo Kranzke's island inside the video game Animal Crossing. And when Patubo Kranzke recently got new cats and had to get rid of some plants that were toxic for felines, she dropped them at Kaos's door.

Lauren Harbury, 29, and her working partner, Dion Galloway, 39, also bonded on a business trip.

They work at a bank in Charlotte, but both have a creative side (she runs a business that makes feminist clothing and home goods, and he runs a design studio that hosts events and has an attached store).

Harbury attaches great importance to these companies for the friendship they have forged in their daily work.

“Creatives tend to understand more quickly where other designs are coming from,” Harbury says.

While 10 per cent of Americans ages 25 to 54 became unemployed in the beginning months of the pandemic, according to U.S. Labor Department data, about half of the jobs lost between February and April have been recovered. For those who are in new gigs and are getting to know their co- workers remotely, Harbury suggests talking about your interests beyond work.

“Everybody is more than their job, and everyone is going through such a strange time right now,” she says.

“Ask your work colleagues if they're OK and how they're doing. Don't be afraid to volunteer some info about yourself as well, as long as it's appropriat­e.”

Hilla Dotan, a professor at Tel Aviv University's Coller School of Management, says that when companies go completely virtual, they risk losing workers because an organizati­on's social glue can weaken.

As workplaces reopen, some might adopt a hybrid model — which Dotan indicates could go a long way for work spouses. Israel, where she lives and works, has cycled from initial lockdown in March to opening back up in May to another lockdown in September after a spike in COVID-19 cases.

From what she's seen so far, coming into the office just twice a week could “neutralize the whole feeling of the virtual world,” Dotan says.

Even without seeing one another every day, “that's enough to maintain the social part of the workspace.”

 ?? — GETTY IMAGES/ISTOCKPHOT­O ?? Some workers are finding ways to continue working together while keeping their distance.
— GETTY IMAGES/ISTOCKPHOT­O Some workers are finding ways to continue working together while keeping their distance.
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