If you've been reading my entries or have been following me even in a sporadic capacity, you know that that I maintain a stable, though lengthy work schedule. It's not unusual for me to work upwards of 60 hours a week, across all seven days of the week. I do this by choice and for the time being, my employer allows it and for as long as they're willing to pay me those extra hours, I'm going to continue to do it. I've been working this type of schedule, dating back to October 2023. In order for me to do the hours that I do, I wake up at 3:45am. By 4:45am, I am in the office and I'm ready to work. Depending on which route I take to get to the office, freeways versus the streets, I can get to the office in anywhere between eight and 12 minutes. At that hour, there's minimal traffic and for the most past, I'm never ever in a hurry to get to an otherwise quiet and empty office. If I show up at 4:48am, no one will notice and no one will care. Still, I like to arrive between 4:40am and 4:45am.
When I take the streets, I usually do so because I'm in no rush and I will take my sweet time getting there. The streets and even the sidewalks are empty, for the most part. Sure, you'll see the occasional homeless person here and there, but generally speaking, there's no one around. That is, until I get to the last major intersection before I get to the office. At that intersection, usually between that 4:40am and 4:45am window, I see working folk walking on the sidewalk. Given the way that they're dressed, I assume that they're all walking to the same place and they're all probably coworkers. They're all dressed alike. They're wearing a dark blue uniform, or maybe it's black? Given how dark it is outside, it's not always easy to tell. There are fluorescent yellow stripes on the uniform, which enhances their visibility tremendously. Black boots and a red hard hat complete the look. Some are carrying lunch pails. Some are toting coffee mugs. Some are holding both some kind of lunch bag, as well as some kind of container from which they are or plan to drink coffee. Not all of them are men, by the way. I've seen a few women among the group as they cross the street in front of my car and make their way towards the building at the corner. These women are physically shorter and smaller than their male counterparts, but that does nothing to reduce the amount of respect I have for them.
Every morning, as they're done crossing the street and I'm finally able to turn left on my green arrow, I always think about those folks, even for a few moments.
These are hard-working people, probably supporting themselves as well as people important to them, who are counting on them to work their own early hours and do whatever work it is that they do. I don't think they have chosen to work those early-morning hours, like I do. They may not even like the work that they do, but there they are, busting their asses every morning to get to the job and do what they have to do. I like seeing people working hard and making a living.
Maybe I'm fortunate, in that I voluntarily work the hours that I do, and that I don't technically have to roll into the office before 5am? I do it because I can and because I like the overtime that I am afforded. If I played by the rules, my days would start at 7am and go until 5:30pm. But those folks? They probably don't have any say in the matter and they come in that early because its mandated. I will always have an affinity for people who get up early to start their work day.
I have an office job, which truth be told, is mostly sedentary and I don't have to physically exert myself to get that paycheck. I sit in front of a computer and write all day. It's not at all taxing for me because I enjoy writing.
I don't have to wear a hard hat, work boots, or yellow fluorescent tape on any of my work clothes and the chance of my being injured at work is minimal. I am not physically exerting myself in any way.
Dad used to get up early, by habit, though his work days never started at 5am. He used to wear uniform to make a living. Never had to wear a hard hat or boots though, but he provided for the family. Oddly enough, while his days never started early, being that his regular start time was usually 7am, it was not unusual for his days to end late, typically well after 6pm. He liked doing the overtime and would often ask to work well after his normal shift ended.
Very odd indeed, isn't it?
Before I entered the work force and even before I became engaged in my current career, I used to question why he would do such a thing, that is, consistently work all those extra hours. Working like that, at least per my mentality at the time, couldn't possibly have been worth the wear and tear on the body. He was tired all the time. He relied on coffee every morning. He worked most weekends. Working in excess of a typical 40-hour work week was his normal and he never shied away from the overtime. I actually think he enjoyed it.
Dad retired from the work force completely back in 2019, I believe, just less than a year after Mom died. He's been enjoying retirement ever since.
Now, here I am. Still working and interestingly, having taken on the same kinds of things that he did when he was working. I consistently work all those extra hours, as I mentioned earlier, upwards of 60 hours a week. While I'm rarely ever physically worn out, I am often emotionally and mentally drained at the end of the day. Now, I'm tired all the time. I rely on some form of caffeine every morning, usually in the form of some kind of energy drink (Rockstar, Monster, Reign). I drink iced coffee twice a week. I work most weekends. I tend not to shy away from the overtime either, especially when it's very much on the table. Maybe in some way, I enjoy this too, much like Dad did?
Dad never told me to do this and he didn't explicitly teach me to be this way. He was always a hard worker. Never complained. Just came in, did his job, and collected that check.
I will say this though and it took me a few years to figure all this out. I suppose if I really thought about it, long and hard, this all should have occurred me much sooner than it did.
Why did Dad work all that overtime? Why do I work all the overtime that I do? It didn't have much to do with the extent to which we enjoyed our jobs.
When I started seeing that increase in pay, suddenly, the motivation presented itself.
It's the money.
I'm not ashamed to say that. It's true. I suppose we all do what we have to, to make that living and provide for those who are relying on us.
Some of us wear a uniform. Some of us wear hard hats and boots. Some of us wake up way the hell too early in the morning.
Either way, the one fact remains.
That income is coming in.
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