Monday, April 11, 2005

Notes from the Ground Zero at Corporate Hell (Part VII)

Today, life threw me another curve ball from the mound of Corporate Hell. However, this pitch was something that I have been looking forward to and have been requesting for the better part of three diligent months now – I have finally been transferred back to the day shift.

SAINTS BE PRAISED! I am back among the living once again. Nine o’clock to five-fucking-thirty PM - bitch. How sweet it that?

I am so thrilled to finally get back to somewhat of a normal lifestyle; one that allows me to, to, to…well, to do all the same nonexistent shit that I never do normally, except it will still be light outside while I’m not doing it.

Whatever – I’m tickled fucking pink.

But at the stroke of my 9:00AM days beginning all that could really be said about me at that point was, that I was awake, functioning somewhat, and had still managed to not kill anybody yet. So far, it’s only onward and upward!

It’s been months since I’ve graced the building anytime before noon, and I’m excited to once again join the ranks of the daytime wage donkeys. I missed all the usual daytime shenanigans: the line ups for the boiling kettle, the red cracked eyes peering at you from over Tim Horton coffee mugs, the ferocious eagerness in which they attack their computers while they work, the adjusting and re-adjusting of the numerous possible desk chair settings, the straightening out of tilted kitty calendar’s hanging on cubicle walls – Holy Christ, I could on forever!

Oh, how I missed it! All that’s missing now is some crotchety nicotine stained harpy of a woman on the opposite side of the room screaming, “OKAY, LET’S ROCK AND ROLL!” to signal the stampede to begin the work day.

The king is back, baby!

I won’t particularly miss the evening shift – it’s an entirely different lifestyle, and by far the more evil of the scheduling beasts.

The evening and late night employee’s are a different breed. They are slower, mistrusting, and cranky. They are prone to loud indiscrete discussions about their work gripes and grievances as well as how many bong hits they did the night before after work. The day timers in comparison are more focused and determined. They prefer waiting to air their dirty laundry until their lunchtimes and instead keep their bong-hit calculations to themselves. Besides, who can remember correctly afterwards if it’s being done properly anyways, right?


Day timers are the more advanced of the species. You can immediately tell by the steep foreheads, prominent chins, smaller eyebrow ridges, and a distinct lack of magazines featuring Paris Hilton on the cover. They tend to prefer crosswords, scooping out the competition, and biting their nails in comparison. Oh, and chances are that they won’t be wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with gaping orifices and demonic skulls either.

It’s like comparing Albert Einstein to Cro-Magnon man.

Day timers are just higher functioning, despite the noticeable lag in my step and the fact that I still haven’t taken my sunglasses off yet two hours into my shift, that is.

Don’t get me wrong, after 16 years of bartending the four world continents, I have the late night instincts of an owl; but there are just too many perks to ignore in transferring to the day shift. Getting to walk home in the fading daylight, sunset BBQ’s, and the fact that my skin won’t be so pale and pasty having been exposed to more sunlight regularly, and hence, manufacturing those all-important vitamins D and E.

And I’m all about the fuckin’ D’s and E’s let me tell you!

Hopefully in time, I will learn to not recoil from the suns rays like a tardy vampire each time I leave the building on my way home. For the first week or so, I will have to wear a lead apron on my walk to work just so that I don’t wither down into a pile of salt.

The real difficult thing about switching to the daytime shift is adjusting my sleep schedule so that I can manage to achieve something resembling REM sleep sometime before the crack of dawn.

It was a real LONG night last night, and I am expecting more to come in the coming nights ahead. I spent about four hours last night just staring at the ceiling and counting imaginary sheep by the thousands until I was able drift off to la-la land; and even then, I had bizarre dreams of lawnmower riding sheep in sunglasses that would rival any Mentos commercial!

So, at the time of this journal entry, I was barely conscious after maybe a three-hour slumber. Gradually, after four or five cups of strong-ass coffee, I’m just as awake and alert as if somebody had just suddenly poured grapefruit juice straight into my eye sockets!

Give me a few weeks for my body and my life functions to readjust accordingly, and I’ll once again transition into the dominant Silverback that I am accustomed to being in this corporate-inspired ‘Call Center of the Apes’.


Post a Comment

<< Home