No more graveyard

I started a new shift this month. I’m finally off graveyard and back to swing. But that’s not the best part–I’m working 4 ten-hour shifts per week.

I’ve been trying to get to a place where I can work a 4×10 schedule for a good six years now. Finally! Needless to say, I love my new shift.

I have Thursday, Friday, and Sunday off. It kinda sucks to have split days, but it’s still a helluva lot better than working 5 days a week.

It doesn’t bother me that my day is longer and I have less free time when I get home. To me, it’s a very small sacrifice to make in order to get that extra DAY free.

My typical day starts at 9am when the alarm goes off. I like to try to wake up as early as I can. This gives me four hours to get ready for work, as I have to be at my desk at 1pm. I hate to be rushed, and I hate to be late, so I like having plenty of time to do my business.

Getting up earlier than I need to also makes it easier to wake up early on my days off. If I’m used to waking up at 9 every morning, it’s not impossible for me to get up at 7 if I want to get an even earlier start on my day.

Swing is the perfect shift to avoid traffic, which I despise. I lived in the Los Angeles area for 10 years. Stop and go traffic daily, seemingly round-the-clock. That was absolute misery. So now I’m on swing shift and I have no traffic at all going to work or coming home.

I work my ten hours, with a 30 minute lunch, and I’m off at 11:30pm. It takes me about 50 minutes to drive the 50 miles back to Manteca (in no traffic!). Everything is closed after midnight, so I don’t go anywhere else–I just go home.

I make and eat dinner, then I have 45 minutes to play a game or read, then I go to bed at around 2am. Seven hours later the alarm goes off and I do it all over again.

I don’t ever want to go back to working a 5×8 shift, regardless of the working hours or the days off.

Footsteps

I’m sitting at Starbucks this morning with my iPad, finishing my coffee, and watching the sun come up. It’s 6am. I’m hungry. I decide to walk to my favorite breakfast joint, about a mile away.

The sky is lit up. It’s beautiful. It’s warm already. It’s going to be really hot today. I start walking.

I like walking. It’s the only time I can think clearly. Otherwise I have too many distractions in my life–iPad, computer, cell phone, Kindle, trying to pay attention while driving, etc. I’m pretty good at walking, and I can think at the same time.

Lately there have been a lot of things on my mind that need to be thought through. I’m looking forward to my 30 minute walk. I’m enjoying the morning breeze, I’m walking, and I’m thinking about stuff.

Then I pass a side street and notice a sketchy looking guy walking in my direction. I hope he doesn’t turn my way. I make a mental note and keep walking.

I pass a car parked on the side of the street with its windows rolled down. I can feel that guy behind me. I keep walking.

Just when I’m sure that dude would be passing the car behind me, I turn around and see him stopped, head and hands inside of the car. I don’t like this.

I keep walking.

I can feel that guy behind me now. I can hear his footsteps. He’s walking faster than me. He’s going to overtake me. This makes me a bit nervous.

I cross the street.

He crosses the street.

I shift my iPad sleeve to my left hand. I reach down with my right hand and feel the handle of my folding tactical blade clipped in my front pocket. I remember all the times I’ve practiced deploying this knife, removing it from my pocket, flicking open the blade, gripping the pocketknife firmly.

Now the guy is right behind me, coming up on my right side. He’s walking in the street, a few feet away from me, looking ahead and behind him.

I know what he’s doing. He’s sizing me up. He wants to know what I’m carrying. He’s wondering if I’m a victim. He’s looking for an opportunity.

I turn to look him in the eye, my face expressionless. I face forward again.

I keep walking.

My pulse quickens. I’m not afraid. I’m doing my best to remain calm. I’m ready. I remember the years of Karate in Long Beach, and I focus on controlling my breathing. I’m confident.

I can see that this guy looks like a young Charles Manson. He’s strung out on something. He speaks.

“Hey man, how’s it goin’?”

At this point I’m angry. All I wanted was to walk in peace to my favorite diner for some eggs and bacon. I was counting on some good alone-time to clear my head. And this guy has just fucked that plan all the hell up.

I turn to him, look him straight in the eye, and say, “So far, so good.” I fondle the clip of my knife. I hope he sees it.

Then I add, “Let’s keep it that way” and give him my best you-don’t-want-to-fuck-with-me-pal smile.

My face is again a blank slate. Chest out, shoulders back, right hand at my side. Ready. I will not be a victim, I tell myself silently.

A moment later meth-dude wisely crosses the street. I look over my shoulder and see him turn down a side street and disappear.

And I keep walking.

Sizes

I can never find my size in any store. I have an XXXL sized head and size 14-15 feet. Nobody ever has my size.

I get so mad when I see something I like in a place like Bass Pro Shop. When I ask if they have a bigger size, the answer is always “everything we have is out on the floor”.

No wonder actual physical stores are becoming less and less common. Who wants to waste time driving down to Big5 when you can just buy what you need online?

Searched through a stack of hats today. They were all labeled “One Size Fits Most”. I think they were all mediums. Sigh.

Rant over.