The Great Experiment

No, not George Washington and the American Republic. I refer to an experiment that would have much larger ramifications to humankind. At least this human.

         It involved my recent and brief decision to work from home rather than make the 17-hour commute to New Jersey each day. My lucid and logical assumption was that I could be more productive using the time I spent commuting for more important business tasks. However, I failed to factor in two key elements in my assumption. First, I am not aware of any important business tasks and second, my children still live at home. I’ll recap day one.

         My daily conference call is at 9:30am. At exactly 9:33am one of my children burst in the room and announced she had to go potty. So, while we failed to meet our quarterly sales goals I was congratulated on being well ahead of market speculation regarding toilet training.

         Since it is company policy to follow the daily call with a cup of coffee and a lot of complaining I began to head out to Starbucks when my wife, Laura asked me where I was going. This is when I learned she possessed telekinesis, which is the power to move objects without touching them. When I said I was going for coffee something whizzed by my head. I think it was the toaster.

         Apparently, during the ten minutes of my call two of my children had removed their clothes and the third could not be located. Carefully folded laundry was now thrown about the house forming a trail that hopefully led to the unaccounted for child. I began to suspect that going to lunch was going to be a problem.
         
As a salesperson, I am required to go to lunch everyday. If there are no existing or prospective clients available I must go with my sales friends or invent a mystery client. This keeps my expense account healthy and consistent. Unfortunately, all my friends were in New York City and I couldn’t see any clients because I was still in my pajamas. Taking the kids was not an option because:
1)          We were missing one.
2)          I need four days of mental preparation before I go to a restaurant with my kids.
3)          A receipt from Chucky Cheese would gain unwanted scrutiny to my expense report.

  I thought it best not to mention my dining dilemma to Laura. She was busy with the lost child who had been found in our bedroom pretending to be at the beach, using our bed as the beachfront and baby powder as sand. As I wrestled one of the twins to the floor I longed for the Long Island Expressway on a Friday afternoon before a major Holiday.

The children were finally collected and out the door so it was time for some serious business tasks. First on the agenda was lunch.  I made several unsuccessful emergency calls to friends. Then, in an act of desperation, I asked the mailman if he wanted to join me for lunch. Maybe it was my fuzzy slippers but he declined saying he had a root canal he was looking forward to.

    So there I was, a day removed from a NY strip at Ruth Chris’ Steakhouse, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my kitchen, in my pajamas, struggling to figure out how I was going to take my afternoon nap.

    I had no fear of being caught taking a nap at the office. But somehow the thought of Laura coming home and finding me asleep in our bed, covered in baby powder, sent shivers up my spine.

  My daydreaming was interrupted by the opening of the front door and the return of the little people. Fully prepared for their attack I had all my papers and important looking work things scattered around my desk. I jumped back to my chair and picked up the phone just in time. Laura, seeing how busy I was, corralled the kids into the playroom.

    The shouts, screams and screeching coming from that playroom made me wonder if they had smuggled in another four to eight children or were performing a medieval sacrifice. My only escape was to tell Laura that the new company policy required me to be in the office every day, except warm, sunny ones.

    As I headed out the next day I had a new respect for what Laura does at home. Laura’s transition from attorney to zookeeper looked seamless to me. Apparently, there is more to watching the children than just watching them. Luckily, we decided that Laura would stay home with the kids, a task I now call “working from home”.
This great experiment revealed that had I been the one to stay home with the kids I would have lasted six hours before running out of the house looking for someone to replace me. Maybe the mailman would be available.

  Sean Ellis lives in Amityville and spends his time hiding in the bathroom.