The race that stops a nation. (Except the self employed)

I haven’t worked full time in an office since 1998. I spent a day in TAFE’s offices on Wentworth Avenue doing some freelance writing stuff but convinced them I’d be much more productive at home after the florescent lighting and recycled air started messing with my mind.

I can’t say that I miss the grind of commuting. Or spending the day in a grey cubicle, popping out briefly for a snatched sandwich. But I do miss the social interaction of working in an office – especially the camaraderie and gallows humour that develops when you work for a really crap company.

And I really miss Melbourne Cup day.

The morning is spent buying and selling tickets in the office sweepstakes and maybe popping out to the TAB to put on a ‘proper’ bet.

Lunch starts early and lasts until the race begins sometime around 3 pm. (If you’re lucky the boss supplies the chicken and champagne.)

And then after the race – a ten minute blip in proceedings – the rest of the afternoon is spent avoiding work: By collecting your winnings, talking about Sandra Sulley’s dress, or finishing off the champagne and chicken.

At five everyone drifts off home, taking an early mark by using the excuse that no-one in Australia is at their desks to take your calls anyway.

It’s like taking a holiday but still getting paid.

I gathered a group of self-employed friends together once to try and recreate that race day vibe. Everyone chipped in for a bucket of KFC and a couple of bottles of Lambrusco. But because they were all on deadline they arrived just as the race started and left the moment it ended. It was all a bit anti-climactic. And I had red stained teeth and popcorn chicken for dinner for the rest of the week.

I wouldn’t go back to my old life if you paid me. But around about this time each year I get a little sentimental about the slackest day in the Aussie working calendar – the first Tuesday in November.

So have a glass of cheap bubbly for me, will you?

And make sure your boss is paying.