“I genuinely hated that job.”
That was the line that made the audience laugh this summer in Nicosia, when I was presenting my auto-ethnographic research to scholars from around the world. For a few seconds, the room was light, laughter moving freely between us. But then I continued, only a few words further, and the air changed. Silence fell heavy. What I told them next, I will reveal later this academic year.

“I genuinely hated that job.”
That was the line that made the audience laugh this summer in Nicosia, when I was presenting my auto-ethnographic research to scholars from around the world. For a few seconds, the room was light, laughter moving freely between us. But then I continued, only a few words further, and the air changed. Silence fell heavy. What I told them next, I will reveal later this academic year.

“I genuinely hated that job.”
That was the line that made the audience laugh this summer in Nicosia, when I was presenting my auto-ethnographic research to scholars from around the world. For a few seconds, the room was light, laughter moving freely between us. But then I continued, only a few words further, and the air changed. Silence fell heavy. What I told them next, I will reveal later this academic year.

Imagine stepping out on a dark winter evening, dressed in your finest cashmere coat and silk scarf, taking one last satisfied glance in the mirror. Outside, a sleek car awaits. You walk towards it, open the glossy, tinted back door, and sink into a warm seat, bathed in ambient lighting. The air is tinged with the scent of fresh leather, and as you lift your gaze, a well-dressed driver greets you in your native language. A near-poetic experience!

“I genuinely hated that job.”
That was the line that made the audience laugh this summer in Nicosia, when I was presenting my auto-ethnographic research to scholars from around the world. For a few seconds, the room was light, laughter moving freely between us. But then I continued, only a few words further, and the air changed. Silence fell heavy. What I told them next, I will reveal later this academic year.

“I genuinely hated that job.”
That was the line that made the audience laugh this summer in Nicosia, when I was presenting my auto-ethnographic research to scholars from around the world. For a few seconds, the room was light, laughter moving freely between us. But then I continued, only a few words further, and the air changed. Silence fell heavy. What I told them next, I will reveal later this academic year.

Imagine stepping out on a dark winter evening, dressed in your finest cashmere coat and silk scarf, taking one last satisfied glance in the mirror. Outside, a sleek car awaits. You walk towards it, open the glossy, tinted back door, and sink into a warm seat, bathed in ambient lighting. The air is tinged with the scent of fresh leather, and as you lift your gaze, a well-dressed driver greets you in your native language. A near-poetic experience!

“I genuinely hated that job.”
That was the line that made the audience laugh this summer in Nicosia, when I was presenting my auto-ethnographic research to scholars from around the world. For a few seconds, the room was light, laughter moving freely between us. But then I continued, only a few words further, and the air changed. Silence fell heavy. What I told them next, I will reveal later this academic year.

Imagine stepping out on a dark winter evening, dressed in your finest cashmere coat and silk scarf, taking one last satisfied glance in the mirror. Outside, a sleek car awaits. You walk towards it, open the glossy, tinted back door, and sink into a warm seat, bathed in ambient lighting. The air is tinged with the scent of fresh leather, and as you lift your gaze, a well-dressed driver greets you in your native language. A near-poetic experience!

Imagine stepping out on a dark winter evening, dressed in your finest cashmere coat and silk scarf, taking one last satisfied glance in the mirror. Outside, a sleek car awaits. You walk towards it, open the glossy, tinted back door, and sink into a warm seat, bathed in ambient lighting. The air is tinged with the scent of fresh leather, and as you lift your gaze, a well-dressed driver greets you in your native language. A near-poetic experience!

Imagine stepping out on a dark winter evening, dressed in your finest cashmere coat and silk scarf, taking one last satisfied glance in the mirror. Outside, a sleek car awaits. You walk towards it, open the glossy, tinted back door, and sink into a warm seat, bathed in ambient lighting. The air is tinged with the scent of fresh leather, and as you lift your gaze, a well-dressed driver greets you in your native language. A near-poetic experience!

Imagine stepping out on a dark winter evening, dressed in your finest cashmere coat and silk scarf, taking one last satisfied glance in the mirror. Outside, a sleek car awaits. You walk towards it, open the glossy, tinted back door, and sink into a warm seat, bathed in ambient lighting. The air is tinged with the scent of fresh leather, and as you lift your gaze, a well-dressed driver greets you in your native language. A near-poetic experience!

Last October, I read Chernyshevsky’s What Is to Be Done? and, as often happens with books that require time to settle, I let it drift into the background of my mind. It resurfaced unexpectedly a few weeks ago when I was asked to give a lecture to master’s students on the meaning of work and the effects of digital transformation. Preparing for the lecture led me down a familiar path: back to my own master’s thesis, where I had explored the worth of platform-based gig work from the perspectives of employees and society.

There’s a particular kind of joy in watching someone’s eyes light up when they realize that a tedious task they’ve been wrestling with can be simplified—or even automated—into a few clicks. Recently, I had the pleasure of experiencing this firsthand with a couple of friends who run a computer hardware business in Tartu.

They handle everything from selling and repairing to renting out computer equipment. Over the years, I’ve casually brought up the idea of automating some of their processes. Each time, it felt like trying to explain the allure of jazz to someone who only listens to heavy metal—not much resonance there.

Last October, I read Chernyshevsky’s What Is to Be Done? and, as often happens with books that require time to settle, I let it drift into the background of my mind. It resurfaced unexpectedly a few weeks ago when I was asked to give a lecture to master’s students on the meaning of work and the effects of digital transformation. Preparing for the lecture led me down a familiar path: back to my own master’s thesis, where I had explored the worth of platform-based gig work from the perspectives of employees and society.

There’s a particular kind of joy in watching someone’s eyes light up when they realize that a tedious task they’ve been wrestling with can be simplified—or even automated—into a few clicks. Recently, I had the pleasure of experiencing this firsthand with a couple of friends who run a computer hardware business in Tartu.

They handle everything from selling and repairing to renting out computer equipment. Over the years, I’ve casually brought up the idea of automating some of their processes. Each time, it felt like trying to explain the allure of jazz to someone who only listens to heavy metal—not much resonance there.

Last October, I read Chernyshevsky’s What Is to Be Done? and, as often happens with books that require time to settle, I let it drift into the background of my mind. It resurfaced unexpectedly a few weeks ago when I was asked to give a lecture to master’s students on the meaning of work and the effects of digital transformation. Preparing for the lecture led me down a familiar path: back to my own master’s thesis, where I had explored the worth of platform-based gig work from the perspectives of employees and society.

Last October, I read Chernyshevsky’s What Is to Be Done? and, as often happens with books that require time to settle, I let it drift into the background of my mind. It resurfaced unexpectedly a few weeks ago when I was asked to give a lecture to master’s students on the meaning of work and the effects of digital transformation. Preparing for the lecture led me down a familiar path: back to my own master’s thesis, where I had explored the worth of platform-based gig work from the perspectives of employees and society.

Last October, I read Chernyshevsky’s What Is to Be Done? and, as often happens with books that require time to settle, I let it drift into the background of my mind. It resurfaced unexpectedly a few weeks ago when I was asked to give a lecture to master’s students on the meaning of work and the effects of digital transformation. Preparing for the lecture led me down a familiar path: back to my own master’s thesis, where I had explored the worth of platform-based gig work from the perspectives of employees and society.

Last October, I read Chernyshevsky’s What Is to Be Done? and, as often happens with books that require time to settle, I let it drift into the background of my mind. It resurfaced unexpectedly a few weeks ago when I was asked to give a lecture to master’s students on the meaning of work and the effects of digital transformation. Preparing for the lecture led me down a familiar path: back to my own master’s thesis, where I had explored the worth of platform-based gig work from the perspectives of employees and society.

There’s a particular kind of joy in watching someone’s eyes light up when they realize that a tedious task they’ve been wrestling with can be simplified—or even automated—into a few clicks. Recently, I had the pleasure of experiencing this firsthand with a couple of friends who run a computer hardware business in Tartu.

They handle everything from selling and repairing to renting out computer equipment. Over the years, I’ve casually brought up the idea of automating some of their processes. Each time, it felt like trying to explain the allure of jazz to someone who only listens to heavy metal—not much resonance there.

There’s a particular kind of joy in watching someone’s eyes light up when they realize that a tedious task they’ve been wrestling with can be simplified—or even automated—into a few clicks. Recently, I had the pleasure of experiencing this firsthand with a couple of friends who run a computer hardware business in Tartu.

They handle everything from selling and repairing to renting out computer equipment. Over the years, I’ve casually brought up the idea of automating some of their processes. Each time, it felt like trying to explain the allure of jazz to someone who only listens to heavy metal—not much resonance there.

There’s a particular kind of joy in watching someone’s eyes light up when they realize that a tedious task they’ve been wrestling with can be simplified—or even automated—into a few clicks. Recently, I had the pleasure of experiencing this firsthand with a couple of friends who run a computer hardware business in Tartu.

They handle everything from selling and repairing to renting out computer equipment. Over the years, I’ve casually brought up the idea of automating some of their processes. Each time, it felt like trying to explain the allure of jazz to someone who only listens to heavy metal—not much resonance there.

There’s a particular kind of joy in watching someone’s eyes light up when they realize that a tedious task they’ve been wrestling with can be simplified—or even automated—into a few clicks. Recently, I had the pleasure of experiencing this firsthand with a couple of friends who run a computer hardware business in Tartu.

They handle everything from selling and repairing to renting out computer equipment. Over the years, I’ve casually brought up the idea of automating some of their processes. Each time, it felt like trying to explain the allure of jazz to someone who only listens to heavy metal—not much resonance there.