Work From Home
I rub my eyes, stretch my arms and shimmy to the edge of my bed. My legs dangle over the mattress. I stare blankly out the window looking onto a poorly kept front yard.
“Fuuckk. I’m awake,” I mutter to myself.
Suppress negativity. Suppress negativity.
I breathe deeply as I whisper my newest morning mantra. “Inhale confidence, exhale fear.” Deep Breath. “Inhale certainty, exhale doubt.” Deep Breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
I notice dog walkers scampering down the street in front of my lawn. The sun’s beams streak across my room, blinding me. It must be a nice day.
“I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my ship,” I continue. “Inhale confidence, exhale fear” Deep Breath. “Inhale certainty, exhale doubt.” Deep Breath. In through the nose. Out through my mouth.
More dog walkers.
What fucking time is it?
I gotta get to work.
I’m surrounded by clocks, screens, technology. Modernity bombards me with stimuli. A prison of flashing lights. Two computers start ringing with pings, coming to life from the desk in front of my bedroom window. I know what time it is. I hate what time it is. My head aches.
By some immeasurable miracle I stampede to my feet. I run down the hall to the bathroom. Toothpaste, toothbrush. Water. Scrub-a-dub-dub. I splash water on my face and catch myself in the mirror.
I look like shit.
I run back down the hallway and sink into my desk chair. I open up one of my two computers. The time in the bottom right corner flashes: 8:59am. I navigate to my Outlook calendar. Select, “Cooper Troopers Team Meeting.” Join Now.
This is Work From Home.
“Morning everyone,” I add to the meeting’s robotic pre-start banter. Half-hearted good morning’s echo my sentiment. Anxiety mounts with every character icon that enters the meeting channel. A few colleagues turn on their camera. Polo shirts. Groomed hair. Trimmed beards.
I bang the mute button on my Teams App. Safety. Until my manager’s icon flashes across the screen. Donovan Cooper. He quickly turns on his camera with the confidence earned from a good night’s sleep. He’s clean-cut with dark olive skin, a chiseled jaw-line and perfectly combed black hair. He drapes a white linen button down, unbuttoned at the top, revealing the top half of his muscular frame.
The meeting commences.
“Howdy everybody!” Donovan smiles. “Let’s get everyone on camera today, I want to see some faces.”
I shudder. Brace for impact. I slap my track pad on the Camera Icon. I’m wearing the grey hoodie I slept in. My long, scraggly hair is styled with a top-bun that peaks above the crown of my head while the rest of my knotted lion’s mane is tucked behind my ears and drifts down across my shoulders. Worn-out Hanes boxers cover my bottom half, though no one can see that.
A moment passes.
“Jake! Has anyone every told you that you look like Legolas from Lord of the Rings?” Donovan inquires emphatically.
I take a moment. I want to say, “Yeah. You. Last Week. During this same meeting. Why are you so obsessed with Legolas? His character is honestly kind of mid. I’d rather be Aragon. I’m not even blonde, so really, I’m a lot more like Aragon. Though my mom used to tell me I look a lot like Orlando Bloom, so maybe you have a point…”
Pangs of awkwardness infiltrate the virtual room until I realize how long I am trapped by an internalized response I won’t vocalize.
I commit, “You’re the first. I guess I got the hair for it!” The comment lands. I fit in. Pretend to care. Pretend we’re all friends. Pretend this is a Team. Pretend the company objective is important. Pretend that management cares about your well-being. Pretend you are working toward something. Pretend that it matters for long enough and you might just slip your way into a 30-year career toiling in corporate purgatory selling a product you don’t believe in to clients you don’t care about.
“Okay let’s get started.” Donovan’s eyes glance at a second screen to his left. “Just have a few things on the agenda today. For starters, Christmas is coming up on the 25th this month guys. After that we have New Years. December is the last month of the year everybody. We really have to hunker down and bring in everything we can before our prospects take time off for the holidays…”
This motherfucker is really explaining how the calendar works again, isn’t he.