Last Saturday was supposed to be my last working Saturday, at least for a few months, and I had plans to go check out the Museum of Arts & Design with friend Courtney today, followed by a late lunch and a bit of a wander. But a coworker's mother was hospitalized yesterday afternoon and I offered to take her shift today, and so here I am in the office staring at a computer screen instead of skipping around midtown. (Not that I'm really complaining at all -- as much as it sucks to work in a subterranean lair on nice days, it sucks way more to be in the hospital with one's mother.)
I don't often work on Saturdays, though I have been for the last month or so. As always, I duck into Hamilton Deli for a cup of coffee before heading in to the library, but unlike on weekday mornings I rarely recognize the guys working there on Saturdays.
Today, though, my guy was there! He looked as surprised to see me come traipsing in as I looked to see him grinning behind the counter, and then he refused my money. Because anyone forced to work on a day like this, he said, deserves at the very least a coffee on the house.
And besides, who am I kidding? I hate being in the summer sunshine.