So I waited, and waited, by my office door, waiting for the owner to finish his conversation and start leaving. I feel awkward about one of the other programmers, who has to walk past me many times to get results from his job runs, and I finally explain I'm waiting for the owner; he knows how hard it can be to catch him. Other employees from far below, on the first floor, come up, and sometime later leave. I explain to one what I'm doing and he mentions that the owner's on the phone (I could hear; he's actually talking with the client for whom my current becalmed project is for and seems to be describing the presentation we'd heard Thursday), but I explain it's a private matter and I don't feel I should interrupt for this. He understands.
I keep waiting. I duck into my office to move my mouse periodically, getting the screensaver off. I find my little notepad to take out my notes from when I was hired, with the cryptic notes about my skipped pay raise, in case I have to make a better case to the owner that the raise should have existed. And I wait. And ... realize I need to go to the bathroom. Badly. More waiting. More people coming and going. I need to go. I also realize the laws of universal irony are that the minute I spend in the bathroom will be when the owner vanishes for the weekend. I'm missing The Edgar Bergen/Charlie McCarthy Hour on my old-time radio station. I give in, going to the bathroom, hoping that the first-floor person aware I needed to talk to the owner will be a catch in case the owner vanishes while I'm occupied. The owner stays on the phone, though, and the first-floor guy comes up again before that meeting finally breaks up. As the office manager, owner, and first-floor guy leave I nearly catch the owner's attention, and the first-floor guy mentions I needed to talk, so that's started out well.
I start out talking about the scheduled pay raise, which the owner remembers. This seemed to me the most important point, since if he didn't remember it then everything would be harder. I explain it hadn't gone through and he's upset by it: it was just an oversight (I knew it would) and he'll get it fixed, though I should remind him and his secretary Monday to make sure of it. (I assume by ``Monday'' he means ``the next time I'm in the office'', which might be any day of any week.) He starts to leave but I carry the conversation on, saying that after a lot of thought I'd be happy to keep working at my old rate if I could drop to four days a week instead.
Supporting my case, I note, is that there's no real deadline pressure for anything right now and I would certainly go back to five-days if the workload demanded, but ... and he agreed, with my project as it is simply waiting for information from a company that doesn't seem to know how to distribute it I'm not very usefully occupied. Also I point out that right now, the extra pay wouldn't make me quite as happy as the prospect of up to two long weekends per month with bunny_hugger, which he smiles at. And as I point out, we could just try it for a few months to see how it works out. I'm aware that anything tried out for three months straight will likely become permanent, just from the company's general loose attitude about everything. But I also think my productivity won't radically change on a four-day schedule. Unstated is I probably do as much actual work as I did when I came in only three days per week, and that workload I could have done in maybe a day and a half if you take out time spent on Usenet and reading books.
So, he wants to think it over and we may chat about it again ``Monday'', although it seems good to him on the initial impression. I'm hopeful that it will stay good.
Trivia: Over the 1915 baseball season only four American League teams, three or four National League teams (depending on the reports one reads), and two Federal League teams (Chicago and Saint Louis) made money. Source: The Jersey Game: The History of Modern Baseball From Its Birth To The Big Leagues In The Garden State, James M DiClerico, Barry J Pavelec.
Currently Reading: More Stories From The Hugo Winners, Volume II, Editor Isaac Asimov. This is stories from the late 60s/1970, when a lot of stories went for all wobbly weird mass bizarre stuff, but I find I'm grokking the stories a lot better than when I was a teenager and read the same stories. (I'd hope I'm a better reader than back then, anyway.)