Oh, Sweet Misery

It’s 3am. I have off from the police job tonight, yet I am awake.

I am 12 hours into a 15 hour security shift at a local music event.

It is raining, so I am camped in my car, watching an intersection at my post out my windshield, and looking for oncoming headlights in my rear view mirror.

Beside me in the passenger seat is a soggy paper plates with three slices of cold pizza, one thoroughly gnawed on, my dinner…or breakfast. Who can tell anymore.

Every time a car comes up from behind me, I jump out into the rain, stop it, and find out the driver’s destination, and check their credentials. As the hour grows later, the frequency of this task lessens, even as the rain gets ever harder.

I had originally signed on for a 3pm-11pm shift. Somewhere around 10:30, my supervisor drove up in his golf cart.

“Can you stay until 6am?” He asked. The person who had been set to relieve me for the overnight shift had apparently found something better to do.
“Can you find me coffee?”

He said he could, and I agreed to take on the extra hours. I literally traded 8 hours of sleep for a cup of coffee.

The coffee came, two hours later. Cold. With Splenda in it. I got the raw end of that deal.

So. Here I sit. Three hours to go in a rain-soaked shift watching a mostly empty parking lot, with cold food, no coffee, no company, and no phone charger, so wrapping up this little mobile update very soon is a good idea.

The kicker is, I keep volunteering for this stuff. The money isn’t great, so the added hours aren’t going to account for a whole heck of a lot. But someone needed to cover the shift. I was available. I don’t really mind doing it either. One might say I LIKE these long, boring, miserable jobs. Why though? Who can say. But I do. So here I am. And here I’ll stay. Cold, wet, tired, and without so much as a hot cup o’ joe for comfort.


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