Grease is not the word
Let me begin by saying I’m not downplaying the massive impact that COVID-19 has had on our lives and our livelihoods, not to mention the number of lives it has claimed. It’s been heartbreaking and I do take it seriously: I realised recently that I haven’t set foot inside a building other than my own house in over three months.
It has been exactly a year since a full lockdown was announced in the United Kingdom. The Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, addressed us all on the evening of 23rd March 2020 to tell us that we must stay at home, for all but the most limited of reasons.
He did not, however, tell the population to stop cleaning their webcams.
Many of us switched immediately to a full “work from home” regime. The cameras on our laptops may have been little used until this point, but the accumulated grime from being lugged around for months or years was already in evidence. For social contact, we switched to video calls, often employing the front-facing cameras on our smartphones and tablets, which are exposed to our greasy fingers every hour of the day.
Some of us invested in new plug-in webcams, though we had to be quick as prices soared and the low- to mid-range models became scarce. These new devices were squeaky clean at first, but that was still nearly twelve months ago now.
Of course, this was the least of our worries in those early days of lockdown. The fact that we could speak to each other reliably was enough. The broadband networks and the video conferencing services were, for the most part, holding up well. We were adapting our communication patterns around the technology we had at hand while at the same time adapting our working patterns around home schooling, visiting the supermarket at quieter times, or simply the times when we thought tinned goods and toilet roll may be available.
But as time went by and the new normal became, well, normal, we became accepting of the hazy picture we would receive from the other end of the line. While it wasn’t a problem asking someone to adjust their microphone or stop blending their smoothie while on the morning standup, it felt awkward asking someone to clean their lens. It was a bit like asking someone to wash their face. Requesting that anyone does something to change their physical appearance is a social no-no, “What’s wrong with how I look?”. It can also have creepy overtones, “You want me to adjust my camera so you can look around my bedroom better?”. I mean, yes, there is a certain amount of that — I’ll admit I’ve been known to browse my colleagues’ bookshelves of vegan cookbooks during less-interesting calls — but that isn’t my point.
I’m not even asking you to go and buy screen cleaning wipes or spray, though if you have some in the house, great! (and while you’re at it, you can clean your screen too). All I ask is that you take a clean piece of cotton — it could be a handkerchief or just the bottom of your t-shirt (if you’ve been wearing it for fewer than three days, that is) — and rub it lightly across the lens on your laptop, phone or USB camera. It will take you less than five seconds.
We’ve reached a milestone, the one-year mark. Perhaps not exactly the same date in every country but close enough. Let’s use this opportunity to encourage everyone to do this one little thing. You don’t have to ask them directly if you feel awkward, just send them a link to this article because you thought it was “insightful” or perhaps a better adjective.
In summary: do it for me, do it for your colleagues, do it for your country, do it for yourself. I don’t really care who you think you’re doing it for, but please clean you webcam.
