By Jennifer Levitz
Greg Baker has worked from home in Kansas City, Mo., for about
six years, taking inbound calls for a FedEx call center. He tackled
every distraction. He unplugged the doorbell. He shut the door to
the room where his teenage son's two pet birds live. He told
friendly neighbors to avoiding stopping by during work hours.
Then came the day last month when his wife, Cindy Baker, said,
"OK, Greg, I'm coming home."
She is the chief external affairs officer for the Kansas City
Area Transportation Authority, which told staff to work from home
due to the pandemic.
"It's my domain," says Mr. Baker, who is 59. "She is coming into
my space."
Much has been made of the travails of the work-from-home rookies
as they strained to adjust over the last month. That has obscured a
more frustrating adjustment unfolding in parallel: the
work-from-home veterans grappling with the interlopers.
Mr. Baker had to lay down some rules, including requesting that
Ms. Baker wait until his breaks to use the ice machine.
"You would be amazed how loud it is to put ice in a cup," he
says.
Plenty of U.S. workers toil occasionally from their sofas. But
only 5.3% of Americans mostly worked from home in 2018, according
to the most recent census data. Then, the pandemic sent the masses
home to disrupt the regulars.
Staci Hegarty has worked from home for four years and is a pro.
Ms. Hegarty, who is 48 years old and a curriculum designer, knows,
for instance, how to "set up an appropriate videoconference so the
laundry is not hanging up behind you." She works in the dining
room, finding the home office space claustrophobic.
That spot worked well until Denver schools closed due to the
coronavirus, sending home her husband, John Hegarty, a teacher.
"It's the random loud singing that happens," Ms. Hegarty says of
his habits. She told him: "You can't just stand in the living room
and sing 'Scooby-Doo.' I'm on the phone."
He recently started doing online teaching and one of them --
meaning Mr. Hegarty -- needed to move into the office space. "I was
here first," Ms. Hegarty says.
Dave Wakeman has perfected the art of staying on task while
working at home in Washington, D.C., for more than a decade. The
45-year-old business-strategy consultant charts every call and
daily priority in his Moleskine calendar.
His partner Kathryn, an attorney who is now working from home
due to the pandemic, is used to office chitchat.
"She'll just come stand right behind me and just start talking
to me," Mr. Wakeman says. "I'm like, 'Hold on a sec, this is sacred
space.'"
Social-distancing directives also sent Julie Overton's husband
home from work, and her three teens home from school. Ms. Overton,
who does professional training for a university, has worked from
home for 15 years. She enjoyed an oasis of calm from the morning
until the after-school hours.
She says she is now trying to keep her house in Carlsbad,
Calif., from falling into a "Lord of the Flies" situation. She
can't help but pop out of her office when she hears yelling or
barking dogs.
To her amazement, her husband just tunes it out. "He's at the
dining room table on a conference call with the kids running up and
down the stairs," she says.
During a videoconference call, she saw two of her kids and the
family dog in the camera shot, playing on the bed behind her. She
stuck a stamp over the camera, and told colleagues, "Oh, my video
is not working today." She says online school work has started to
keep the teens busier.
Shannon and Russ Sweetser had a well-oiled system. Russ, 41,
left their small San Francisco apartment daily to go to his job as
a product manager for a financial company. Shannon, 36, headed to
her desk in a back bedroom. She has worked remotely since 2017 as
an account director for Timeshare CMO, a digital marketing
consulting firm.
Then last month, Russ's employer told staffers to work from
home.
"It's strange," Shannon says. "It's super strange."
The couple decided they would share the apartment's one monitor
and desk, each getting half a day there. The desk had been her
province, covered with "all my little desk things," she says,
including her furry llama figurine and her favorite pens.
As a sign of welcoming, she added Russ's collection of "Star
Trek" Pez dispensers.
"It almost feels weird," she says. "Is this my desk
anymore?"
He starts his days at the desk, while she decamps to the couch
with her laptop. Around lunchtime, they switch. She sits down and
finds herself dipped back, because the chair's backrest is askew,
when she likes it upright. The height is off, too.
"He changes the chair on me," she says.. "You know instantly,
'Somebody messed this up.'"
The household thermostat is a sticking point for Chris Villani,
a 35-year-old journalist, home-based in Watertown, Mass.
His fiancée LeeAnn Parker, who is 34 and employed by a
teacher-placement firm, recently came home to work. "She will come
out and turn the heat up," Mr. Villani says. "A half-hour later,
I'm melting at my desk, so I go turn it down. It's been a little
bit of a negotiation."
Zac Overbay, the 50-year-old chief operating officer of
Woodruff-Sawyer & Co., a San Francisco insurance brokerage,
worried he would "hijack" his wife's environment when he recently
started working from home. She has worked remotely for more than 13
years. He makes himself scarce at points in the day.
"I've hopped in a walk-in closet," he says.
In Kansas City, Greg and Cindy Baker are adjusting to her now
working from home. She's had to train him to pipe down during his
frequent shoptalk with a FedEx colleague.
"He's carrying on with his FedEx 'wife,' and I'm sitting there
looking at him to be quiet," she says.
And as soon as she hears Greg push his keyboard in just so, she
knows he is on break, and she runs to the kitchen to the ice
machine.
Write to Jennifer Levitz at jennifer.levitz@wsj.com
(END) Dow Jones Newswires
April 15, 2020 10:26 ET (14:26 GMT)
Copyright (c) 2020 Dow Jones & Company, Inc.
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