I hated Mondays, dreaded Mondays. There was just something about Mondays that was dreary- the jam was too heavy, the tea was cold, and the alarm never ever sounded when it should have-I always arrived in office in a huff! Thursdays were always brilliant days, it was the day before Friday- such a lovely day, Friday. I got to do the things I loved after Friday- that is until I met a group of people who lived for Mondays.
Joining the work force, my script read ‘I hate Mondays,’ it even came with a t-shirt. My role was to carry a scowl on Monday that would slowly transform into a brilliant smile by Friday. I was born for this role. I loved it.
Some where in the vague memory of my kindergarten years, even in my foggiest part, this song will play. I sang it and performed it for my parents, gleefully with all the actions. Ad nauseum.
Slave, Slave in America
Working day-,day and night,
Planting sugar-,sugar and tea,
When I was in America.
Later, in life, I wonder why we sang this song at all and its sum total value, but I was way past my formative years and it was clear, there would be no America for me.
Even though America was deleted as an option for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,- working day and night became equal to slavery. The pursuit of happiness was what my 8-5 work week was, I went through the drudgery of work to enjoy by blissful weekends.
THANK GOD IT’S FRIDAY!
That is until I met a group of people who loved Mondays. These people were high on something, all excited and uppity on a Monday. They had big plans for the week and high hopes. They were go-getters. My bosses who always saw things in me that I didn’t, placed me in this team.
Oh my, it was harrowing at first. At first, and then it got a bit exciting. Just a bit.
The team leader had a right fit mentality, she placed people where they fit best for team and for their competencies. She was quick to catch on my love for data and systems, the last person had gone on leave. I was immediately placed in her role. Big shoes to fill because this was the year BC, Before Computers. Everything was calculated manually first and then you lined up for the few computers. Did I mention that this team loved their work? Getting to a computer was a hustle, however, I had a window of opportunity, each time they went to the field, I had the computer to myself. Life was good.
Not only did these guys love Mondays, they loved Fridays. The goal was to have all reports in by midday, Friday. Friday afternoons in office were ghostly, yes, with skeleton staff. These guys partied hard. My kinda people. So we worked hard and we partied hard, Monday morning, we all appeared fresh and pimped for the week. If you are looking for the leaves we were chewing, check out @living la vida loca.
As a testimony to Newton’s 3rd law of motion, the party extended across borders. I would board Akamba for Nairobi on Friday and be back, Sunday evening. For all the energy I was expending at work, I needed an equivalent amount or even more happiness to replenish it. Nairobi, it was.
True to Ricky Martin’s lyrics, she wore me out. You cannot keep those wheels on the bus running, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week and 365 days a year. This was slave, slave, slave all over again. I gave Ricky Martin back his leaves, lyrics and t-shirt. I picked up Kenny Roger’s The Gambler, I knew when to walk away.
There is a series running at Worship Harvest called #somekamoney. Check it out here,no more slave, slave, slave.