Why Didn’t My Professor Tell Me About The 40 Hour Work Week Monster?

Somewhere along the endless lessons of Freud and APA formatting, I wish my professors would have taken a pause, possibly contemplated their existence as they looked upon the ceiling, then stared into my eyes and told me the real truth…about the 40-hour workweek.

I wish they would have told me how no matter how well your posture is, you will develop back problems. Someone should have explained that people do not develop bad eye sight only because of old age- that in actuality, the makers of computer screens and eye wear have banded together to take your money and your 20/20 vision.

No one tells you that bathroom breaks become escapes, where you scroll down your newsfeed liking the posts of the kid you went to high school with. It also becomes a temple of deep thought and awareness, where you wonder how the hell he is able to take a hike mid-week, mid-day with his German Shepherd.

What does he do? How does he feed himself? Do people exist outside the labyrinth of 9 to 5?

Professors do not even tell you about the frenemy, Lunch.


Lunch becomes that fun friend that you love to hang out with but simply cannot afford to. You know, the one who always orders the bottle of wine for the table, and says, “oh, just split the bill among us 6” to the waiter, although you only had some of the damn calamari. Lunch does not understand you cannot afford to eat out 4 days a week. He pretends to, he pulls you in with Taco-Tuesday deals, but in the end the bank account always knows.

The reality is that although the 40-hour workweek is awful, you learn to live within it (or at least I hope so). You realize that eye glasses can actually be quite stylish and release your inner Clark Kent. You learn the perfect amount of bathroom breaks you should take to make your bowel movements seemingly normal.

As far as the frenemy, you will learn how to feed it with enough attention and money, without having to file for bankruptcy… and you figure out that sometimes it’s just best to drink that glass of wine.

Eztli Izote

Eztli Izote

Eztli Izote is a San Francisco native who loves all things feline. As the eldest of four children, she has a trained sharp tongue and the ability to fight you for the last slice of pizza. She is a proponent of laughter induced snorting, huge kitchens, her grandma’s tamales, and believes that a sandwich always tastes better when someone else makes it for you.

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