Wednesday, November 26, 2008

A Working Man

When I explain my lack of leisure time to friends, they say, "It's called having a job," or, "Welcome to the real world," or, "At least you're not selling your body." I'll leave him anonymous.

My job is not 40 hours a week like my paycheck says. I must add my two and a half hour daily commute to L'Enfant Plaza in Washington, DC. Workweek: 52.5 hours.

I add my thirty minute lunch each day, not because I didn't eat before I got a job, but because it becomes part of my "total time away from home" calculation. Workweek: 55 hours.

I go to the gym on average five hours after work throughout the workweek. I actually spent more time exercising before I got a job, but since that defeats my purpose here, I will disregard it. Workweek: 61 hours.

My "time away from home" isn't the only way my new job affects me. I have to compute the total disruption to my previous workweek. I now go to sleep 2.5 hours and wake up 3.5 hours earlier, respectively. Over five days that adds 30 more hours. Workweek: 91.

There's one more variable that rounds out my calculation—the less time I can watch sports and TV. I'll make this a nice, even, conservative number: 100. Workweek: 191.

The fact that the workweek only has 120 total hours means nothing.

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Call Me Hollywood