It doesn’t matter if you work 5 days a week for 8 hours a day or 4 on and 3 off. Maybe you work from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. or what I dreaded was the 2 p.m. to 10 p.m. swing shift. Had to go to work just when the crowd was gathering and got off too late to join in the fun that was already in full swing. Do you suppose that is why it’s called the swing shift? It should be the non-swing shift! The best shift I worked was graveyard 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. Usually there was no one looking over your shoulder during the graveyard shift.
Every job and every position in those jobs, from the CEO, the swampers, (those are the guys that used to clean up the saloons after closing time and in my opinion they were needed more than some high fluting CEO’s) they all have one thing in common. Week-ends off. Might be that your week-end is Tuesday and Wednesday. Maybe you get three days a week off like Friday, Saturday and Sunday. But somewhere there is time off; just what kind of a time off person are you?
I was in a discussion the other day while at the DMV about those very fleeting week-ends. I personally like to be a hermit on the week-ends. I revel in the fact that this is my time. No questions to answer. No paperwork. I must admit there have been times when a knock on the door as brought me out of a nap on the week-end and I have ignored that knock. I used to feel guilty about this but I don’t anymore. I feel I have earned the right to not answer the phone or the door or the meowing cat that wants to be fed right now on my week-ends.
There are songs about Friday nights, the go, go, go of those nights are memories now. But once in a while that little devil on my right shoulder says let’s go… But then comes Saturday mornings. Now this is where we need to focus. Saturday mornings. Not the recuperating Saturday mornings that most of us have had in the past and some still have to this day. No, I’m talking about those Saturday morning cartoon times. Remember those happy Saturday mornings memories of sugary cereal, footed p-js and making forts with the couch cushions. What fun!
What in the world happened to Saturday morning cartoons? Being nostalgic a while back I decided to watch a few cartoons. I loved the Jetsons and Donald Duck. So I poured a bowl of cheerios grabbed a jug of milk and plopped down in front of the TV. A plethora of channels are available to me. But I thought I would try the three networks first. I am aghast at the first channel. Not one cartoon. Only one info-commercial after another shopping channel with pitch men hollering at me with the newest, best do dah you could imagine, and some you couldn’t. I couldn’t see a kid buying the next best kitchen pots and pans so I moved on. And on. And on. And on, for goodness sakes. I finally gave in and switched to the cartoon network. Surly here I could see Mr. Magoo or Shaggy from Scooby Do.
Oh me of little knowledge. I had to choose something, my cheerios were getting soggy and the milk was getting warm. Neither of which I like. Should I pick the multi weapon toting purple and green slime covered good guy trying to blast the blue skinned bad squiggly dude? No maybe the show with the heavy set bad hair-do father like guy that is hiding from his apparently evil eyed, diapered child that runs the house with bad manners and no regard for his elders. Folks; we’re doomed!
Since my cartoon viewing was such an eye opener, I have gone back to my hermit ways. So has the young gal that started this whole conversation. Between us we decided that we really don’t want visitors on our days off. We will occasionally go out with friends and might, might have relatives over occasionally for a week-end. But for the most part we wish to be week-end hermits.
Hermit-ing is exactly what I was doing one day when two men came knocking at the door obviously looking for my other half who was not home so I opted not to answer the knock. At which point they headed back to their vehicle while I watched through the nearly closed blind. But before getting into their truck they both decided to relieve themselves in the middle of my yard! I wish I would have had the chutzpah then that I have now. Talk about getting caught with your pants down!! No, I won’t tell who they were. They know… And now they know that I know too. Remember; eyes are everywhere.
Trina Machacek lives in Eureka. Her book ITY BITS can be found on Kindle. Share your thoughts and opinions with her at firstname.lastname@example.org