Nine to five... I wish

Dolly Parton’s famous southern drawl, Workin’ Nine to Five, whata way to make a livin’, plays over in my head. Who, these days, works a neat eight-hour day with an hour for lunch? And who, if lucky enough to have such a schedule, would honestly complain about it?

I love my new role. But lunchtime takes place any time from 12pm to 3pm, and only to the extent that it takes me that long to eat my brought-from-home tuna sandwich – bite by bite – in between managing web updates, coordinating talent schedules, replying to emails, updating excel spreadsheets and fighting with the colour printer. And even then, it’s usually severe dehydration that forces me to stop, take a swig from my Mount Franklin, finish my sandwich and maybe get up and go to the loo.

The rain in Sydney last week was horrible, but at least it didn’t make me feel bad about being indoors. As a contractor, my desk sits in an internal office, with a view through a glass window that looks into yet another office. I know that the sun has been shining gloriously the past few days, but only because I see shards of it through other people’s windows when I’m running between offices.

From talking to friends – on both sides of the masthead – my lack of a lunch time and further inability to leave work until 6pm and sometimes 7pm, isn’t unusual. Horror stories also splurge from friends who chose careers in law, accounting, medicine and business. It seems we’re a generation pushed to the limit. But in a GFC what choice do we have?

Maybe I should re-work Dolly’s lyrics? Produce a hit song and live off the royalties. It’s just a pity I can’t carry a tune.