Sunday: Ruined

I love my weekends. Since I had started work at my present work place over a year ago, I had the luxury of having my weekends to myself and my family. Unlike the previous firm I was in, every weekend (for almost a whole year) was spent at a client’s office, on both Saturdays and Sundays. Empty, meaningless hours whereby I churned agreements and documents, forced to speak in the only Chinese dialect I could manage (barely passable, for that matter) to prospective clients who could speak no English. And for that, I was givenĀ one (1) replacement leave day during the work week. Never mind that towards the end of that year, I was 8 months pregnant, belly as large as a house, ass as wide as an elephant’s, with feet so swollen that I had to wear slippers because I could no longer fit into a closed shoe, and even if I could, the discomfort and pain would wear me out in less than an hour. But I persevered then, because I had hopes for my career, that good things would come my way eventually. Good things didn’t, so I slammed them with a resignation and came here.

N&P. Where I’m truly happy. Really. There isn’t a day since I joined that I have woken up with a dreaded feeling in the pit of my stomach, afraid to face my bosses, wanting to weep with despair at the amount of treacherous useless work I had lying on my desk. Here, the work hoursĀ can be long but the end result is rewarding. The good days are great, the bad days are manageable because of the wonderful work colleagues I have. The bosses are young and dynamic. I am allowed the flexibility to work on my own, to think on my own. To advance as a person. I’m Head of Banking and Real Estate. I’m happy.

A call from a certain client has put a damper in my spirits. With barely a week’s notice, they have demanded that I must, MUST be at their office this Sunday (mind you, my bosses have not asked me to work, my clients have). A bloody fucking Sunday. From 9 am to 5 pm. Like, they’re thinking: it’s ok, she’s our lawyer, so she must be at our beck and call. Sally, you have laundry that needs picking up? Are we out of coffee? Let me know, I’ll get her to run the errands.

I don’t know why people, generally people who pay other people to do work, assume that the people being paid are at their beck and call. Why do they assume that? It pisses me off, really. I’m very tempted to scream at the top of my lungs now and throw my laptop onto the floor and crush it with my pointy heels (except I don’t because I need my laptop to work on). The weekends are sacred. Why don’t they see that? Why don’t they see that people like me, who work all fucking week for people like them, need to spend time with their loved ones? Need to stay home to recharge our batteries, so that come next week, we can slog like Energizer bunnies for them all over again.

I’m not ungrateful. I have a job that I love. And I will do my job. I will go to work this Sunday, although it doesn’t please me one bit. But it doesn’t mean I like it one bit when a client thinks that I am at his/her/their beck and call. That I don’t have a life outside of the office. That I don’t have any other clients’ work to attend to. As if I am the sole liberator of their legal liberties!

I have a lot of negative energy churning inside me now. My heart rate has gone up a mile, I know that for sure. I think I should stop work for a moment and take a walk.