I was sitting at my desk when the 'phone rang for about the four-millionth time. Ready for it to be my boss at the end of the line, offering another pathetic excuse sotto voce for why she hasn't paid me any more this month even though I've been working three times the hours, I picked up and trilled a grim platitude into the mouthpiece.
But it wasn't her. It was her son, who I suppose is technically also my boss. I've got the word "senior" in my job title and I'm still at the bottom rung.
"Hey, I've got a... well, two... okay, three things for you to do..." he started.
"Yeah, nice to hear from you too."
"Right, so I'm working from home today, yeah, and I'm doing a lot of stuff, so I want you to send me these e-mails..."
This is insane, I thought, as I half-listened to what he was telling me and started typing said e-mails in a rather lacklustre manner. Were I working from home, I wouldn't be sitting waiting for e-mails. I'd be in my computer chair, masturbating furiously with sexy images on at full blast while gorging myself on chocolate biscuits and coffee, occasionally going to the kitchen via the 'phone to refuel on coffee and call work to pretend I'm working...
...and then I had a further thought.
How do I know he's not doing that?