Mmmmm . . . . sleeping in tomorrow morning . . . mmmmm . . . .
I usually work for about three hours every Saturday morning (8 AM to 11 AM), and don’t mind doing so. When RPI is in session, I have half-a-dozen or so of my students in each Saturday morning (on a rotating basis) so we can do a lot of the facility work that we can’t get done during the week. It’s generally one of my favorite times of the week: set tasks, teamwork, food (I buy the bagels for them each week), sense of accomplishment . . . and somehow getting so much done at the office by 11 AM on Saturday morning makes the whole weekend seem somehow more productive.
I consider it a good sign of how good this job is that I actually like working Saturday mornings. In other jobs I’ve had (which will remain nameless here, not because I care whether they know what I think about them or not, but because I believe in the “there’s no such thing as bad press,” so I’m not going to do them the favor of mentioning them), having to work a weekend or an evening felt like an odious chore. I resented the hell out of being there, and seethed the whole time. On the flip side, when I started my post-college career with the government, I worked for an office that required Saturday morning hours, and (again) it was one of my fave times of the work week: quiet, no suit and tie required, productive. The current gig feels like that.
All that having been said, though . . . when the students go home at the end of the semester, there’s no reason for me to be in on Saturday mornings, so it’s like getting a bonus sleep-in day (I get up at 6 AM during the work week). Of course, the body clock is set so that I’ll still probably wake up at 7:15 AM or so . . . but, hey, that still beats 6:00, and it’s nicer to wake up on your own than it is to have an alarm shock you out of bed, innit?
I guess the tradeoff is that I am working on Saturday night, though. Come say howdy while I do it! A nice evening, guaranteed. I’ll brew the coffee.