I am cleaning out my purse and dumping stuff on the kitchen table. Denny rubs my back affectionately as he walks by me. I trash a handful of receipts and Kleenexes and handi-wipe wrappers in the kitchen garbage under the sink. Then I return and pull a booklet I picked up at work out of my purse, “Finding Peace at Christmas.” I open it and read a line here and there, then put it in recycle. There was a time when I found those kinds of messages helpful.
I take the passports out of my purse. They are still in there from the last time we went shopping across the boarder. We always fill up on gasoline when we’re there. It’s cheaper than in Canada. I put the passports safely away.
I fill up my water bottle.
“Don’t forget your lunch,” Denny says cheerfully as he brings me a tiny bag from the refrigerator. He holds it out for me. The bag contains a Spanakopita. Yesterday he came home with one Spanakopita and a Butter Chicken Samosa for me. Denny likes to surprise me with food treats but this was a first.
“It’s minus three out there,” Denny warns me. “I just about froze my fingers off yesterday when I went for a walk.”
“I forgot to get the keys made,” I announce in dismay, as I remember I had planned to make duplicate keys yesterday for new tenants renting space in our building.
“Can you get those done on the way to work?”
“Yes, but I’ll be late then.”
“Well, it’s part of work. It should be your hours.”
That’s the part I haven’t figured out. How do I get paid for the extra hours I put in? Never mind pay for the extra hours Denny puts in working for me.
The thing with a non-profit is that it runs on volunteers. With all those volunteers, what’s an extra free hour of work on my part here or there? It was assumed when I was hired that I would volunteer. And I know I allow myself to be guilted into it.
Taking Denny’s advice I text my boss and tell him I’ll be a half hour late because I’m getting keys made. I grab my spanakopita and smile as I head out the door. Not a bad idea, Denny. The spanakopita, and texting my boss.