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I'm working tomorrow.
I was tag-teamed into it.
First was a colleague appalled that she had to work on Boxing Day and advising me to check the schedule as she'd been put on it without her knowledge.
And me dancing around with joy because it turns out I wasn't.
Second was Mum being really dreary, convinced I'd told her I was working again before the end of the year, insisting that I checked. Then backing down when I agreed to go in and check, until I had to absolutely insist I was going in and asking.
Third was the floor manager on Friday, all wild eyed saying unless I'd specifically requested a shift after Christmas then I would not get one. But maybe? If I was free? They'd love me forever and want my babies if I might be able to do one?
Call me, I said, full of Christmas largesse and with pound signs ringing in my eyes.
And then fourth, M actually called. Please oh please and you are so wonderful.
Yes, of course I could work Boxing Day, no worries.
The day after? Oh, sorry, I'm going to my sister's. What time? Well, yes, if you're okay with me finishing at 14.00 then of course I can work.
So the short version is I am working 09.00-17.30 tomorrow.
A shift I would never have agreed to under any other circumstances.
Longer than I do at school. FAR longer than I have ever done at Boots before. The worst time of year for a shift, and such a long shift, in the very dead of winter. All this is folly. Apols TS Eliot.
But hey, the kerching still sounds.
There are probably paragons of virtue out there who don't overspend at Christmas. But I'm not one of them, and money, money, money will help in 2012.
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