Writing Contest “Work” “Nein” to Five

What do you do when an uninvited guest moves into your home and your family life? What if this guest is named “work”? The only thing you can do is set limits – as soon as possible.

She’s suddenly at the door. His work – with a few tattered files and a hole-puncher tucked under her arm. The office is now completely closed down due to Covid, she mumbles sheepishly, no one comes in any more. It’s not even heated or cleaned anymore, it’s cold and dusty and lonely and, and... She sniffles. He hesitates. They’ve known each other for ages, but not very well at all, their daily contact has remained pleasantly impersonal over the years, now and then a handshake or flowers for an anniversary. His small flat is already overcrowded.

“Only temporarily!” he hears himself say. And there are rules, above all: no talking about work after 5 pm; then she’ll have to keep herself busy. In the guest room, he sets up a provisional place for the work between three Lego boxes and a drying rack covered in laundry. She could stay here for the time being. He’ll try to explain it to his wife later.

More work than life

His work is sitting stark naked on the kitchen counter, only partially covered by colourful post-it notes, devouring noodles from an instant meal cup. “The Zoom meeting on work-life balance coming up!” she reminds him between slurps. She follows him through every little room in the flat, protests loudly if he lingers too long in the supermarket or even in the next room. She feels very comfortable, she emphasises again and again, it’s somehow much more personal than in the office. At the dinner table, she unfailingly interrupts; he can hardly understand his son when he talks about his dinosaur project. At night she sticks her head through the door, whispering, “By the way, you didn’t send that e-mail!” only to creak a little later, “False alarm, you did send it.” Or she crawls right into the middle of the bed and goes on texting him from under the covers. Then his wife moves to the sofa, annoyed, saying she has to get up early tomorrow and wondering why she still sleeps next to him when he only has eyes and ears for his work.

Enough already

He hardly wears trousers any more. He forgets them when he can no longer concentrate, forgets them on purpose when he’s run out of steam. Or he forgets to do the washing, then there are simply no trousers. The more relaxed the work gets, the more work it is. When, on one under-caffeinated morning, he tries to mute his son with the remote control, his wife threatens to divorce him immediately.

“You have to move out. It’s either you or me,” he says. “I found you a coworking space nearby until we can get back to the office.” Work nods, having guessed as much. Then they gaze at each other a long time through their bloodshot eyes until they almost smile for the first time in months. They probably know each other better now than ever before, especially their boundaries. “Tomorrow at nine then?” she asks conciliatorily, with her files and hole punch under her arm. “Not a second earlier”, he sighs. He shuts the door and turns the lock twice.