In the coming minutes and months you will read a great deal about working from home. How to do it. How not to do it. The inevitable pitfalls. The incredible pratfalls. That said, I’m not here (home) to belabor the point. I’m here to miss it. We can all agree that working from home is among the most challenging things life has yet to throw at us. This includes acorns by angry squirrels and meteors by angry aliens. The distractions in my fridge are enough procrastination material to give the most diligent remote employee both pause and goosebumps. Do you know what happens to sour cream after you leave it alone for 18 months? How about guacamole? They say deli turkey reanimates with a ready-made spiel on why Ben Franklin was right to proclaim them our true national bird. That’s to say nothing of my freezer’s frosty contents. Snow peas anyone?
But no, I won’t do that. I won’t say that the WFH economy will put a strain on the country’s pipes and water supply. Showering, once an afterthought if not the downright enemy of creative work, now exists in a glass (or a safer, softer equivalent) sanctuary from which ideas continually flow. Day 4 and I’m averaging 8 showers a day. Throw in 5 or 6 baths and you’re talking about enough water to refill the once great Aral Sea. And that’s just me. We already know this. So I don’t need to go on and on about it.
Similarly, I won’t say that we’re headed for a pajama and robe (naturally, my favorite article of clothing) shortage. Looks like we're just going to have to learn to sleep in jeans and collared shirts. I already have a set of what are often referred to as “night blazers.”
I’m not going to say that working from home is easy. Somehow, people think that absent a long, germ-ridden commute, things get simpler. They don’t. My commute hasn’t evaporated to zero either. It’s ongoing, all day, every day. From the couch to the desk. From the desk to the bed. From the shower to the stairs. And from the bath back again to the bath. Ya know, the ol’ “double bubble.’
I definitely won’t say that working from home is a high concept not to be taken seriously in the strictest sense of the word. Home is where the heat is. In better days, I slept in my car for weeks on end. That’s because I take the “utility” part seriously in Sports Utility Vehicle. This is something J.S. Mill, among many other dead philosophers, would certainly understand. Too bad they aren’t around to figuratively pat me on the back. I wouldn’t want to risk infecting someone born in 1806.
I won’t say that my workday, presently deprived of protracted elevator rides feels a large banter-sized void in it. Small talk about the weather, sports or the random comment on the causes of the Civil War is now all in my head. I won’t say that talking to myself about the Yankees championship prospects is as fulfilling as talking to strangers. That's despite having more disagreements.
And I won’t say that working from home is nothing new. That we’re merely following the long, storied tradition set forth by the likes of Augustus and Stanley Kubrick. Or that over time, no matter how great it seems, the practice will start to feel like house arrest. Something akin to the experience of that famous Italian creative, Galileo Galilei.
No, I won’t say any of that. Wouldn’t even think of it. It’s best left for others to do and say. And trust me, they will.
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