November 1998 smoking jacket by Gregory Alkaitis-Carafelli |
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No, really, I'm Working
It's 8 AM Monday morning and I'm at the office, practically naked in
only my underwear unshaven and unshowered, pretending I'm not
hungover. It helps that "the office" is about ten steps from my bed
and that the first conference call isn't scheduled until a more
reasonable hour when if all goes well I'll be sufficiently caffinated
so only you and I will know the dirty secret of my weekend excesses.
Ever have a day start like that?
Oh, sorry -- I forgot you're one of those people that has to dress,
commute, then cram yourself into a cubicle five days out of seven! I
think about you every so often, like in the summer when it's lovely
outside and I'm in the garden with my laptop, coffee, and assortment
of fine baked goods; the birds sweetly sing and sometimes a delicious
cool breeze will blow. The Ethernet jack next to the rose bushes makes
me just as connected as you suits, but without all those tedious
extras, like, uh, a suit. Plus my salary is probably higher. Jealous?
When my dad found out I didn't go into an office, but instead worked
mostly from home, he was immediately suspicious. He would never say it
of course (like he never outright says I'm fat, but I'm not dumb; I
get
the subtext of his constant questioning: "lost any weight yet son?")
instead he merely implied all I do every day is lay around watching
Auntie Audrey try and sell me the original Iron Quick system on
television and eating chocolate frosted donuts straight from the box,
their crumbs a perfect compliment, falling like a light dusting of
dirty snow on my unwashed wife beater T-shirt.
My father has this weird notion that people need the rigid atmosphere
of office space in order to be motivated to conduct business. I tried
to explain to him that while he was busy out on the golf course things
changed; that it's now normal for people to meet on a conference call
rather than in a boardroom, and in fact a team can bring a project to
completion without ever actually seeing each other in the flesh.
Dad made himself quite clear; people can't work without the office
accouterment like a secretary, the blare of a co-worker's loud radio,
stylishly functional cubes that blend the very best of neither
efficiency or comfort -- being at home is too comfortable! Work should
be torturous. It should not be possible to put in a load of laundry
while having a meeting with your boss.
I don't think he understands the obvious point: if I did sit around
all day doing nothing I'd be out of a job quicker than Auntie Audrey
and her Iron Quick system can get pants pressed and with a razor sharp
crease.
Speaking of laundry, I need to go put that load in the dryer now.
Unless you're my boss, in which case I've been working all this time.
Honest.
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