Wednesday was a beautiful day. The sun was shining; temperatures reached the mid-fifties. I took a walk on my lunch break. It felt like spring was just around the corner.
But this is New England. On Thursday, Mother Nature pooped out a whole bunch of snow on the northeast United States.
Knowing the forecast the day before, I got permission from my boss to take home my work laptop in case I needed to work the next day remotely. It sounded like a grand idea. I somehow failed to realize that this would suck what little fun there was to be had from my snow day.
I woke up early, looked out the window at the whiteout, and emailed work to confirm I wouldn’t be in. Then I fired up my laptop to put in my eight hours.
I’m pretty big on following rules. My employer was going to get eight full hours of work no matter if the roof collapsed under the snow, by golly. I worked for two hours straight before breaking for a cup of coffee, running to the kitchen and back to take as little time as possible. It did not occur to me that had I actually been at work, I would’ve gotten a mug of java within the first fifteen minutes of arriving, and I certainly wouldn’t have broken into a jog to get to the Keurig. I’d promised to work even if I wasn’t at work, and I was going to prove my boss’s trust was worth it.
I had to stop around noon—not for lunch, but because I needed the bathroom so badly that had I sneezed, I would’ve wet myself. I grabbed a slice of bread for sustenance on the way back to the computer. My phone kept buzzing with texts and calls from friends, so I turned it off. I became acutely aware that while I’d been fortunate enough to be allowed to work from home, everyone else in the world was having a bona fide snow day: a time to bake cookies, eat junk food, and watch trash television. My friends and family were having a grand old time while I worried about justifying even thirty seconds for a potty break.
I finally finished up and powered down the work computer. Whew! My stomach was grumbling, my back hurt from my chair, and I could finally answer some texts. After a full thirteen seconds of relaxing, Jason announced the snow blower had died—could I help him shovel?
We had a good chunk of the driveway cleared by 9:00 PM. I could get my car out in the morning, at least.
The next day, I headed to work, only to find that my town will once again not be winning an award for spectacular snowplowing anytime soon. It took me almost a half hour to get from my house to the main light in town, a trip that normally takes me four minutes—six in heavy traffic. The roads were . . . un-passable.
The tears welled in my eyes as I turned around to head home. I was looking at a second day of working from home, and to be honest, I hadn’t enjoyed it all that much yesterday.
I just really wanted to get into the office and relax.
But this is New England. On Thursday, Mother Nature pooped out a whole bunch of snow on the northeast United States.
Knowing the forecast the day before, I got permission from my boss to take home my work laptop in case I needed to work the next day remotely. It sounded like a grand idea. I somehow failed to realize that this would suck what little fun there was to be had from my snow day.
I woke up early, looked out the window at the whiteout, and emailed work to confirm I wouldn’t be in. Then I fired up my laptop to put in my eight hours.
I’m pretty big on following rules. My employer was going to get eight full hours of work no matter if the roof collapsed under the snow, by golly. I worked for two hours straight before breaking for a cup of coffee, running to the kitchen and back to take as little time as possible. It did not occur to me that had I actually been at work, I would’ve gotten a mug of java within the first fifteen minutes of arriving, and I certainly wouldn’t have broken into a jog to get to the Keurig. I’d promised to work even if I wasn’t at work, and I was going to prove my boss’s trust was worth it.
I had to stop around noon—not for lunch, but because I needed the bathroom so badly that had I sneezed, I would’ve wet myself. I grabbed a slice of bread for sustenance on the way back to the computer. My phone kept buzzing with texts and calls from friends, so I turned it off. I became acutely aware that while I’d been fortunate enough to be allowed to work from home, everyone else in the world was having a bona fide snow day: a time to bake cookies, eat junk food, and watch trash television. My friends and family were having a grand old time while I worried about justifying even thirty seconds for a potty break.
I finally finished up and powered down the work computer. Whew! My stomach was grumbling, my back hurt from my chair, and I could finally answer some texts. After a full thirteen seconds of relaxing, Jason announced the snow blower had died—could I help him shovel?
We had a good chunk of the driveway cleared by 9:00 PM. I could get my car out in the morning, at least.
The next day, I headed to work, only to find that my town will once again not be winning an award for spectacular snowplowing anytime soon. It took me almost a half hour to get from my house to the main light in town, a trip that normally takes me four minutes—six in heavy traffic. The roads were . . . un-passable.
The tears welled in my eyes as I turned around to head home. I was looking at a second day of working from home, and to be honest, I hadn’t enjoyed it all that much yesterday.
I just really wanted to get into the office and relax.
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