sylus tries to work your office job for a day 💻
he’s only doing you a favor. you woke up sick but don’t want to call out, so he offers to secretly stand in for you. luckily, your company has a lax work-from-home policy.
it’ll be a piece of cake, he thinks to himself. he can assemble entire automobiles from scrap metal and spare parts. how hard could this be in comparison?
like most days, the morning starts off slow. your colleagues slowly trickle online, and in the meantime, he checks your outstanding tasks. you have a project that’s been hung up by another department for 2 weeks—that just won’t do. he can’t let you take the blame! so he searches your work database, hunts down everyone in the offending department, and sends them a high-priority email: “just got word from leadership that this is due in one hour. good luck!”
he has never had to undergo email etiquette training.
your office's applications for spreadsheets and documents are...lackluster. he isn’t used to such rudimentary software. forgets to save files as he works on them, then the program crashes and he loses his progress. he is fine.
whenever you walk past his study, his hair is a sticking up in all directions from running his fingers through it.
“why does every message i send get a heart emoji?”
rejects all optional meeting invites immediately. your calendar is the freest it’s ever been.
“circle back,” “touch base,” “table that for now.” these phrases are so irritating. does no one in this organization speak like a human?
has to ask you for your phone every 15 minutes because the software constantly hounds you to verify your identity. for what reason are these security measures more stringent than onychinus’s?
“your coworker sent me a gif of a frog sipping tea. what does this mean.”
he’s a tech whiz, but your company laptop hasn't been upgraded since 2010, and the battery barely lasts 2 hours. he just can’t work under these conditions.
as the day drags on, the number of emails he gets grows exponentially, and the pinging sound annoys the hell out of him. he starts bouncing his leg and flaring his nostrils, trying his best not to respond to anyone’s earnest inquiry with an ancient curse.
by 3 p.m., he’s become conditioned to go into fight-or-flight mode every time that high-pitched ding noise assaults his ears.
“sweetie, how do i turn off email notifications. i beg you. how do i turn them off.”
