Once you’ve clocked 9 hours in uniform, even the vending machine starts judging you. It’s not just driving time that drags, it’s everything in between. Here’s why I stick to 39 hours and refuse overtime, no matter the pressure.
Introduction
I’m three months into a 12-month rethink of my overtime habits. After a steady drip of minor incidents, not enough to make headlines, but enough to make me think twice, I’ve realised piling on extra hours isn’t just about padding the pay packet. It’s about keeping my focus sharp, my sanity intact, and most importantly, everyone on the road safe.
I know the desk staff might be throwing me the occasional side-eye, wondering why I’m not jumping at every chance to work overtime. If only money grew on trees, I’d be first in line. But unfortunately, it doesn’t. What does grow (or at least what I’m fiercely guarding) is my peace of mind, and a scrap of sanity after years of long shifts and minimal downtime.
I’m at that point in life where I’d rather enjoy a bit of living than burn the candle at both ends. I’ve done my time, maybe not for this company, but my stint in aviation is behind me, and now I’m looking out for number one.
This job demands more than a licence and a heartbeat. It takes sharpness, patience, and a mental state that doesn’t implode when the next passenger boards lugging half their belongings.
So yes, I’m politely declining some overtime. I’m putting safety and mental health above a few extra quid. Because at the end of the day, the safest driver is the one who’s not just alert but sane enough to keep it that way.
And if that means facing a few mildly annoyed glares from the desk staff, well, that’s just part of the job.
Note: I’ll give credit where it’s due, the discipline policy is sharp and keeps everyone on their toes, which is exactly what you want in a safety-critical job.
That said, you can’t have your cake and eat it too. If the rules demand we stay sharp and rested, then pushing for overtime that chips away at that rest time is a tricky balance to strike.
Sometimes, saying no to extra hours isn’t just about me, it’s about respecting the very policies designed to keep us all safe.
Why I Stick to 39 Hours and Say No to Overtime
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| Conceptual metaphor showing the effects of driver fatigue and overtime. A melting stopwatch drips over a depot timetable, symbolising how spread time and unpaid downtime distort working hours. A hi-vis vest hangs beneath a flickering light, representing the overlooked burden on drivers. |
I work a solid 39 hours a week. That’s my contract, my routine, and my personal limit for staying sharp and safe behind the wheel. But here’s the thing: while my paid time, the hours I’m actually driving or performing duties, is usually under control, the spread time I spend in uniform, on the premises, waiting around adds up. It’s the difference between clocking in and clocking out, and it’s often longer than you’d think.
Despite this, the pressure to do overtime looms large. Colleagues, managers, and the rota itself nudge you toward grabbing extra shifts, usually on rest days or late finishes. But for me, saying no isn’t about being lazy or uncooperative. It’s a deliberate choice grounded in safety, because every extra hour I work raises the risk of an accident, and that’s a price I’m not willing to pay.
What’s the Difference Between Spread Time and Paid Time?
If you’re new to the jargon, here’s a quick rundown:
Paid time is the clock ticking while you’re actually doing the work, driving the bus, handling paperwork, or anything officially counted as “on duty.” It’s the time that ends up on your payslip and gets you paid.
Spread time, on the other hand, is the full stretch from when you sign on to when you finally clock off for the day. It includes your paid time, plus all those extra moments that don’t show up as paid work, like waiting around in the garage, sitting in your uniform, or watching the clock tick slowly during unpaid downtime.
Here’s what a typical day looks like for me:
- Spread time: about 9 hours and 15 minutes
- Paid time: around 7 hours and 48 minutes
- Unpaid downtime: roughly 90 minutes of what I like to call “uniform purgatory.”
That unpaid downtime isn’t exactly a break in the traditional sense. It’s the odd waiting periods, staggered starts, and forced pauses when you’re not behind the wheel but still in uniform and on the clock mentally.
So, while paid time is when you’re visibly busy, spread time captures the full length of your day, including those dull, unproductive chunks that wear you down just as much.
The Hidden Cost of Unpaid Downtime: Why Time Off the Wheel Isn’t Always Time Off Your Mind
I know that unpaid downtime between paid driving duties isn’t driving time. You’re off the wheel, usually parked in the garage, maybe thinking you’re catching a breather.
But here’s the kicker: late-time almost always eats into that downtime. Guaranteed, the bus is going to run late at some point, it’s just part of the game. So instead of a proper rest, you’re often stuck extending your day, waiting for the next trip or sorting last-minute bits, all while still in uniform and mentally on alert.
That downtime isn’t real rest. It’s a kind of standby fatigue, the kind that creeps up slowly and quietly drains your energy without giving you a proper chance to recharge.
Why does this matter for risk?
Fatigue isn’t just about how long you’ve spent driving. It’s about how long you’ve been on duty, physically present, in uniform, and mentally engaged, even if not actively driving.
When late-time cuts into your downtime, your spread time stretches out even longer. That means your brain and body get taxed well beyond your paid driving hours, and your overall crash risk climbs accordingly.
What the experts say
Transport safety studies back this up: accident risk ties closely to total time on duty (spread time), not just driving hours. The mental load of being “ready to go” but not fully resting adds to fatigue, slows reaction times, and clouds judgement, invisible risks piling up quietly behind the scenes.
Bottom line
That unpaid downtime isn’t a free pass to relax. With late-time nibbling away at it, it often feels more like a drawn-out waiting game, one that adds to your tiredness and chips away at your safety margin.
It’s another solid reason why I’m wary of overtime, because even my “off time” on a shift isn’t always truly off.
The Stats: How Extra Hours Increase Crash Risk
Let’s talk numbers, because when it comes to driving, the stats don’t lie, and neither does experience.
Research from UK transport safety agencies and studies on commercial drivers shows a clear pattern: your risk of crashing rises sharply once you go beyond 8 hours behind the wheel. It’s not just about tired eyes or aching backs, it’s about real, measurable increases in accidents linked to fatigue and long hours.
Here’s what the data tells us:
| Driving Time (per day) | Estimated Crash Risk Increase |
|---|---|
| 8 hours | Baseline (0%) |
| 9 hours | +16% |
| 10 hours | +32% |
| 11+ hours | +50% or more |
To put it plainly: if you drive 9 hours instead of 8, your risk of being involved in a crash goes up by roughly 16%. Drive 10 hours, and you’re looking at nearly one-third higher risk. Push past 11 hours, and the odds can be more than 50% worse.
But here’s the kicker: risk isn’t just about how long you’re actually on the wheel.
Fatigue builds during your total “spread time”, the full stretch from signing on to signing off. That includes all the unpaid downtime, waiting around, and the inevitable late running that nibbles into your rest.
Even if your paid driving time stays under 8 hours, if your spread time creeps up to 9, 10, or more hours, your brain and body are still paying the price. Mental alertness drops, reaction times slow, and judgement blurs, all quietly increasing your chance of an accident.
UK transport research confirms it’s the total duty time that counts most when assessing fatigue-related risk, not just the time spent driving.
So when someone asks you to work overtime or give up your rest day, remember: it’s not just “more hours”, it’s a serious jump in real risk that affects everyone on the road.
Why Overtime, Especially Rest-Day Overtime, Is Risky Business
In my line of work, overtime rarely means just sticking around an extra hour or two after a shift. More often, it’s about giving up a full rest day, turning what should be a proper break into a 9-hour-plus spread in uniform, doing another full shift.
Think about that: instead of a day to fully recharge, you’re asked to come in and do the whole routine again. It’s not just extra work, it’s a loss of recovery time that’s critical for staying alert and safe.
How losing rest days stacks up over time
Working extra rest-day shifts might seem like a one-off, but it adds up, and with each sacrificed rest day, your risk climbs. Here’s how:
| Frequency of Rest-Day Overtime | Extra Shifts Worked per Year | Total Workdays per Year | Rest Days Left | % Increase in Workdays | Estimated Annual Risk Increase |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Every week (1 per 1 week) | 52 | 284 | 52 | +22.4% | +25–35% |
| Every 2 weeks (1 per 2 weeks) | 26 | 258 | 78 | +11.2% | +15–20% |
| Every 3 weeks (1 per 3 weeks) | 17 | 249 | 87 | +7.3% | +12–18% |
| Every 4 weeks (1 per 4 weeks) | 13 | 245 | 91 | +5.6% | +10–15% |
| Every 5 weeks (1 per 5 weeks) | 10 | 242 | 94 | +4.3% | +8–12% |
If you’re asked to work even one rest day a month, you’re pushing your annual workload up by nearly 6%. That may not sound massive, but the fatigue it brings increases your crash risk by 10–15%, according to the research.
Push it further, say one rest day every week, and you’re looking at over a 20% increase in shifts worked and a risk rise of 25–35%. That’s a serious climb in the danger stakes.
Why this matters
Rest days are more than just a break from driving. They’re essential to resetting your body and mind, helping you recover from the physical and mental toll of the job.
Losing those rest days means less time to recover, and more time operating in a fatigued state, which is the kind of fatigue that sneaks up, dulls your reactions, and makes mistakes more likely.
For me, saying no to overtime isn’t about dodging work. It’s about knowing my limits, and keeping myself, my passengers, and the roads safer.
The Bottom Line: Safety Over Overtime
At the end of the day, it’s simple. I want to finish my shifts sharp, alert, and safe, not worn out and running on empty just because I chased a few extra hours.
Saying no to overtime isn’t about dodging work or being lazy. It’s a deliberate choice grounded in safety, for me, for my passengers, and for everyone sharing the road. After all, a driver who’s tired is a risk waiting to happen. The company benefits too: fewer incidents mean smoother operations, less downtime, and a better reputation.
Refusing overtime is not shirking responsibility. It’s taking responsibility seriously.
By respecting my limits, I keep the bus moving safely, the passengers secure, and myself in one piece at the end of the day.
And really, isn’t that what this job is all about?
What This Means for Drivers and Employers
At the end of the day, this isn’t just about clocking hours or chasing a few extra quid. It’s about understanding the very real risks that come with pushing tired drivers beyond their limits.
Employers, I get it, the buses need running, the rota needs filling, and the city’s pulse depends on us. But pushing drivers to sacrifice rest days and pile on overtime isn’t just short-sighted, it’s dangerous.
Respecting a driver’s decision to say “no thanks” to extra shifts isn’t about holding out for an easy payday. It’s a professional choice to prioritise safety, for themselves, their passengers, and everyone sharing the road.
So let’s keep the wheels turning safely. Because no amount of overtime pay is worth a cracked windscreen or a shattered confidence behind the wheel.
After all, a sharp driver is a safe driver, and that’s the best route for everyone.
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