I’ll Take A Corona, Hold The Virus

Photo by Oleg Magni on Pexels.com

The boss huddles everyone in the office together, and then immediately realizes his error.

He gestures for everyone to move back, and instinctively everyone moves back six feet.

Actually, I don’t know if they moved back six feet. I haven’t really mapped out how far six feet is. My measuring style is more like what people did back in the days before standardized measurements were enforced. I even cook this way. I eyeball a cup of flour, then eyeball a teaspoon of salt. And in this case, I eyeballed six feet, which is six long steps back. Sure, that should do it. Although, I feel like it should be said that I’m not a good cook. Which was fine two weeks ago. Two weeks ago I could be a willy nilly bad cook and it didn’t matter. But now, with the world upside, Darwinism is a thing again, and ‘willy nilly’ is risky business.

So I take a seventh, eighth, ninth step back for good measure.

“Okay, teleworking starts tomorrow.” As Dwight drones on, his voice turns into the ‘wah wah wah’ of any adult in the Peanut Gang. It’s teleworking. We get it. Don’t fuck off. Don’t spend all day playing with your kids. Respond to emails. Yada yada yada.

“I feel bad for your husband. He’s teleworking too, right? I know how hard it can be to work with you.” Ben is so close I can feel his breath as he whispers in my ear. He came to the office ten months ago, around the same time I did. Sits right behind me and is a great co-worker, except for when he uses my white board.

“RULE BREAKER!” I squeal as I point at Ben, kicking my rolling chair until I hit the back wall.

Dwight quickly and uncomfortably scolds Ben for breaking the social distancing rule before returning back to the telework policy that he is clearly making up on the spot. Because we all know there is no telework policy. The organization has shunned teleworking, not trying at all to hide the fact that it didn’t trust it’s employees. So here we are, some still with desktops, others with no idea how to setup their VPN.

“This teleworking thing is going to be ugly. Like trying to take a cat on a walk,” I whisper over to Karen, who scoots her own chair back when she feels my breath on her ear. I then turn my attention back to Ben.

“Well, I feel bad for your kids! Didn’t you say your wife starts work tomorrow and she has to go into the office? Those poor kids are going to have the saddest sandwiches of their lives,” I hiss back at Ben from the corner of the room.

“Oh, they will, and I can’t wait to feed it to them.”

Ben smirks while he crosses his arms and legs. Dwight snaps his finger at us. I try hard to focus on the mundane details of the mandatory training and how to set up Skype and a bunch of apps I’ve never heard of. But my attention span quickly wanes- what is my husband going to be like as a co-worker?

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