An Open Letter To My Lazy Co-Worker, Ernie
I’ve given up hating you. Now I admire you.

Ernie,
Due to Covid restrictions, we all work from home now. By we, I mean all of your co-workers.
It’s a funny word, co-workers, isn't it?
WordReference.com teaches us that the prefix “co” comes from Latin. It means joint, jointly, or together.
It can also mean auxiliary or helping.
Add co in front of a word, and it implies someone that jointly and together helps others.
Those words have never been spoken about you.
This is half of why I apply the term co-worker to the other people employed by our company, and not to you. Here is the other reason. Look at the word worker on the same site.
work•er /ˈwɜrkɚ/ n. [countable]
one that works.
a laborer or employee.
Now it gets tricky. You could argue that the second half of the second definition, “a laborer or employee,” applies to you. You are indeed an employee.
But one that works? Hardly. You never deliver a deliverable. When a task is given to you, we call it an Erniable. It’s kind of like when someone spills coffee, and they call it a Scott. Except when we say Erniable, it’s with more derision.
So what should I call you? What’s the opposite of a co-worker?
A volunteer? No. You do volunteer, but only for things you know are doomed to fail. Sometimes, in an act of sheer genius, you volunteer for things that you know will conflict and get dumped on the rest of your team.
A manager? Maybe. I was going to say you’re not a manager, but so much of the tasks and projects assigned to you get redistributed to the rest of your “co-workers” that maybe I’m wrong.
Are you delegating? Did you get promoted, and nobody mentioned it?
I digress. Oh, look! This is promising. Word Hippo has layabout as a possible antonym.
Remember the time we were testing the video conference software, and it didn’t connect…. at first? Moments later, it came up, and we saw you eating cereal and watching a movie. You were truly laying about.
Also, it’s your house, but maybe tie the bathrobe around you if you’re doing video conferencing.
You’re not a co-worker. You’re a layabout. And I’m not even mad! Not anymore. Not even by your perpetual online status.
As near as I can tell, your sole job is to wiggle your mouse every one to three hours to make it look like you’re available. Pro-tip. It goes back to away after ten minutes.
But that’s not why I’m writing.
I wanted to tell you, that you’re not fooling anyone. The evidence suggests otherwise. I mean, you’re still employed, right? In fact, you’re the highest-paid on our team of co-workers and layabout (singular on purpose).
Two months ago I would have written this letter to scold you. But, I gave up worrying about it for my New Year’s resolution. Now I’m here for an entirely different reason.
I want to learn from you. How do you get paid so much to produce so little? I’m asking for a friend.
No, I’m asking for me.
Teach me your ways. Is that too much to ask?
Oh, that’s right. I forgot that your job duties include training. If you don’t do it for work, you sure won’t do it for me. You’re not going to teach me a thing, are you?
Oh well. It’s time for you to wiggle your mouse again. (I sure hope that’s not a metaphor).
Me? I’m going to go fix that project you were supposed to finish.
Burn in h —
Um. I mean…
Respectfully yours,
Scott Hughey wrote this to a fictional layabout, as far as anyone knows. Except, if Ernie isn’t real, why did this feel so therapeutic?
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