Put your private parts on display to please junk-tracking employers
And you wonder why I prefer to WFH
A prospective client is staring at my nuts.
The quality of my work is not so important to them, apparently. What really matters are the warm bits that dangle between my legs.
Indeed, the human resources rep is insisting that I be prepared to present my lobster and urchins on demand, as regularly as possible. You’d think I would be flattered at such interest in my hoe handle and rockery but frankly it is embarrassing.
Don’t get the wrong idea: I have not been auditioning for a raunchy IT-themed gonzo sex vid. Mind you, the concept is curiously intriguing… in the same ghastly kind of way that you might find yourself transfixed by a video of someone puking through their nose.
Just imagine the scene…
An imprecisely dubbed man with a Zardoz moustache phones up a slightly glossy faced blonde woman on the helpdesk… He reports that while working on his old Thinkpad and thinking about her, his joystick grew stiff... Typing in his name, she stares adoringly at the length and girth of his (call) log, and then promises she will be coming soon (i.e. only two floors away in the lift) to take his particulars in hand… A minute later, they are testing the compatibility of their interfaces and giving their enhanced workflow plenty of opportunity to bed down…
Afterwards, we see her clearing his issue while he rates the attention he received as being 5 out of 5, dragging slowly along his slider bar to indicate he was Extremely Likely to recommend the service to his friends or colleagues…
No, nothing like this has been happening to me. Mme D has not signed me up to Readers’ Husbands. I will not be changing my name to ‘Dirk Dabbler’.
Instead, my client has been persuaded by human resources in their constant battle to manage the company’s ungrateful rabble of occasional Work-From-Homers to convert his neat and quiet office into a raucous hotdesking bedlam. He will be monitoring who is sitting where by means of a spy gadget fitted just under each desk top. It will therefore be gazing at our crotches all day to be sure we are hanging out with the team, as it were. To the left, probably.
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