Being freelance has its advantages. You choose your hours, you pick your projects, you get to work with people you like (some of the time) and you usually work from home, which is one of the modern world’s great technological advances. Telecommuting. It’s like real commuting, only without the pollution, frustration, wasted hours, expense, smell, uncomfortable seats and, frankly, the general public. Technology has saved me from all this, and for that I am grateful.
However. There is always a however. I still have to work with other people, even if they are scattered across the globe in their own little remote havens, and those people are still people. They have foibles. These are amplified (literally) even more when so much of our work is done through audio headsets. Narcissus hums to herself. Ignatius makes some kind of rattling noise which is either him tapping his teeth with a pen (ugh) or perhaps gnawing on the bones of the last census-taker who knocked on his door. Even our illustrious leader has habits that can annoy at a thousand miles – she’s had the same album on repeat all week (‘Not Accepted Anywhere’ – I’m saying nothing).
So I find that my office, my refuge, my personal space is haunted by these insubstantial voices at all hours of the day and night. It’s starting to get to me. Maybe my persistent low-level growl on the mike will be enough for everyone else to get the hint. If not, maybe I should just blog about it in public until one of them finally pays attention. That seems like the mature approach.
Café con Miguel 