The collective groan welled up spontaneously throughout the office as Mr Mcguire, our department head, announced that the office would be closing at the end of the workday, and we were expected to continue our work - from home - for the duration of the situation.

He also announced the 30% across the board pay cuts, effective immediately, which threatened to turn the mob ugly. The security detail that suddenly appeared around him caused the angry office to reconsider their first impulse. From inside his human cocoon of security guards Mr Mcguire glibly chirped "just think of the money you'll save on commuting expenses... buying lunches... dry cleaning... AND the front office has spared no expense to enable you to work unimpeded from your homes."

On his cue, Glenn Chelmquist our head of IT emerged from the shadow or wherever he had been hiding... I always suspected the guy was part chameleon, because he always had a habit of appearing seemingly out of nowhere, leaving coworkers wondering just how long he had been lurking and how much he'd observed before making his presence known.

Glenn cleared his throat and tried to project his thin voice over the din of the surly crowd. "As you leave at the end of the day, you will each be issued a laptop... a notebook... think of it more as a 'workbook'...” He laughed awkwardly at his own joke. No one else did. “...so you can continue your duties on the corporation's internal network from wherever this... uh, outbrea..."

From within his security cluster Mcguire cleared his throat. Loudly.

"Um... pandem..."

An even louder harrumph of disapproval burst from behind the security phalanx.

"Uh... whatever corporate is calling this....." The IT guy shuffled nervously. It was obvious why he chose tech support over sales or marketing. "...well... each of your ...bespoke... workbooks... has been loaded with all your work software and mirrored data from your cubicle workstation." He paused and put a finger in the air as if it had just occurred to him, although it was clear he had practiced this move... seemingly a lot.... "Of course, much LIKE your cubicle workstation, these workbooks are NOT to be used for any ....personal uses...."

"You mean like porn!" Some wag shouted from the anonymity of the crowd, which drew a ripple of laughter. I had to smirk too, seeing the pale doughy IT manager turn red as a ripe tomato.

"ANY.... personal use... a letter to your mum... streaming your music playlist.... watching cat videos...."

"SEXY cat videos!" Another voice from the mob shouted. Someone else in the crowd purred loudly and everyone chuckled as the IT manager squirmed.

"Anything!" He exploded. “These are work machines for work purposes. The company has spared no expense to empower you to continue your tasks off-site.”

"For two thirds pay!" an anonymous heckler shouted.

Mr Mcguire emerged from his security cocoon. "People! Please... show some decorum! We're all trying to avoid the mass firings so many of our competitors and business partners are executing..."

An apt choice of words, I thought to myself. I had to speak, since no one else had posed the question.

"How long are we expected to work from our homes?" The crowd turned to look at me expectantly, as if the question caught them by surprise. Had they not wondered themselves?

Mcguire's bluster seemed to deflate. He suddenly seemed more human and I glimpsed his own uncertainty and vulnerability. Everyone was making this up as they went.

"....Unclear.... The initial plan is 4 weeks... we will continue to monitor events, and will issue corporate guidelines before the end of week four... we'll see... we may begin to return... or continue off-site operations.... or...." he faltered, not knowing what to say next.

No one had a long term plan. But at least the suits upstairs had a near-term provisional plan. We were given the rest of the day to get our workspaces in order and collect what we would need to work from home.

It was no surprise that corporate - after dropping a bomb like this into our office, and presumably every other office in the company, would not let us leave until the end of the business day. They were sticklers for rules, however pointless.

As we filed out at 5PM, we presented our laminated IDs to the IT folks, who rustled through their stacks and handed us our customized "workbooks" as if they were some sort of perverse parting gift. The mood was quite odd. The closest I could compare was at the end of a school year. Wondering how many would return at the start of the next year, and how many I'd be saying "so long" to the very last time as we all scattered into our uncertain futures.

The air of gloom was palpable. I found myself oddly upbeat. Having at least a full month to be by myself was something that seemed impossible until I was old enough to retire, though by then I wondered if it would be any use to me.

I spent the weekend stocking up on supplies. Not just staples and consumables, but a number of items from my bucket list that I never expected to actually buy.

I did spend as much time outside as possible over the weekend, not knowing when I would leave my home shelter. Once I was home Sunday evening and 'in for the duration' I began living my longtime dream.

I'd studied for years, but as long as I had to venture outside to make a living, I could only take my transformation so far. With at least a month ahead of me and guaranteed solitude, I was finally free to go all the way.

The beard was the first to go. It was my longtime mask. My defense against the lifetime of taunting and threats for being a 'girly boy' ...as if I chose my physical size and bone structure... the more I tried to 'butch it up' the more the futility of the effort would get me picked on. The beard finally camouflaged my feminine features. Features which I actually liked, because from the time I was seven years old and the notion hit me out of nowhere to try on my older sister's figure skating costume, I realized I made a much prettier girl than Cheryl... and with absolutely no effort or a drop of makeup - a more convincing girl than I ever could ever achieve trying to be a boy.

The thought never left me, but other life demands buried it deep on my priorities list.

I figured the next time I'd get to experience life from the female side was when I was old and useless to any employer. I would hopefully have enough squirreled away to live as I chose without needing to meet anyone's inconvenient expectations.

The 'home quarantine' was a gift. While I had accumulated vacation, corporate prohibited more than one week at a time and employees were expected to be on-call at all times during vacation, since they were always still deluged with work tasks, regardless of allegedly being on holiday. I didn't even bother taking the time due me, since I knew I'd still be expected to answer emails, take conference calls and do many other routine work tasks.

So the thought of a month or more at home to find my secret self and let her live full-time for at least 30 days before rejoining the world of lies sent a thrill of expectation down my spine.

By Sunday night, my transformation was complete. Fully shaved from top to toe, my skinny frame glistening from the thin patina of post shower baby oil, I made my way to my bedroom to unpack my 'quarantine supplies' and begin my new, secret life.

I spent Sunday evening 'getting in the mood' relaxing around my house in comfy knit lounge slacks and thick cowl-neck top and cozy slipper socks, a lavender incense cone burning in a corner and a glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc in my hand and a sappy rom-com on the TV.

I had a wonderful sleep, and had to take a while to reorient myself upon waking Monday morning. I thrilled at the reminder that I was able to live as my secret self, and my mood crashed when I remembered why, and that I had to 'get ready for work' – which meant connecting and configuring my company issued laptop into my network and being ready to start my workday at 9AM.

The configuration was easy. I seemed to have no trouble tunneling into the office VPN and my desktop seemed to have all the needed resources. I sent an email to Glenn the I.T. Guy thanking him for making the procedure dead simple and confirming that everything seemed to be working smoothly.

He quickly replied, thanking me for my confirmation. He mentioned a few things that gave me the impression that not everyone was finding the task so painless and that he had his hands full – from the isolation of his own home shelter. He joked about those old disaster movies where the tower crew tries to talk an anxious passenger through landing the jumbo jet. I wished him well and logged off to make myself a relaxing cappuccino and prepare for the workday before officially 'punching the clock' at 9AM.

It was no surprise that upon logging in at 8:57A, there was an all-department email from Mr Mcguire asking if we were all ready to work remotely. I noticed there was a read-receipt on the email, as I had adjusted my configuration to show me when read receipts were attached and give me the opportunity to ignore or acknowledge the message. I presumed it was management's way of tracking when we opened the email, and confirmed when we actually 'punched in' to work. Mr Mcguire got my receipt tagged 8:58A so I didn't worry. Knowing the way the company did things, I presumed they were keeping track of timestamps on the receipts, and if it did come down to future layoffs, those would be a factor. Management never trusted any of us, and they made it obvious in countless ways. Yet they demanded absolute loyalty, bordering on fealty. I generally ignored these little annoyances. It was a good job. It paid well. My coworkers were easy enough to get along with, and management's ...annoying idiosyncrasies were easy enough to shrug off.

Since I WAS working, I dressed for the occasion. A light lavender jacket and skirt set with a crisp white shell, tasteful jewelry and a spritz of cologne. While only I would be aware of all these touches, it helped me keep a professional demeanor while doing “Jeff's old job”.

The feel and sound of my acrylic nails on the keyboard took a little getting used to, but I got the feeling browsing group emails, that I was having a far easier time adjusting than many of my coworkers. I had to chuckle to myself, wondering if any of them had a fraction of the adjustments that I chose to make for the duration of this home quarantine.

Work went well. I had to watch my language in the rare email exchanges I had. I found my mindset had changed so effortlessly that I had to police my work exchanges, keeping the vocabulary as colorless and mundane as my previous “Jeff” emails. Fortunately most of my work was with databases and spreadsheets, so it was much harder for “Jen” to slip through.

At 5 O'Clock I dutifully logged off and retired to my bedroom to change out of my businesswear and into a stretchy pair of skinny jeans and cami. I found the apartment surprisingly chilly, maybe because of how much more skin I was exposing in Jen mode. A cashmere cardigan chased away the chills, and I turned my attention to fixing myself a light dinner.

I flipped through the TV channels, finding nothing I wanted to watch, so I thought of trying to find something to stream on the computer. My old desktop was out of date and underpowered, but like my 'vintage' old Toyota Camry, it did what I needed of it – because I kept my needs more than modest. I thought for a fleeting moment of my shiny new work computer, but quickly crushed that thought. I'm sure when we returned from our home exile, management would have I.T. scour each machine, looking for the slightest clue of 'unauthorized use' and some poor user would have hell to pay. That user would NOT be me. So I started up my wheezing old desktop and started chugging my way online.

When I finally got to the OS sign on screen, Jeff's dour, bearded face adorned the login box. I scowled at that photo, as I observed the dim reflection of Jen's face in the screen. Sucking in a breath, I quickly typed Jeff's info and went to the admin tools to set up an account for Jen. The password came to me seemingly out of nowhere and made me giggle. I quickly configured permissions and logged off so Jen could begin her first session.

I spent the evening setting up email and social media accounts and having a delightful time. Perhaps I should have left the wine in the fridge, since refills were far too easy when the bottle was sitting next to my mousepad. Whatever the reason, the evening flew by and I was startled to notice it was 2:35AM. I had work in the morning, so I had to quickly remove my makeup, wash, moisturize and prepare for bed. I took some solace that my morning commute would be bedroom to kitchen counter to spare-room/home office. Still, I set multiple alarms, knowing how particular my employer was about promptness, even though we often had nothing to do for the first 90 minutes of the workday until the corporate workflow foodchain reached us. We often had to feign busy work at the office. I would be signed in at 9A, but pretending to be busy when there was absolutely nothing to do, was one piece of corporate theatre I would not miss performing at home.

The first week of 'home exile' seemed to go well. I got all my work done, much more easily than I did at the office. I don't know whether it was the lack of distraction from coworkers, the lack of the cat and mouse games with our supervisor whose sole duty seemed to be roaming the floor trying to catch someone 'slacking off' and opening a carton of bureaucratic repercussions that only derailed the workflow and put the entire department far further behind than one daydreaming employee. Or maybe, I thought with a giggle, it was just that Jen was better at her job than Jeff ever was. Whatever the reason, I found myself with plenty of time to take on tasks that were posing problems for coworkers who seemed to be having a far harder time adjusting to the home exile workflow.

One thing hadn't changed. Well, in some ways it had profoundly changed, yet in other ways I still found myself counting down the minutes until 5PM. Jeff could not wait to leave the mundane oppression of his office cube farm, even though it usually just meant taking the subway home to a microwaved frozen Dinner and a night of ESPN or SyFy.

Jen was eager to log off, close the lid on her 'worktop' and change out of her business wear. I understood the importance of ritual and routine in a home quarantine situation, so I was not going to spend all day in pjs and a housecoat, losing track of what day of the week it was. I set up little rituals to keep me sane and grounded. One of those was 'Dressing for the Office'. I would always choose crisp, clean 'serious' workwear, light day makeup and understated jewelry and accessories as if I were going to a physical office. It made keeping the business demeanor much easier. When 'office Jennifer' punched out at 5PM, I'd head into my bedroom and let 'fun, flirty Jen' come out and play. She'd cook something up in the kitchen or maybe order delivery – since the new normal was leaving the box at the door and sending the confirmation on the app that the food was waiting on the other side. No one saw Jen and Jen never saw anyone. It was reassuring, but still lonely. I felt I had Jen down cold. In fact I felt far more confident as Jen than I ever had as Jeff. Still, I wanted some outside confirmation.

My crappy old computer had no camera. I wasn't even sure it could handle decent audio. Pop up ads would stutter with tinny audio on my screen, but my dinosaur of a desktop was so old, I doubt multimedia was even a consideration.

I finally got the bright idea to take selfies on my ...on Jeff's... smartphone and email them to my Jen account. I would strip out any metadata about location and userdata then post the 'sanitized' selfies on my various social media accounts. I found myself thinking “Jen needs her own phone.” But with Jeff's 30% pay cut, THAT wasn't happening any time soon.

The response to my selfies were better than I'd dared hope. I was buoyed by the positive feedback, and a little overwhelmed at the increase in friend requests.

Although only online for about a week – using the excuse that I was always more of a 'real-world' girl and hadn't had any interest in the online world until I found myself isolated in my apartment and the virtual world was my only option.

People seemed to buy it. I very quickly made lots of friends... and gathered a fair number of creepers... but my girlfriends told me that just came with the territory for pretty girls and gave me great advice on how to ignore or diffuse their ....creepiness.

I spent the whole weekend online from my stuttering old desktop hanging with my new 'Jen-friends'. I found myself thinking that when this whole quarantine was over, I needed to get a new computer.... and maybe it was time to look for alternatives to my painfully slow DSL connection... although I suspected that it was about as fast as my current computer could handle.

I continued to do the annoying routine of emailing phone pics to my email which I would data-sanitize and share. My new social media friends were shocked when I described how old and underpowered my computer was. I explained that before the quarantine, I really only used it for paying bills and taxes online, reminding everyone that until a week or so ago, I was strictly a 'real world' girl. I promised everyone that when this quarantine was over, I would buy a better computer and not forsake my new online friends. And I meant it. I wasn't sure how Jeff was going to manage it, but I meant it.

One of my friends, Caroline asked why I didn't just use my phone, and I lied that I thought I left it at a friends, but none of them had seen it, making me dread that I left it behind at a club. So for the duration of the quarantine, I had no phone, but could order take out and email family via my clunky old computer, so I was making do. She bought it and quickly word spread and the phone thing was no longer an issue. Still, I really wanted Jen to have her own phone, so when I wasn't hanging with my online friends, I was watching voice tutorials online.

I thought I was getting good at it, but like my image, I would not really know until I had a chance to present it to others and gauge the feedback. For another fleeting moment, I thought about my work computer. It was a modern laptop with a bezel cam and no doubt built in microphone. It would be so easy to use it to have real-time video chats with my new friends. It would also be so easy to get caught when corporate scoured the returned laptop. I had NO idea how I ...how Jeff... would explain that. So I quickly dismissed that temptation.

I started using my 'Jen voice' all the time, determined to make it second nature. The only time I really had to test it out on others was when I would order takeout and lurk behind my door waiting to hear the delivery person dropping the package and loudly saying “Thank you” from behind the door, which almost always brought a panicked response of “Keep the door closed until I leave ma'am!” I took some comfort in the fact that they often called me ma'am and no one EVER said 'sir'.

Much to my surprise, the weeks flew by. It turns out Jen seemed much better at her job than Jeff was. Or maybe it was the different environment. Working from home really seemed to suit me. I was able to breeze through the workload and often help out others who still seemed to be struggling with this 'new normal'.

Thursday of week four the all-employees email went out. The work from home order still stood. Things were beginning to flatten and hope was that they would soon begin to dwindle, but there were still weeks to go, since we seemed to be past 'the end of the beginning' but nowhere near 'the beginning of the end'. Due to the timetable, further corporate restructuring was being 'temporarily implemented'. Everyone knew what that meant. Layoffs. The email stated that affected employees would be contacted by Human Resources by the end of the business day. So everyone spent the rest of the day, trying to get work done, but really anxiously dreading the ring of their phone.

I made it through Thursday without a phone call. I slept better than expected that night, wrestling with the awkward mix of survivors guilt and relief that I had avoided the reaper's scythe.

It was near 10AM Friday when my phone rang. I noticed instantly that it was the WORK PBX number. My hands went cold as my heart sank.

“Hello?” I answered uncertainly ...in my JEN voice... shit, shit. SHIT!

“Um... yess...” Mr Mcguire said, with just a hint of confusion in his voice, there was something else there too, but I couldn't place it. “I'm looking for Jeffrey Collins?”

I put my hand over the phone and scrambled to remember the 'Jeff voice'. I'd only done it all my life, but in the past few weeks I had nearly forgotten how to do it.

“Hullo?” I said, hoping I was at least close to the Jeff voice.

“Mr Collins. Graham Mcguire.”

“Yes sir.” I said. I'm certain he heard my audible swallow.

“I'm here on a conference call with Glenn Chelmquist from our I.T. department and Christine Insle from Human Services.”

My mouth went dry.

“I thought all the calls were being done before C.O.B. Yesterday?” I managed to whisper through my suddenly dry lips.

“Well, there were a lot of calls to make” the woman's voice said over the line. Christine from H.R?

“Nonetheless.” Mr Mcguire interrupted. “THAT is not the purpose of this call.”

“I'm NOT being let go?” I croaked.

There was a long pause at the end of the line. I was sure if they weren't all conference calling from their individual homes, they would be exchanging glances deciding who should respond.

“It's somewhat more complicated....” Mr Mcguire faltered.

“Are you near your computer? Your corporate laptop?” Ms Insle asked.

“Your worktop” Glenn chirped in unhelpfully.

“Uh. Yes. Of course.” I said quietly, my mouth still bone dry.

I heard the ding and saw the email from Christine Insle Human resources to me with Glen Chelmquist and Graham Mcguire cc'd.

“Did you receive an email Mr Collins?” Ms Insle asked, but my gasp betrayed that I'd already opened it.

The body of the message contained no text. Just dozens upon dozens of thumbprints of photos taken by the laptops bezel camera,

Of Jen.

“As part of our remote work protocol, the company strives to maintain workplace discipline as well as when all employees worked on-site, including punctuality and diligence. As part of this protocol, all company issued home premises hardware was equipped with keystroke loggers and automatic webcam surveillance, individual stills taken at approximately 5 minute intervals, to verify punctuality and adherence to duties.....” Mr Mcguire sounded like he was reading off a card.

“Sorry man... I mean... um.. I wasn't allowed to say any...” Glenn mumbled.

“Who IS this person Mr Collins?” Ms Insle asked. I wondered if it was rhetorical.

I was frozen. Unsure WHAT to say,

“The keystroke loggers picked up nothing but work. Consistently, for the full 8 hour day, 5 days a week... often without a lunch break.” Glenn the IT guy offered.

“When your workplace is 10 steps from the kitchen...” I tried to joke. It bombed.

“Indeed....” Mr Mcguire added, his voice slightly more gentle. “The workflow from this workstation has been exemplary. I dare say stellar. Far better than the performance metrics set for this position.... logs show on many occasion that other work has also been contributed from this workstation...”

“Some people were having some issues working from home, so..” I mumbled

“Who IS that woman Mr Collins? Are outsourcing your work?” Ms Insle asked. By the tone of her voice, I don't think even she believed that.

I laughed. I don't know why. Nerves? “That's hard to explain.” I sighed.

“Is it really?” Ms Insle's voice was surprisingly warm. She knew. She was just trying to get me to admit it.

“Maybe not.” I replied quietly in my Jen voice.

Christine Insle's laugh was light and joyful. “So, THIS is who we've been monitoring doing all the work these past... the full four weeks Glenn?”

“Uh huh. From 9AM the first Monday.”

“To whom am I speaking?” Ms Insle inquired gently.

“....Jen... um Jennifer...” I replied, shaking with nerves. I'm sure she could hear it in my voice.

“Mr Mcguire.... Graham...” Christine Insle put her 'corporate voice' back on. “You say the workload has been competently handled?”

“More than competently.” he muttered “...but who?....” Christine cut him off.

“Ms Collins is it?” she asked.

I caught myself nodding. I hadn't even thought about my last name. It was common enough, no need to change it. I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Well, obviously when this is all over, I'd like to take a meeting with you in Human Resources...”

“Uh huh.” I answered blankly. Stunned.

“As for now... no issues with the quality of work Mr Mcguire?” Ms Insle asked.

“No... None... In fact....” his voice faded away. I'm not sure if he was just now beginning to grasp what was happening.

“So continue at your position. Monday through Friday, 9 to 5. Your regular workload. And perhaps more as these staff cutbacks will affect everyone.”

“Uh huh.” I replied blankly.

“Is that acceptable to you Mr Mcguire?” Ms Insle asked.

“Uh... fine... but WHO?....” He still didn't get it. I caught myself smirking.

“Mr Chelmquist. Glen. Can we get the login credentials changed?”

“They're already JCollins... but the email & corporate index.....” Glenn said distractedly.

“Can we just make everything JCollins for the moment? At least until we have a chance to have our H.R. Meeting when we're all out of quarantine.” Ms Insle asked.

“On it.” Glenn said, then I heard the little 'boop' as he dropped out of the conference call.

“Alright then.” Christine Insle said with a note of satisfaction. I could hear her brush her hands together as if to signal finality. “Just keep doing what you're doing Ms Collins. And when we finally get the back to work order from upstairs, I'll be in touch to arrange our meeting. I would like to meet with you before you return to your workplace. Is that acceptable to you Mr Mcguire?”

“Uh huh.” Graham Mcguire replied flatly. He still seemed dazed and not entirely sure what just happened.

“I'd also like to take a quick moment to say how impressed I am by your work ethic AND your quarantine discipline Ms Collins. The thumbnails do NOT do you justice, Jennifer. Your work attire is immaculate and your presentation would be a proud addition to ANY workplace.” Ms Insle said warmly.

“Uh. Thank you?” I blurted. I'm sure she heard my blush.

“Please tell me you were not wearing a pair of yoga pants or sweats out of sight below those suit jackets.” she teased.

“Never crossed my mind.” I muttered.

“I have no doubt.” she laughed. “I must say, as we've gone over the logs from other employees.... many are struggling... others have simply let themselves go... and that reflects in their work... but you... you seem to actually be thriving under these unusual circumstances....”

“Well, my situation may be ...unique” I meekly volunteered.

Ms Insle laughed. Mr Mcguire exploded in a laugh “I daresay!”

I think he was finally getting it.

“So, we've taken Ms Collins away from her workload long enough, eh Graham?”

“I'll catch up.” I muttered reflexively.

“I have no doubt.” Mr Mcguire said warmly. I got the feeling he finally sorted out what was going on, and upon reflection, he was fine with it. At least fine.

“I SO look forward to meeting you Ms Collins …. Jennifer.” Christine Insle said, the smile in her voice beaming through.

“As do I. Thank you. Thank you both. For everything.” I gushed.

“Enough chitchat. Get back to work Collins.” Mr Mcguire laughed and booped off the conference call.

“And I have more calls to make.” Ms Insle sighed. “At least the worst ones were last night. Today I'm looking at telling scores of employees to shave and put a shirt on.” she laughed ruefully. “I shouldn't have put the best call at the beginning of the day, but I wanted to get your situation settled first thing Ms Collins.”

“Thank you for that. I had no idea how I would....” I stammered.

“No need.” she cut me off. “It was my pleasure. Truly a pleasure. I look forward to meeting you when all this is over.”

“Me too.” I smiled, and with the final 'boop' the call ended.

'Over' I thought to myself. I was thinking about the open ended quarantine, knowing that it would eventually end. I had thought of that day with a mix of joy and dread. Getting back into the world. As Jeff.

Suddenly 'the end' didn't seem like a source of gloom. Because it would also be a new beginning. And nothing would ever be quite the same as it was before.