I ended up finishing Friday and the week late at the office, as expected, but for something else entirely unexpected. At just after 7pm, a colleague and I were hoofing it back to the office from the print shop (because both ‘big’ printers at the office had chosen to break down a couple of hours earlier) when a fire truck sped past, squealing and flashing. “I hope that’s not for our building!” my colleague said.
It was for our building. There we were with our box of emergency printing, now stuck downstairs because the lifts were now inoperative while the fire crew attended to whatever the emergency was – not that one could tell, because there was no smoke, nor fire, nor a cat stuck up a tree or dangling out the window.
Thankfully it wasn’t for too long, but these things – entirely out of one’s control – add time to already lengthy days (and the printing was a minor non-issue, actually), and there’s nothing else to be done but smile and look on the bright side, cancel dinner plans, make apologies to others, and make promises to oneself to have a good weekend…
…Until someone arrives at your desk and says that thing for which you thought you’d be devoting your Friday night but which was hijacked by equipment failure is still needed before Monday. Here we go, here we don’t. Saturday, maybe next time.
This is not a complaint, by the way. I’m just saying how it is. I’m not fishing for sympathy. I’ve actually decided those who don’t work in the industry find it difficult to fathom Why. Even my bestie doesn’t get it (he’s constantly sending me texts: “You need a new job!” No I don’t. He’s looking for a new job and perhaps projecting his issue on to me. So I just press DELETE. Sorry, Bestie!) I realised recently, chatting to someone who asked about my work hours that my typical work day is a long day to most people. Actually, I’ve known that for a while. ‘9 to 5’ is a movie (and a song), not [my] reality. And I’m OK with that.