This damn pandemic was wearing Ted down. He was sick and tired of ordering takeout, sick and tired of wearing a mask, sick and tired of attending video calls. God, the video calls — probably his least favorite thing about all this. He liked face-to-face, in-person, same-room conversations, breathing the same air. Not fumbling with computer settings for 15 minutes because his mic wouldn’t work. Not having to remember to unmute every time he had something to say. Not using that stupid raise hand feature just to interrupt respectfully.

Most of his problems came down to that damn mic. It worked about 40% of the time, and even then, it made him sound like he was reporting live from the inside of a tin can. Once, during a team meeting, he gave an impassioned speech — only to realize afterward he’d been muted the entire time. No one told him. No one ever told him. They just moved on like he hadn’t said a word.

The only real perk? He didn’t have to dress nice from the waist down. He started wearing gym shorts to briefings. Sometimes pajama pants. No one noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t say a word, which might’ve been worse.

He missed people. Real people. Real reactions. Heated arguments that didn’t end in someone getting booted from the call because of Wi-Fi issues. Work wasn’t meant to be digital. It was meant to be gritty, face-to-face, alive. Video calls made it sterile. He hated that.

Despite his complaints, he had a call to attend to…