I think today is the first legitimate paid overtime I’ve ever worked.
I say “paid” because nobody likes the person who mentions that she actually did have to stay back another 15 minutes that day, particularly young women who are lucky to have a job! Being paid overtime isn’t a real measure of how much or how hard someone works. What if they’re just efficient? What if they make fewer mistakes? What if they don’t sit there and talk about how much work they have to do for valuable amounts of time that could’ve been spent doing that work? Can I claim overtime for all of other people’s complaining of workloads I have to endure?
This was a different kind of overtime. It was prearranged work on a weekend that my department needed several volunteers for – mature, dedicated hard workers who could be counted on. It was physical work, beyond our actual jobs but a necessary step in adapting to a changing world. I had to sacrifice my precious Saturday morning of lying in bed, which I generally bemoan to waiver. But living close and not having a family or any other obligations besides my spoiled self-indulgence tipped the balance to doing the right, selfless thing. (Well, not quite selfless. I banked double the hours to take off work later.)
It was a bonding experience. It was exercise. It will make this coming week at work easier. It compensates for overeating alone on the couch for the rest of the day. And night, as I’m doing right now.
It was, all in all, the right thing to do.