Working from Home

I just got off the phone with a telemarketer. As usual, they asked for Meg when I first answer. I get to say “She’s at work” and hope they give up. And every time I say it, I feel the need to explain that I work from home, have a real career, and am not just sitting here like a parasite living off of Meg. That actually makes me more depressed, once I realized I find the need to justify myself to a damn telemarketer.

Working from home isn’t necessarily as quiet and peaceful as you might think. The constant barrage of telemarketers, coupled with the fact that I usually have to go tearing around the house looking for a phone with a charged battery when they call, is almost as bad as the random drive by cubicle meetings I’d face in the office.

Surprisingly, it’s not the telemarketers that bother me so much as that asshole in the ice cream truck. I started this job in July and have only recently, which is to say within the last two weeks, finally been spared another iteration of the creepy ice cream man theme. At 5:30 every day prior to my new found relief, he would come around the neighborhood. I can’t say that I ever saw anyone buy anything, but that didn’t stop him from finding the need to invest 10 minutes of his day on our block. I literally had to postpone conference calls because my coworkers could not hear me amidst the chaos.

I sometimes wonder if Meg is more conniving than I give her credit for. We started the whole house hunting process right about when I started this job. After a few months of me working from home, she suddenly decides that we may not have to move.

So where’s the scheme? Having the house on the market meant I had to keep it not just clean, but presentable. That meant making the bed in the morning, not leaving dishes in the sink (or for that matter, glasses scattered at various places around the house– no mom and dad, I haven’t outgrown that yet), and making sure the laundry pile didn’t build up to mountain range proportions. On days where we had a showing, I’d run around the house that morning restoring the house to a pristine, unnatural condition.

In other words, I don’t think Meg ever intended to move. I think it was her way of making sure I wouldn’t drag the house into the 8th circle of hell while I was at home all day. It actually worked too, short of the coffee-stain breadcrumb trail Meg could use to figure out not only where I went in the house, but the frequency at which I crossed those areas and my average caffeine intake at the time. For some reason, I do not possess the ability to carry a mug of coffee from the kitchen on the second floor, up one flight of stairs, and into my office without managing to splatter, drip, and otherwise coat the walls, floors, and doors. If anyone is looking for Christmas present ideas for Meg, I suggest buying me the tallest mug you can find. Yes, it’s a present for Meg, since she’s the one that gets pissed off at the dynamic spot decorations I am applying to the house.

Still, I can’t bitch too much. I’m sure most of the readers would get fired if they spent an entire work day in their pajamas.

8 comments

  1. You’re right. You will get no sympathy from me. I actually had a crazy fantasy that when I told my boss we were moving to FL that he might actually offer that I could work from home. I am delusional. Accountants commute 2 hours a day for their entire lives, and techies get to work in their PJs. Its just the natural order of things. I just wish someone had told me this Freshman year. 😉

    Anyway- glad to see a new post up!

  2. I’m reassured to hear that even miles from your place of origin, the simple routine of leaving empty glasses in their last known resting place is still intact. However, the answer to your Rorschach test travels does not lie in a taller mug. The PERFECT Christmas gift would be a standard size mug, with a saucer the size of Texas. (Sorry to resurrect recent painful business trip memories)

  3. Probably not a good idea to have such a big saucer. It’d work great until the first time Lucas came over and we fail to resist the urge to break it over one of our heads.

  4. >

    Same thing happened down here, a guy actually wanted the town to make a law saying the ice cream truck couldn’t play it’s music… Only difference between the two of ya is, he’s like…80 :)

    Having grown up in Hudson county, then moving to an apartment just off Broad Ave. (heavy truck and traffic route) and finally down the shore…the extraordinarily QUIET shore, I love static noise! While I could easily pass on another rendition of “Do your ears hang low…” I would LOVE to hear the Mr. Softee truck, now that’s a catchy tune!!!

  5. I can handle static noise. The incessant chiming of that annoying song is a different story. And the fact that he was 80 only meant that there was less of a chance that he could run outside and yank the driver out of the truck in an attempt to stop the music.

    Good call on the daylight savings time though. I didn’t even realize that was something I had to set. I just assumed it would take the time from the web server and wouldn’t need any changes.

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