For those of you wondering if I survived a week-long stint of 9-5 punishment, I did! Now if you’re curious if I’m up for repeating the feat any time in the next decade, think again!
What the hell? Work is hard! I’m sure 9-5 is what the framers of the Constitution had in mind when they penned the phrase “cruel and unusual punishment”. Forget the debate over whether capital punishment is cruel and unusal, I say having to iron every morning, wear shirts with collars, long pants, and no naps in the middle of the day– that’s cruel!
The first day started with giddy expectations, kinda like what you feel on the first day of school after a summer long vacation. I was actually excited to try on the new slacks and shirt which Red Hat was forced to pay for because, yes sir, I threw out all my dress clothes a LONG time ago (to my mother-in-law’s dismay, I got married in sandals). Unfortunately I quickly found out that non-tshirts don’t look good fresh out of a backpack, so you have to factor in some ironing time along with your morning ritual.
After almost burning down the hotel room with the iron, I quickly found out there was barely any time to do any running, let alone cycling. I figured I’d go for a run after work, because now I was in danger of missing my water-taxi to the Jersey side.
Work went surprisingly well, because when you don’t train for 2-3 hours before work, you’re remarkably awake, unfortunately this only takes you so far, because by 2pm you’re wondering why you’re the only one having a hard time keeping your neck in an upright locked position.
Somehow I made it to 6 pm without passing out, having survived an entire day of meetings and questions I would’ve rather responded to by email. By the time I got back to the hotel, all plans of an afternoon workout quickly dissipated, as I entertained take-out and falling asleep in front of the TV. How do people with regular jobs train? I have definitely found a deep respect for masters athletes, most of which can still kick my ass, but that I blame on bad genetics, because it’s surely not for lack of rest (on my part).
I won’t bore you with the details from the rest of the week, but suffice to say that mid week I realized it was easier to wear the same shirt and pants (wrinkled or not), than have to wake up earlier to iron things. By Wednesday I had discovered coffee and was downing espresso as if it were tequila during a spring break. By Thursday I had rationalized that my 12 year old Clarks sandals were close enough to a shoe that I could forgo shoes and socks for the rest of the week if I hid my feet under desks at all time. By Friday, the open bar at the hotel was looking quite tempting, and it finally dawned on me why they call it happy hour, and why weekends are such a revered period for the regular masses.
Luckily, I was honorably discharged on Friday afternoon, and was able to catch an 8pm flight back to my cave, where Yanory was waiting for me with a big grin and a sly comment: “so now do you agree that what you do doesn’t really count as work?”. Absolutely, I now realize that I retired 10 years ago, but never stopped receiving a pay check. If I ever get laid off from Red Hat, my only remaining skill inside of an office may be sleeping with my eyes open.
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