Every time my boss walks past my desk, I suddenly turn into a Broadway performer pretending to be a person who works. My fingers start flying across the keyboard like I’m hacking into the Pentagon, eyes glued to the screen, face locked in deep, fake concentration.
In reality, I’m probably typing nonsense. Something like, “the ducks have unionized” or “asdfasdf.” But to anyone walking by? I look productive as hell.
It’s not that I’m lazy — it’s that I have a weird, primal instinct to look busy even when I am busy. I could be mid-email, deep in an actual project, and still feel that rush of panic: must appear industrious immediately.
It’s some leftover trauma from every job I’ve ever had where management’s version of “good work” meant “constant motion.” If you weren’t clicking, typing, or frowning thoughtfully, you were apparently dead weight.
At one of my old jobs, my boss used to make these random “walkthroughs” like a prison guard doing rounds. You’d hear the squeak of his shoes down the hall and suddenly the entire office would start typing at once — a symphony of fake productivity. The quiet click panic of adulthood.
Even now, in a remote job where no one can physically see me, I still get that jolt when a Slack notification pops up. It’s like, oh no, they know I was staring at my coffee for too long.
The funny part is, my boss is probably doing the same thing. Pretending to look busy for their boss. It’s an endless pyramid scheme of performative work. Everyone’s faking it for someone else.
Some days I wonder what would happen if we all stopped pretending. Just collectively agreed to type only when we’re actually typing something real. The office would go eerily silent — just the sound of real thinking, long pauses, maybe a sigh or two. I bet that would freak everyone out more than the clicking.
But no, we keep up the illusion. We perform our little desk theater, rehearsed to perfection.
Step one: open a spreadsheet.
Step two: squint at it like it personally offended you.
Step three: occasionally nod, as if confirming important data.
Congrats, you’re now an “engaged employee.”
Maybe it’s less about fear of getting caught and more about needing to feel important. Typing equals contributing, right? If my keyboard’s clacking, I exist. I matter.
I’m not saying I need a therapist for this (though… maybe). But there’s something deeply human about wanting to look like you have purpose — even if your purpose in that moment is pretending to have one.
So yes, I fake-type when my boss walks by. Sometimes when my cat walks by, too. It’s muscle memory now.
But at least I’m honest about it. Sort of.
If my boss ever asks, I’ll just say I was “conceptualizing workflow solutions” — which, let’s be real, is probably what half the office calls scrolling LinkedIn anyway.
The thought crime isn’t pretending to work. It’s that little flicker of fear that maybe, if I stop pretending, someone will notice I’m human.
And if that’s the worst crime I commit today? I’ll take it.
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