Orienting oneself to the stark change from weekend to weekday is hard enough. That’s why the transition can only be made somewhat seamlessly by being allowed the courtesy of a few solitary minutes to collect one’s thoughts and sip on coffee like a pacifier upon sitting at your
prison cell cubicle.
The asshole psycho who violates this extremely valuable and sacred window of time by talking to you and/or asking you to do something deserves a special circle in hell. Usually, it’s a boss type, but it can also be a chipper co-worker who wants to share what she did with you over the weekend (I say “she” because men rarely, if ever, do this). If your initial Monday minutes are violated, it sets the tone for an especially shittaytay week.