It’s not that I don’t like my job, but like most people I enjoy me a good long holiday weekend. The Friday before is like a holiday in itself, since most of my bosses either take the day off or make a half-day of it. Everything seems a little more relaxed, but it’s a relaxation I’m being paid for, which is a bonus in my book.
Labor Day weekend may signal the unofficial end of summer, but it’s also the end of a holiday drought for those of us in the office world. We’re into the golden time now, when we get the murderer’s row of holidays. Labor Day, then two months to Thanksgiving. A month to Christmas, then a week to New Year’s. Two weeks to MLK Day, and a month to President’s Day. All these happy little breaks from the workaday routine, coming in like waves on the beach.
But then comes the slog. Three and a half months until we get Memorial Day. A month and a half to Fourth of July. And two months to Labor Day. The whole time spent remembering how summer used to mean no school, running around outside, staying up late, doing whatever you wanted. Three brief reminders of that blissfully irresponsible time amid a sea of same-old. Oh sure, we can take vacation during that time, but that’s taking time that already belongs to us. Holidays are a gift. And they come so seldom May to September.
Now I don’t spend every day at work looking longingly at the calendar hoping there’s a holiday on the horizon. It’s much more likely that I look forward to this rush of days off because they’re a part of a generally happier — and cooler — time of year. Everyone’s in a better mood, and they didn’t sweat to death walking from the parking lot to the office.
But I won’t deny that it sure is nice looking at 9:00 PM on a Sunday approaching and knowing you don’t have to get out of bed tomorrow.