So I work the night shift now, at my day job, which I suppose you could argue can no longer accurately be called that. This wasn’t really my idea, but neither was the attendant raise, which math suggests amounts to $0.03/hr, or an extra $1.20 per year, provided the increase doesn’t bump me up into another tax bracket. This arrangement is new, cool, good, and I’m fine with it.
Do you like how you can’t really tell if I’m into this arrangement or not? Because I might be. You don’t know if I love this. I seriously might. One day I’ll tell you what I really think about how it feels to work the night shift, in order to make money to continue to survive. The answer may surprise you.
Crazy shit happens after dark, naturally. Especially where I survey. People eating Fritos at the witching hour. A street gang called The Skunks comes out to fight with chains and batteries. If you enter a certain church at the right hour, Aeris from Final Fantasy VII flickers in your vision, as though she’d never left us. The racquetball courts are unattended and empty, which makes them fun to play games in. So are the outdoor basketball courts; I like the way my dribble echoes off of nearby buildings in the relative quiet. The Weather Channel starts playing some disgusting botfly human flesh extraction shit. The usual grammar breaks down as we tire; communication takes place often via knowing looks. The planes seem almost at times to fly themselves. That sliver of the moon on the horizon may be closer than it appears, and when the sun rises, it rises fast. Stranglers lurk and prowlers loom. I catch catnaps on a city bus. A street sweeper once challenged me to fight, and I destroyed her.
Praise Break for a Good Song:
This is an extremely selfish blog post. I only came here to kill time.
I’m reading this book today and it’s good, though at least one of the contributors seems like a real asshole. He’s won many awards for his writing, but for the most part, I don’t like it. You can’t afford to be as smug as he is in his writing, considering. You’re sort of working up from a deficit of charm, when you tried to kill your entire family. I’m a pretty freaking nice person, but I don’t think I’d shake that hand.
Photo Credit: EMS Today*
*I am not an EMT. For that matter, since we’re here, I am also not a cop, a toll booth operator, a restaurant manager, a gas station clerk, or a grocery store stockperson.