After an extraordinarily long week during which I did an awful lot of things that I didn't plan to do at all, and none of the things I had planned to do, I have finally reached the end.
It's not quite the end. Not for some of my co-workers. Money has overtaken sense and they've decided to do the unthinkable.
Working on a Saturday.
Yeah, sure. You get paid more. A bit of the day at one and a half times normal, and then a bit of the day at two times normal.
It sounds good in theory, but I've had the money in my bank account before and I can attest to the fact that the loss of a Saturday hits me harder than the gain of digits in my bank.
That could be because I don't value money enough, or it could be that being paid these days is simply watching some numbers on a computer screen turn into other numbers.
Where's the fun in that?
Perhaps if, instead of getting paid in computerised digits I was paid in physical pleasure and luxury, I may value it more.
Work on a Saturday and leave the office dressed in mink. Stay late every night this week, and have a deposit a beer guzzling, daily massaged, freshly slaughtered, wagyu steak supply left in the fridge.
Hmmmmmm. Maybe not. Maybe I'll just stay home on Saturday and live my life without the culling of animals. No matter how good I look in them, or how good they feel in me.
Hi - I don't blame you. I never loved going in on Saturdays either. However, sometimes money dictates a little more of our lives than we'd like. :)
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