Monday, October 19, 2009
Me and my big mouth.
I was kvetching about how quiet work had suddenly become. Then I remembered that I really haven't had that many Friday afternoons off this year because my project(s) had actually required 40 hours a week, and I got excited about taking Friday afternoon off and hitting the grocery store, then cleaning the house a little, snuggling with Maddy (who had a rough few days where all she wanted to do was curl up in the bathroom, but she's acting more herself again), and doodling around...
...and about 11am on Friday, just as I was doing a little light filing, here comes Ephraim, one of the project managers in our office. Ephraim looks like a character on a children's show and has the sweet and beguiling personality to match, but evidently back in the day he was a super bad-ass in the Navy or Marines, like a sniper or special forces or something. It's kinda flattering when Ephraim, a short, round version of Beaker from the Muppet Show, talks to you. "Pixie, I hear you're available...?" he inquired.
"I am indeed, for a couple of weeks. What's up?" I responded.
Ephraim went from gently assuming to gleeful and amped. "Aw! Man! We could so use your help for the next four days..." He went on to explain that the rather large-scale multifamily apartment building/multiuse building that his team was working on had CDs due on Tuesday, and they really needed someone to do some roof details. He then said that the partner in charge of the project had approved up to 16 hours of overtime for me to do the work. It took me a second to realize that when he said they needed me for the next four days, he didn't mean Friday-Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday, he meant Saturday-Sunday-Monday-Tuesday.
So I ended up working a full Friday plus ten hours this weekend on the roof details, and I'll be working the first part of this week on the project too. Funny, though, I actually felt bad for only working ten hours of overtime on the project. As Guy and I walked to one of our neighborhood watering holes after I arrived home at 7pm Sunday night, I asked him if that was lame of me. Guy, of course, scoffed. "No. Don't feel guilty. You did your part," he said.
He went on: "They asked you this on Friday. What if you'd had stuff that you had to do this weekend? It's their fault for not getting you on board sooner. And look, ten hours--I can't get the people that work on my project full time to do ten hours on the weekend, much less someone I roped in at the last second. So, no...don't even worry about it."
There's a reason I lurrve my Guy so much.
So anyway, the house is still kinda grody and my nails are left undone, but maybe I'll take Wednesday off or something. Or save it for a full day next Friday. Whatever. As I age, I'm finding that I prefer time off to overtime money.