workingfortheman.com

Since you're reading this fine website, you probably share a dream of mine: to get out from under the heel of the oppressor and be my own boss. Unfortunately, I've found that to reach this level of civilized existence takes an amazing amount of dedication, perseverance, and a titanium work ethic, not to mention a bit of a bankroll for the dry days to come. I have none of these. I changed my dream a few months back and decided that entering a brand new class of pseudo-entrepreneurs was more up my alley. I speak of the telecommuter. The word has buzzed around and been bitten off enough for you to know what a telecommuter is, so no explanation is needed, I hope. In any case, I finally realized my aspirations of bathrobes till 5 p.m., chainsmoking all day, and a bold lack of human contact or supervision. I'm here to tell you all about it. Technically, I'm still working for the capitalist machine, i.e., The Man. But, in my new duties as a TC, I am now away from his ever-watchful eye. That is the draw, the reason for being, as it were.

And because of this new freedom my usual manners of wasting time, lollygagging, and procrastinating have reached new levels. Now the water cooler has been replaced by the wine rack. The coffee machine has been respectfully superseded by waking up whenever I feel like. And the smoking section on the wall outside has been resoundingly overthrown by my trusty, filled-to-the-brim, stainless steel ashtray that I bought at Urban Outfitters.

So I work at home. I wake up sometimes at 9 or 10 in the morning. On the days when I feel like getting some work done I might rise to the occasion a bit earlier. I grab some coffee, light up a cigarette and go online. That's where I do my work. And that's where I don't do my work. I get too distracted. The diversions multiply when you're at home. I check my bank account, read up on the latest nonessential news and information. And occasionally, I'll log onto a server here and there where I can open up a can of whupass on some unsuspecting fool, be it in Quake or some other video game twitch-fest.

"So what's the problem?" you might ask. Over the past few weeks I've begun to develop what seems like a guilty conscience. I'm not getting any work done, and it's starting to bother me. I don't have to turn in any progress reports. No one is calling me every other hour to make sure I'm not "Doing research" at the neighborhood bar. So I spend most of my time thinking about doing work and doing everything else. I got my car smog-checked the other day. Last week I set up an online banking account and spent most of the day logging in transactions and transfers. A couple of weeks ago I painted my kitchen table. You get the picture. In a normal situation, if I were able to get away with the types of procrastination and digression I deal with at my home office, I would be ecstatic. Doing laundry or watching the Godfather Trilogy while I was putting in hours at the main office would be a dream come true.

Somehow, without the pleasure of slyly getting away with it under the watchful eye of a power-that-be, doing absolutely nothing loses its charm. I'm actually worried about getting the job done. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

So, the latest development in this saga, is that I've decided to return to the world of Eddie Punchclock and Joe Lunchbox. I'm back to getting up at 5:30 in the morning to beat traffic. I'm returning to the proactive, FYI, 'can I get back to you on that', 'let's have a meeting', land of coffee that puts a film on your teeth and conversations about what good ol' Kramer is up to coming from the cubicle across the way. I'm still not getting any work done, but at least I don't feel guilty about it when the day is done. When it comes to fulfilling dreams, you never know what you're going to get. In my case, I discovered the frightening remnants of a work ethic, left over from some twisted past life. Until I can completely beat the beast down into submission, I will continue to do my part in working for the man. Hallelujah.

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