I finished off a piece of work early last week. At least I thought I had. Later on in the week the author got in touch to say he wouldn’t be able to read it before the end of the week, and would I be around on Saturday morning if he needed me? Of course, I said yes. Saturday morning is no trouble at all. The morning came and went and no word. By the time I went out around 4pm there was still nothing.
On Sunday morning I checked my mail, and lo’ and behold there was a message from him that had arrived around 9pm on Saturday night. As it wasn’t going to take very long, I grudgingly replied. Not because I didn’t have the time, but because I object to it being taken for granted that because I said I’d work on Saturday morning I was asked to work on Sunday morning. Mid-afternoon there was a follow-up to ask if I’d finished working on the translation? What? It turned I’d overlooked the attachment to the morning mail.
To cut the story short, I did the work but pointed out to the author that it wasn’t very healthy for either of us to be working on Sunday. And, in fact, if it hadn’t been raining he wouldn’t have had a response at all. I would have been half-way up a mountain somewhere, admiring the view.
It’s another little lesson learned. Next time I tell someone I’ll be available to work on Saturday morning, I must finish the sentence with something like, ‘but I’ll be away horse-back riding for the rest of the weekend’.