|
|
|
the "price" of "freedom"
Saturday, August 14 1999
I had no word from my boss concerning my offer on the price of my weekend, so I treated my Saturday as though it was actually mine, or (maybe just perhaps) Kim's. She and I went to the Zen Bakery on Voltaire and did the same thing we've been doing there for the past nine months or so. As usual, a variety of dogs happened by for Sophie to socialize with, including a beautiful long-haired black male chow. He was extremely macho as he went about his business of pissing on every possible landmark, sometimes scratching the ground vigourously afterwards. That macho bravado stuff really turns Sophie on, stirring whatever post-hysterectometic lusts remain. She was going nuts, like she does for Sabbath the black Labrador.
A couple guys came out of Lucy's bar (a big weekend morning watering hole) and walked by, talking as they past about getting a 12 pack of Miller or Miller Lite beer. Kim recognized one of the guys as someone she'd seen at a party at Giacomo's place. He'd seemed like a normal enough guy back then, but now he looked horrible. She remarked on her amazement at the apparent speed with which alcoholism can marginalize a person.
While Kim and I were watching some mindless Saturday teevee, John the Senior Editor called and asked if I was thinking about coming in to work today. He might be a nice guy and all, but he's also Project Manager for the vast site redesign project, a project for which my efforts are essential. In his position (for which he admits to finding himself increasingly less suited each passing day), he has to be the bad guy, the boss. He has to crack the whip and make the likes of me work, on the weekends if need be (and in this case, they need be). I told John that it was nothing personal, but that ultimately my personal relationship with Kim matters more than my job, and that I had to stick with the price I'd given "my boss," the Director of Web Development (who is also John's boss). I would come in, but I wouldn't do it for free. I said that my relationship was worth too much to squander without reward. But John didn't really have much to work with in terms of incentives. The whole bonus structure, for example, depends on successful timely completion of the project. He can't guarantee that money because, if it's like any of the other bonuses, it will never actually materialize. But he was desperate. Without me, the redesign was impossible. So he guaranteed I'd get $500. I don't know how, I don't really want to know how. It would be a pretty sad state of affairs if he had to guarantee me money from his own personal bank account, but that may have been what he was doing.
So I bid Kim adieu and headed off to work.
The San Diego River was full of shore birds as usual. I've noticed that the white egrets have an interesting technique for scaring edible creatures out of the mud. They vigorously brush a foot back and forth over the bottom while staring intent between their toes. At least that's how it looks as I'd pedaling by. They never pay any attention to me at all. Thankfully it's no longer fashionable for women to wear egret plumes on their hats and the birds no longer fear humans.
I put in a long nine hour day, staying until about 11:30PM. But I wasn't by any means the last person to leave. Some of the hard-working late-night boys from the hard scrabble company we acquired went out and bought some Budweisers, and I drank one towards the end of my "shift." I got a lot of good, satisfying work done today.
For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?990814 feedback
previous | next |
