The Day My Mouse Worked Harder Than I Did
by Scott
I once ran a mouse jiggler at work, and for a brief but glorious period of my life, it was the hardest-working employee in the office.
I worked as a planner for technical jobs happening all over the state. Mornings were chaos. Phones ringing, emails flying, schedules being shuffled like a deck of cards in a casino run by caffeine. By mid-afternoon, the storm would pass. And by the final hour of the day, the office would quietly evacuate like a slow-motion disaster movie. Chairs pushed in. Lights off. Jackets grabbed. Everyone gone.
Everyone except me.
That last hour was my time. Not because I was especially important, but because someone had to “be available.” And availability, as it turns out, has absolutely nothing to do with doing work and everything to do with a little green dot.
Enter the mouse jiggler.
If you’ve never used one, imagine a tiny device whose only job is to lie on your behalf. It doesn’t jiggle aggressively. It doesn’t draw attention. It just whispers to your computer, over and over again, “He’s here. He’s focused. He’s probably doing spreadsheets.”
Teams stayed green. Outlook looked open and serious. My workstation appeared to be the nerve centre of operations. Meanwhile, I was scrolling my phone like a Victorian child discovering electricity.
I would sit there perfectly still, phone in hand, watching the cursor drift gently across the screen like it was on a leisurely afternoon stroll. No sudden movements. No suspicious clicking. Just vibes.
Every now and then, paranoia would kick in. I’d glance at Teams. Still green. I’d check the mouse. Still jiggling. I’d briefly wonder if IT could somehow hear the silence. Then I’d scroll again.
The funniest part was how instantly professional I could become. The moment a message came in, I’d transform. Phone down. Chair adjusted. Keyboard engaged. I’d reply in seconds, like I’d been staring at the screen the entire time, waiting for that exact question. The illusion was flawless.
Colleagues probably thought, “Wow, he’s always available late in the day.”
They had no idea that availability was being powered by a USB device smaller than a matchbox and my complete emotional detachment from work.
Sometimes I’d forget the jiggler was there and panic. I’d nudge the mouse myself, accidentally doubling the movement. The cursor would suddenly lurch across the screen like it had developed free will. I’d freeze. Heart racing. Was that suspicious? Did the computer notice? Did Teams judge me?
Then everything would settle. The jiggle would resume. Balance restored.
That final hour stretched beautifully. I’d read headlines I didn’t care about. Watch short videos I wouldn’t remember. Refresh apps as if something monumental was about to happen. I was mentally checked out, physically present, and digitally impeccable.
When five o’clock hit, I’d shut everything down with the satisfaction of someone who had successfully completed a complex operation. Mouse jiggler unplugged. Laptop closed. Bag packed. Another day survived.
I like to think that somewhere, deep in the logs of that system, there’s a record showing perfect uptime, flawless availability, and not a single clue that the real MVP was a tiny plastic liar gently shaking a mouse while I avoided work with Olympic-level commitment.
And honestly? I regret nothing.