Dear remote worker, go and take your bath

7:40 AM

Your eyes snap open. Early for you. You lie there in silence, not quite ready to face the day—or your scent.

People think you’re doing well.

They picture you on Zoom in a crisp tee, lucky you’re not stuck in traffic or inhaling the city’s cocktail of smells on your way to an important meeting.

They are right, and you know it—you are blessed.

But you haven’t bathed in two days.

No one can tell, though. That’s the beauty of remote work.

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You scroll past your cousin’s WhatsApp rants, the latest Twitter drama, and a carousel of #TechLayoff threads before landing on your actual job. You have deliverables, deadlines, and Slack channels pinging life into your day.

You work hard. Doesn’t everyone?

8:10 AM

You wash your hands and begin the daily debate.

Should you shower now? Tidy up? Or crack open that campaign deck due Friday?

The problem is, you’re not just choosing between hygiene and productivity—you’re running on fumes. You’ve got one brain, one body, and barely enough fuel to get through the day.

And no, you didn’t sleep early. You passed out at 1 AM after “rewarding” yourself with an hour of TV you barely processed—your second job’s briefs still dancing in your head.

You’re jolted awake each day by the construction site next door. Today is different. You are early to rise because you slept an hour earlier than your usual 2 am.

Then you lie in bed with your “sweetheart”—your laptop—waiting for 9AM Slack notifications to baptise you into the workday.

You work too hard, and you refuse to admit it.

8:25 AM

Remember when Ben from Engineering asked you to help with that experiment?

You knew it was a bad idea. You knew it would land you in the hospital for the fifth time this year. But you said yes.

Because “maximise your twenties” was the slogan they handed you instead of a future.

That’s also why you’re malnourished.

Lunch is usually moimoi or whatever chips you can scavenge. Dinner’s a vague commitment to Egusi soup you probably won’t make. It’s not healthy and you know it. That’s why you are constantly feeling tired and stressed. You don’t exercise, you don’t eat well, and you don’t sleep well.

Even if tech will suck your blood, at least let your offering be iron-rich.

8:30 AM

You consider dipping into your sacred Japa fund for good food.

You want to leave the country, not as a ghost. You would need a healthy vessel to go through all the getting of visa ‘waka.’

Maybe order stir-fry now and shower while it’s en route? Would it be so wrong to care for yourself?

You wince as you run into your bedroom to grab your card.

Even pigs would reject your living conditions.

Your laundry basket threatens mutiny.

You’ve been promising to tackle it “later.” Later usually means the day you run out of underwear and existential hope.

Weekends were supposed to be your reset button.

Instead, they’re just an extension of your burnout: one half for catching up on work, the other half for pretending you have a social life by attending networking events you barely survive.

You flirt with the idea of romance, but only on Netflix.

Even Sister Joyce from Sunday school, your bench buddy with the nice smile, feels like a luxury you can’t afford. Talking stages are expensive, and your only stable relationship is with hustle—and even that’s one-sided.

8:45 AM

Order placed. Spaghetti and chicken. Balanced diet can wait. Your starving stomach cannot.

You’re just about to enter the bathroom when Lara, your project manager at job number two, sends you an email. A fresh brief.

You sigh. You haven’t touched your Bible in days. Even your prayers have been hijacked by ad copy drafts and content calendars.

You download the YouVersion app.

Maybe listening to the bible via audio while reading the brief? Killing two birds with one stone.

Your first job also starts at 9.

You tell yourself you’ll shower during “lunch hour”—that myth you’ve never experienced firsthand.

Work boundaries? They’ll start tomorrow.

You earned that Staff of the Year award back-to-back while juggling multiple jobs and gigs. You’re basically a martyr with Wi-Fi.

You collapse onto your bed—your desk is mostly aesthetic—and bring your sweetheart close.

As the audio Bible plays softly, you scroll through X and land on a tweet about someone who worked themselves to death and abandoned personal hygiene.

Suddenly, it hits you.

You smell the truth. Literally.

12:00 PM

Slack is popping. Your team thinks you’re handling an “emergency.”

And you are. You’ve finally bathed, brushed your teeth, fed yourself, and even run a laundry cycle.

You fall back on your striped bedsheets for a nap, thoroughly exhausted from handling all your… emergencies.

Dear remote worker, go and take your bath…

Editor’s Note:
This satirical essay is part of Condia’s special Workers’ Day reflection—a humorous but honest nod to everyone navigating the chaos, hustle, and quiet victories of modern work. Whether you’re remote, hybrid, or somewhere in between, we see you. Happy Worker’s Day.

Written by Ruth Torty. Ruth is a Project Manager at Socianet, a creative agency, where she oversees planning, strategy, and execution across branding, social media, and event marketing. She also volunteers with the AfricaBP Communication Subcommittee. Passionate about communications—particularly writing—she sees it as a powerful way to distill raw ideas and thoughts into a universal language that connects people.