Self-employed – and mad at the boss
Stop the Presses column by Chris Graham
Working out of a home office has its advantages.
And then …
“Hey, you’re not doing anything. Can you …”
I get that … often.
People assume that you’re free – whenever.
“You’re the boss man, right?” my friend Eli asked me the other day.
Trying to make the point that we could break away for a couple of hours of golf.
“I mean, come on. Lighten up. What’s the point of working for yourself if you can’t go play 36 in the afternoon?”
The point isn’t that you work for yourself for the purposes of playing hooky anytime you danged well please.
I actually work 10 times harder – make that 11; no, 12 – than I ever did when I worked for somebody else.
“Which is why you should go play golf with us,” my friend Mordecai chimed in.
“Just this once,” Eli said, emphasizing the idea.
If only I had the time.
In between working, running errands …
Taking care of kids.
“Are you going to be in the bathroom all day, Tris?” my 4-year-old niece, Rachel, asked me the other morning.
I ended up spending the day with her – she had the flu, and you can’t leave a kid at school with the flu.
This flu was legit – she emptied the contents of her stomach twice on the ride back from school to the home office.
But miraculously, once she got out of the car, she was cured.
And thus “Blue’s Clues,” “SpongeBob” and crayons became important parts of my workday.
(I didn’t realize I had crayons. They must just magically appear when kids are around.)
I hid in the bathroom to try to get some time to myself, prompting the question.
“I think I be sick again, Tris. I need go baffroom.”
So there’s golf – for the record, I have snuck away a couple of times since I went into business for myself to hit the course for some swinging relaxation – and babysitting …
“Come on. You’re a news reporter. You’re always driving around. You can drop this off at xyz …”
It’s the life, working at home.
That’s what I hear all the time.
And there are advantages, don’t get me wrong.
Right now, for example, I’m typing this story in pajamas.
And my hair looks like it was inspired by Albert Einstein.
(If he stuck his hand in a light socket. Which, of course, he was way too smart to ever try to do. Just trying to give you a mental image.)
And my dog is at my feet.
Gotta take him outside.
The sun is actually out this morning, and I am at home, after all.
Might as well enjoy it.