I think I know why the Boss believes he can fax me a six- or ten- or fifty-page letter to type at six o'clock at night and expect me to get right to work on it. It's because I do it. Every time, even if I've settled in for the night, even if I've gone to bed early (well, it could happen), I do it. Whatever he wants he gets. So he keeps wanting, and expecting.
Tonight I was in no mood. I hadn't gone to bed early, but I had fallen asleep in my chair. And I'd already put in a full day's work, fetching and carrying and bringing him his pipe and slippers. I didn't want to do it, but I did it. I grumbled and complained (to myself), but his precious six- or ten- or (okay, really) three-page letter got itself typed and faxed back.
To punish him, I waited half an hour before I started working on the letter. He'll never know, but maybe he'll revise his expectations the next time he wants work done after hours. If I hadn't done it at all, he might have swallowed his expectations altogether, but I guess I'll never know. I always seem to cave.