My boss doesn't know I've been working 2 hours a day for 3 years—here's how I do it

Three years ago, fresh out of college, I discovered something that changed everything about my first real job. Most office work—the actual, necessary work—takes about two hours. The rest? Meetings that should've been emails, emails that should've been nothing, and elaborate performances of looking busy.

When my company went remote in 2021, I decided to test a theory: What if I just did the work and skipped the theater? Turns out, nobody noticed. My performance reviews stayed stellar. I got promoted twice. And I've been working roughly two hours a day ever since.

1. The mouse jiggler revelation

Let me introduce you to the most honest piece of technology in remote work: the mouse jiggler. It's exactly what it sounds like—a device that keeps your cursor moving so your Slack status stays green. Wells Fargo fired over a dozen employees for using them, which tells you everything about what companies really measure.

I bought mine on Amazon for $25. It has over 14,000 reviews, mostly from people claiming they need it for "presentations." Sure. The beauty is its simplicity—it's not software your IT department can detect. It's just a little platform that physically moves your mouse. Sometimes I wonder if my mouse is having a better day than my colleagues, gently swaying while I'm at the climbing gym.

2. Monday is the new Friday

Here's what nobody admits about productivity: most people spread five hours of work across five days. I compress everything into Monday morning. Between 8 AM and noon, I become a machine—knocking out every substantial task for the entire week. Reports, analysis, actual deliverables—done.

By Tuesday, I'm coasting on completed work, just responding to emails and attending meetings. When someone asks for that quarterly analysis on Thursday? It's been sitting in my drafts since Monday afternoon, waiting for its moment. This isn't procrastination in reverse; it's front-loading productivity to reclaim your life.

3. Scheduled emails are your alibi

Gmail's schedule-send feature should win a Nobel Prize. During my Monday sprint, I write every email for the week, then scatter them across the calendar like breadcrumbs of false productivity. Tuesday at 9:15 AM: progress update. Wednesday at 2:47 PM: thoughtful response. Thursday at 4:33 PM: "just circling back."

These timestamps tell a story. The 2:47 PM email whispers, "I'm thinking about work at random afternoon moments." The 4:33 PM suggests another productive day winding down. Meanwhile, I'm usually halfway through a hiking trail or experimenting with sourdough starter. The key is varying your send times—nothing screams "automated" like emails at exactly 2:00 PM daily.

4. Become a meeting minimalist

Research shows people can only maintain productivity for about six hours maximum, but in meetings? Try six minutes. My strategy: camera off (eternal bandwidth issues), muted by default, and perfectly timed contributions that suggest deep engagement.

I keep a document of intelligent-sounding phrases: "Have we considered the downstream implications?" or "Let's table this until we have more data." Deploy one every 15 minutes, and you're golden. The beautiful irony? Doing laundry during meetings actually makes me a better listener—I'm not tempted to browse Reddit while someone explains their slideshow.

5. Build tools nobody else wants to understand

Early on, I created a Python script that generates weekly status reports by pulling data from our project management system and rotating through language variations. To everyone else, I'm diligently crafting these updates. In reality, it runs in twelve seconds.

The secret is making your tools just complex enough to discourage curiosity. When asked how I compile data so efficiently, I launch into explanations about APIs and automated workflows. Eyes glaze over. They nod appreciatively and never ask again. One colleague called me a "technical wizard." I didn't correct them.

6. The 47-minute rule

Instant responses scream desperation. Employee monitoring software tracks response times, but it can't measure thought quality. I follow the 47-minute rule: never respond to anything non-urgent faster than 47 minutes.

This creates an illusion of deep focus. When you do respond, it's comprehensive and thoughtful—because you've actually had time to think. Or, more accurately, time to return from the farmer's market. The specificity of 47 minutes (not 45, not an hour) makes it feel organic rather than calculated.

7. Strategic excellence buys freedom

Here's the counterintuitive truth: you must occasionally deliver something exceptional. Every few weeks, I produce something nobody asked for but everyone needs—a process improvement, an innovative solution, a detailed analysis that saves the team hours.

These moments of brilliance buy months of breathing room. People remember peaks, not valleys. The automated reporting dashboard I built in January? Still earning me credibility in November, long after anyone's actually looked at it. One spectacular contribution covers dozens of ordinary Tuesday afternoons.

Final thoughts

I'm not proud of gaming the system, but I'm not ashamed either. Corporate America has created a culture where presence matters more than productivity, where companies monitor everything from mouse movements to keyboard strokes as if motion equals value.

Here's what matters: my work gets done. Quality hasn't suffered—it's improved because I'm not exhausted from performative busyness. I have time for real life: exercise, relationships, learning new skills, actual rest. These make me a better person and, paradoxically, a better employee during my two productive hours.

Will this last forever? Probably not. Companies are getting smarter about detecting fake activity, and eventually, someone will catch on. But for now, I've found a way to deliver what's expected while reclaiming 75% of my time.

The corporate world created this game when they decided to measure hours instead of output. I'm just playing by their rules—more efficiently than they imagined possible. And honestly? I think more people should.