No shoes, no shame

I work from home now.

This has both its advantages and disadvantages.

Advantages: No politics, no shoes, no make up, no annoying coworkers that can't be smacked down with the close of an IM window, no constant stream of chocolate and cookies and baked goods from anorexically thin coworkers who "just like to bake for others." No body odors that I am not myself responsible for, no crappy fluorescent lighting, no interruptions due to coworker's sudden client/coworker/spouse/reality show character crisis. No closed door conversations, no whispering, no averted eyes as you arrive in the same clothes as the day before, with a dearth of makeup (other than your smudged mascara) and a slightly overwhelming scent of body-spray-in-lieu-of-shower. No shared bathrooms with those embarrassing moments of silence after the deafening explosion from the stall next door. No dress code, no one to impress with anything other than your mind. And yet...

Disadvantages: No one to concept with other than the dog, who is just FRIED after that last campaign and frankly, kind of sucked on that one. No one to distract you when you can't bear another moment of staring at the screen as your mind slips and slides on its own juices, stumbling for a concept somewhere, anywhere. A sudden comfort with no human contact, driving you to anger when you realize that no, you can't just email the dentist for an appointment but but must actually SPEAK TO A HUMAN who will inevitably require some form of small talk. No place to go for lunch except the kitchen, where whoever is in charge of procurement really needs to be fired, given the lack of originality in the offerings. How many days can sesame sticks and string cheese be passed off as "a meal"? The constant lure of mid-afternoon television, where you convince yourself that concepts and strategies can be found amidst the makeovers, house flips and vampire slayings. The siren's song of the king sized bed on a gray day, when god knows that no one can work or think anyway, so what's a little nap between calls? The sad realization that you have not worn make up or shoes or even nice underwear and fitted clothing in more than a week and that everytime you walk by a mirror you are startled into thinking "JAYSUS, who's the hell is that?" before you recognize this aging and sallow vision of yourself. Your only face-to-face conversations are with a mentally absent husband and an English-challenged nanny and a three year old, the latter believing that you're pretty damn cool but could you just get the hell out of the way of his Sesame Street view or get him some godddamn milk with a straw, PLEASE.

Welcome to my office. Shoes, shirts and service are all optional.



[Previously posted in 2006 - but damnit, I like it]