the extroverts are coming

There was a loud thud in the middle of the night.

The groggy watchman lumbered up the steps. Thud! He heard a roar of laughter coming from outside the castle.

Hundreds of kayaks were crossing the Chicago River and a dozen or so were already harbored ashore, safely past the castle's moat. A small army of jovial knights rolled a giant battering ram forward. It looked like the trunk of a Redwood tree attached to four monster truck wheels. The army pushed the device backward and then rallied ahead, forcefully crashing into the castle's front door.

Bang!

The watchman rushed down the steps, sprinting toward the king and queen’s quarters at the opposite end of the castle.

“The extroverts are coming! The extroverts are coming!” he shouted, running through the courtyard. “Archers, man the battlements!”

“What’s he barking about?” said a woman wearing sweatpants and a Cubs t-shirt. She sipped her coffee and looked out the window.

People were now sprinting through the courtyard. Men, women, children. The woman's husband, also in sweatpants, opened the window. He put on his surgical mask and called out to the crowd.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“The extroverts. They’re storming the castle!”

“It's about time,” the woman said. “Ooh, what should I wear? What should I wear?”

The watchman barged into the royal bedroom. The queen jumped up, pulling the sheets up to her shoulders.

“What’s the meaning of this, lad?” the king asked.

“We’re under attack,” the watchman replied, attempting to catch his breath.

The king and queen looked at each other.

“Guard, bring me the royal iPad.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Hugh, bake me some sourdough toast.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The guard came back with the royal blue iPad. The king held it up to his mouth.

“Siri, show me the moat cam,” the king looked at the screen, slowly raising an eyebrow.

“Yuck. Look at them all gathered together with no social distance. It’s barbaric!”

“Your Highness, if I may,” the watchman said. "We need to get the archers in position."

“We need or you need?

“Please, we don’t have much time.”

The King began stroking his beard.

“Have their leader join me on Slack," the King commanded.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Run along now.”

The watchman reluctantly exited the bedroom. He sprinted back through the courtyard. Back to the tower. Back up the steps. He took a few breaths, then cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, yes, um, hi,” the watchman called out. “Our King has requested your presence on Slack."

A roar of laughter came from the army below.

“You can tell your introverted king he can talk to me face to face,” the general yelled back. The army cheered in approval.

“Yeah, well, I think he really wants to do this over Slack."

“You heard me,” the leader of the extroverted army replied. “Run along now.”

The watchman ran back down the steps, back through the courtyard. He passed the sweatpants couple. The wife was now in a black dress and high heels.

“Bars. Cubs games. Concerts. Ooh! I wonder who’s at Lolla this year. Eric, we can start traveling again! I can't wait to get out of this stinkin’ castle."

“The El. The bus. Airport security. This is gonna be horrible.”

“Oh, lighten up.”

The watchman barged back into the royal bedroom.

“The extroverts have requested a face-to-face conversation.”

“Of course they have,” the King replied.

The King started to write on a piece of paper. He rolled it up and then placed it in the talons of a very large carrier pigeon. He looked back at the watchman.

“We can talk face-to-face over Zoom. Here's my link."

“You want me to carry your pigeon? Couldn’t you just–"

“Run along now.”

Through the bedroom. Through the courtyard. Past the sweatpants couple.

“Remember being stuck at a party?” Eric said. “And you had to awkwardly say goodbye to everyone. Then wait for an Uber. And the Uber driver wants to make small talk. ‘Nice night. How bout those Cubbies?’ No. No chit-chat. Just let me sit here, quietly. Know what I love about virtual parties? Close the laptop. Done. I’m already home.”

“You know I haven’t hugged anyone, besides you, in 15 months?”

The watchman looked down from the castle tower. He cleared his throat. He held the large pigeon and tossed it up in the air. The large bird came crashing down like a squawking bowling ball. The general caught the bird and unwrapped the note. The pigeon waddled away like a bloated penguin.

“A Zoom link?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you can tell your king,” the general paused for a second. “We are a WebX army.”

“Oh, come on! Be reasonable here! At least meet me halfway at a Google Hangout?”

“I’ve got Microsoft Teams,” one of the soldiers called out.

“I’ve got Facetime,” another soldier said.

“I’ve got Glip by RingCentral.”

“Glip?”

“Yeah. You never done a chip-n-dip over Glip?”

“The hell you talkin’ about?”

“It’s simple. Grab the chips. Get the dip. Turn on Glip. Order drinks, take a sip. I’ve got a friend who goes on there, shakes his hips. He strips for like hundred dollar tips.”

“Sounds like a bit of a gyp.”

“Enough!” the general barked. “No Zoom. No Glip. No more messages, pigeon boy. We’re coming in.”

The battering ram crashed through the door. The army let out a loud battle cry as they stormed through.

“Yoo-hoo!” the woman called out. She was now standing outside. “Where’s the party tonight?”

“We’re pregaming til 11, then seeing where the knight takes us,” one of the soldiers replied.

“Right on!”

“I was so happy,” the husband said as he packed his sourdough kit back into storage.

The general kicked down the door to the royal bedroom.

“Tell your work from homers it's time to get back to work,” the general said. “There’s a new sheriff in town.”

“They have been working,” the king replied. “There’s actually never been a more productive year. We were quite literally in the Middle Ages 15 months ago.”

“If it doesn’t happen in an office, it’s not work.”

“Says who!?”

“Says everyone. You need the water cooler. You need the team lunches. You need the camaraderie.”

“No. You need it.

“That’s what I’m saying, you need it.”

“No. You need it. We don’t.”

“You want to feed your family, you go to the office. You want to put bread on the table, you work a 9 to 5.”

“Yes, Your Highness?” the baker said as he carried in the sourdough toast.

“This is Hugh, he puts bread on the table,” the king said.

“You need bread, right?” the general asked.

“I knead the dough, yes,” the baker replied.

“Right. You need the dough so you go to the office and make bread.”

“Well,” the baker said. “I knead the dough, then I bake the bread.”

“Right. Cuz you need the dough.”

“Hugh kneads dough,” the king said. “But he doesn’t need dough. It’s like a royal unpaid internship.”

“Enough!” the extroverted general shouted. “We’re going back to the office. Five days a week. And that’s final.”

“How ’bout a hybrid model, 2 days in office, 3 work from home," the king suggested.

“No.”

“Three days in office, two work from home?”

“No.”

“Four days in office, but the fifth is just one big happy hour?”

“Deal.”

The general, the king, and the queen called the extroverts and introverts together in the courtyard.

“We have reached an agreement for our return to work,” the king said. “We call it, ‘Work Hard, Play Hard.’ Four days in the office. Then one off-site day at the Old Town Ale House.”

“Excuse me, how will we know if our co-workers have been vaccinated?” Eric called out from the crowd.

“It’ll be an honor system. Just like going to the movie theater.”

“What’s a movie theater?” someone wearing 14th-century rags asked from the back of the crowd.

“Do we still have to wear masks?”

“Honor system.”

“Will people leave my turkey sandwich alone in the fridge?”

“Honor system.”

“Well, I’m not comfortable with that,” Eric said.

“Eric,” his wife whispered. She elbowed him in the ribs.

“What would you like to propose instead?” the extrovert general shouted back.

“Hear me out,” Eric said. “How about anyone who is unvaccinated, or anyone uncomfortable with the honor system, can remain working from home.”

“Yeah, I like that,” another introvert said quietly in the crowd.

“Same.”

The rest of the introverts raised their right hands while looking at the ground.

“What are they doing?” the general asked.

“They’re saying yes,” Jason said. “They just don’t like speaking in front of a crowd.”

“Okay, fine, whatever,” the general said. “They can work from home. But the rest of us are going into the office. And that’s final.”

“Works for me,” Eric said.

“Thoughts on making it five days a week at the Ale House?” one of the extroverted soldiers called out.

“No!”

“Eh, worth a shot," the soldier said. Then threw back a shot of Malört.

“Sorry, one more thing,” Eric called out.

“Eric, seriously,” his wife replied with another elbow to the ribs.

“I’d like to propose that anyone in the working-from-home camp shall receive a relocation stipend, from the extroverts, to help us all move to Montana.”

“Ha!”

“BUT, here's the thing," Eric continued, "you can take our castle condos.”

"Wait, you're being serious?" the general said. "Intriguing. Alright, well, that’s fine with us!”

Gradually, the extroverts moved into the castle and the introverts moved out. The extroverts immediately opened the bars and restaurants. And then the offices. The introverts moved to a small Montana town and settled into giant houses with massive yards, each one at least 6 miles of social distance apart from the other.

“Bike riding. Hiking. Kayaking,” Eric said. “We can ski in the winter. Ah, it’s so good to be out of that stinkin’ castle. This will be incredible, honey.”

“I was so happy,” the wife said as she packed her black dress and high heels back into a box.