My Last Remote Work Day
The screen flickers, a black circle whirling relentlessly on it, then blips out. Odd. I frown, and wonder--will I be able to connect?
I get ready for my weekly work from home meeting, put a shirt over my pajama top, and clear the pile of empty delivery boxes behind me. The usual desktop appears. Relieved, I turn on the sound, adjust the camera, and log on to Zoom.
My office mates slowly fill the grid, each square labeled with a name. Everyone is here today.
A new person appears in one of the squares, just a dark figure. I don't recognize the silhouette and no label is under his box.
"Who is that?" I ask my boss "Is he a new employee?"
My boss stammers, "I don't know—never saw him before. I'll ask HR."
He says to the shadowy figure, "Please check your video—I can't see you."
A face slowly replaces the silhouette. The stranger wears a black stocking mask over his face. He is shouting but we can't hear him.
"Is your mike on?" my boss says to him. "Please unmute yourself."
He is interrupted by a loud popping sound. What is it? I check to see if my speaker is plugged in correctly. When I look back, I see the stranger now holds a rifle in one hand, pointed at us.
My co-workers scream, scoop up their drinks and cats and flee. One by one, some boxes disappear from my screen, but I continue to watch, transfixed.
"I'm going to kill you all!" the stranger puts in the chat. He fires his rifle, and I realize what the popping sound had been.
We can't do what our Workplace Violence Training class had taught us to do. We can't hide behind copy machines or escape to conference rooms.
In one of the boxes left on the screen, a body is slumped across a desk with a name still there.
He's been permanently muted.
"Let's end this meeting now before more people get hurt!" says my boss. His box blinks out.
Suddenly my coffee cup shatters. Something wet drips from my forehead. I swipe at it with my finger as it falls onto my clean white shirt.
It's blood. Dazed, I sign out, take off my headphones, change back into my pajama top, and stand up.
From the window behind my desk, I hear a popping sound on the street below.
Author Bio
Lorraine Schein is a New York writer. Her work has appeared in VICE Terraform, Strange Horizons, NewMyths and in the anthologies Tragedy Queens and Wild Women. The Futurist's Mistress, her poetry book, is available from Mayapple Press. Her new book, The Lady Anarchist Cafe, is out now from Autonomedia.