Today concludes the end of my week-long annual leave break from work. To help out my American family and friends, annual leave is the term given to paid days off from your job. Here in the UK, there is a minimum number of annual leave days you’re entitled to by law, so there really isn’t much to compare it to back in the US, where, depending on your employer and contract, you can have little to none of what you would call “vacation days”. However even vacation is a little misleading, because the American varieties of “vacation” can either come in the paid or unpaid form.
Everywhere I’ve worked, I’ve had 25 days of annual leave minimum. That amounts to just under a month. They’re awarded annually, and if you change or move jobs they’re calculated pro rata. How and when you use these days is largely up to you and your boss, but from my experience, if you give them enough notice they’ll work with you to sort out a plan of action. What’s more is that these annual leave days are also distinct from “sick days,” which you can claim should illness befall you at any time.
Even though I’ve used the word “work” to imply I’m speaking just for the industrial sector, I also had my PhD supervisor urge me that this applies to doctoral students, too. And woe betide the person who wants to interfere with a UK employee or doctoral student’s annual leave – these days are sacred. My brother-in-law once told me that although he believed he’d get a better salary working in the US, he couldn’t justify giving up all the days off. And rightly, so – my father and mother, who owned their own small business, took a small vacation every year, where we often went to the Gulf Coast or Disney World, but this rarely lasted longer than a week and they were among the lucky ones. I also remember my friends' parents complaining about their difficult working environments and conditions, with little time to relax and recouperate. I also recall these same parents complaining about the lax “European” work ethic found in Italy, Germany, Spain, France, and the UK.
That said, it probably won’t surprise you that I’ve also had every employer remind me (incessantly) to take my annual leave, or to ask why I hadn’t come to them to schedule it. Given what I’ve already written, it’s safe to assume that the idea is alien to me, or at least remote from the forefront of my mind. I have to be reminded because it’s not something I’m used to – further, it’s not something that, until five years ago, I’d really been exposed to. I get the strange chuckle from time to time when I explain my predicament and ask “Well, do I have to take annual leave? Can’t I just sell those days back?” To which they respond: “So American! No you can’t!” I do wonder if they fear I’m onto something and will soon upset the status quo. So, I politely tell them random days on the calendar that I selected via dart throwing to make them happy, and I somehow manage to burn through 25 days of annual leave.
So, what does one do on annual leave? Well, if you want the single, unmarried perspective, I couldn’t tell you. It involves drinking, partying, visiting uni friends, and perhaps a beach? I guess. For the wed among us, however, its some combination of extra pram trips, the occasional day trip to visit friends, lots of cleaning, side projects you’ve been meaning to get to, making a website, buying more books, taking a training course, and texting one of the people who reports to you “Hey! What are you guys doing? I’m bored.” Only to be angrily texted back with “You’re on holiday. Go away.” They don’t want me to upset the status quo, either. It’s a conspiracy.
My experience will assuredly be different than most. My sister, for instance, would use this opportunity to plan trips, absorb culture, take-in the landscapes of the Italian coastline, and more. I’m the terrible combination of constantly wanting to do something and feeling guilty for not having something to show for a time investment. The strangest thing to me is that when my wife sees me on annual leave, she doesn’t insist I actually do anything. I would expect a list of chores, errands, or helping-hands items. But she doesn’t. Every day this week, she’s been off to work as normal, smiling, saying “Enjoy your leave!” and “See you tonight!” Then the door closes and she drives away, and I’m left staring out the window like a dog or cat whose owner pets them goodbye. And like a dog or cat, I’ve learned to curl up, not text my reportees, and nap.