I want you to close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Remember Office Space? Ok. Place yourself in the main character’s shoes. It’s friday. Your boss finds you just as you’re leaving. Now, protect your nuts or your ovaries, ‘cause a kick in the groin is coming, right after your boss says: we’re working this weekend.
The last time I heard that, I was devastated. I was going away for the weekend. I was going to lay at the beach, drink margaritas and get drunk in Lance-Armstrong-record time. I had packed all my stuff, ready to go.
I’ve been at this business long enough so that those news don’t hurt me as much. But damn, sometimes hearing that still gives me a nice intestinal shift in the wrong direction.
Why does that happen, anyways? I know everybody has to put some extra time in their jobs, and of course there will be times where a Saturday afternoon would help productivity. I just don’t get it when, for example; out of three months, you have to come in four to five times.
I think that working on weekends are like the Army. Just send me in if you really need me. Don’t go sending me to kill my weekend just ‘cause it’s raining and the golf course is closed. Give me a reason to go. For my country, for freedom. For a bigger paycheck. Honestly, I think that if we did a poll, we’d find that all of us would like for our days to be compensated. You work on Saturday, you get next Friday off. Nice trade. Doesn’t hurt, right?
For me, working the weekend is a sign that something is not working. Being you, being the client, being the boss. Just something is not getting done right. I know there are clients who think their wifes are decorations. Kids are toys that you can put away and play with only on weekends. But not all of them are like that. Look, if you see this happening at your job. Look into it. Fix it. Someone is screwing up, big time.
You should live the Loverboy way.
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