I'd like to hear more about your experiences at this place. As someone who used to do night work, I can vouch for that special, deep brand of lonely that comes with the territory, along with the special bond one has with other night workers. Thanks, Damon.
Working on another one, Paul. I am glad you enjoyed the read. And yes, there is a special bond with or between night workers. I am not sure exactly what it is or what causes it, but it's something like sharing a secret between friends.
Welcome back to America. Your description of your work intrigues me. Are you the one who cuts up the fruit for the clamshells in produce, the melons and berries, and apple slices, etc. You are the master of the feast, my friend, and I appreciate your efforts. Thank you.
I am the one who cuts the fruit, yes, melons and pineapples. Then I prep grapes and cherries and wash the berries. I am attentive and work hard. But it's a paycheck. I haven't met a writer yet who doesn't need one.
Like I said, you are the master of the feast. You make the produce attractive and useful to all of us who buy it. You also cut the waste of fruit that may be just a tad older than prime. If you didn't, think of the garbage, the massive amount of edible food going to the landfill. It's more than a paycheck, Damon. Much much more.
there was a time in my life I was a Respiratory Therapist working in a community hospital in southern calif. I worked the day shift, 7a-3p - which looking back now working those hours was almost like a part time job. occasionally I was called in to cover during the night shift - 11p-7a. While during the day the hospital was humming with activity, doctors doing rounds, nurses awakening patients for vitals, tests, care. scores of people in the hallways, visitors, lab technicians, gurneys transporting patients to tests or surgery and back. it was a living, breathing place of humanity. but, at night all was quiet, and darker, lights dimmed, sounds became muted, it seemed the ghosts of the day remained in an unsettling way. those that worked the night shift were a different breed. a bit unsocial, gruff, loners - and they liked it that way. the hospital seemed like a totally different animal at night and I felt unwelcome there. I always felt relieved when I left for home. (you know how I feel about this piece, damon. one of your best!)
I labored many years while the world slept. Working those night hours added a heaviness and depth to the job. Sometimes that depth actually provided a relaxed contentment, but more often the strange stillness induced a melancholy that I could only soothe with the background static of an all night AM sports radio/talk show and then a post-shift six-pack of Miller High Life.
There is a moment when something (the soul? the body?) settles, but it's a moment only. And what is it about those all night sports radio/talk shows? I worked a security job years ago--all night shifts--and I appreciated those shows. I anticipated them, got excited for them, like waiting on a call from a friend.
What a glorious, poignant slice of life. You captured something so lovely here, Damon. (Hearing "Stuck With You" in this fashion would reduce me to tears as well. What a specific musical time capsule!)
Isn't the music strange? Lately, I've been wondering if I had worked this job in the 90's would I be hearing The Righteous Brothers or The Beatles or Doris Day? Today I heard Mr. Mister's "Broken Wings" and thought, of course I am hearing "Broken Wings." By the tenth cantaloupe, Huey Lewis is a friend.
I'd like to hear more about your experiences at this place. As someone who used to do night work, I can vouch for that special, deep brand of lonely that comes with the territory, along with the special bond one has with other night workers. Thanks, Damon.
Working on another one, Paul. I am glad you enjoyed the read. And yes, there is a special bond with or between night workers. I am not sure exactly what it is or what causes it, but it's something like sharing a secret between friends.
Welcome back to America. Your description of your work intrigues me. Are you the one who cuts up the fruit for the clamshells in produce, the melons and berries, and apple slices, etc. You are the master of the feast, my friend, and I appreciate your efforts. Thank you.
I am the one who cuts the fruit, yes, melons and pineapples. Then I prep grapes and cherries and wash the berries. I am attentive and work hard. But it's a paycheck. I haven't met a writer yet who doesn't need one.
Like I said, you are the master of the feast. You make the produce attractive and useful to all of us who buy it. You also cut the waste of fruit that may be just a tad older than prime. If you didn't, think of the garbage, the massive amount of edible food going to the landfill. It's more than a paycheck, Damon. Much much more.
there was a time in my life I was a Respiratory Therapist working in a community hospital in southern calif. I worked the day shift, 7a-3p - which looking back now working those hours was almost like a part time job. occasionally I was called in to cover during the night shift - 11p-7a. While during the day the hospital was humming with activity, doctors doing rounds, nurses awakening patients for vitals, tests, care. scores of people in the hallways, visitors, lab technicians, gurneys transporting patients to tests or surgery and back. it was a living, breathing place of humanity. but, at night all was quiet, and darker, lights dimmed, sounds became muted, it seemed the ghosts of the day remained in an unsettling way. those that worked the night shift were a different breed. a bit unsocial, gruff, loners - and they liked it that way. the hospital seemed like a totally different animal at night and I felt unwelcome there. I always felt relieved when I left for home. (you know how I feel about this piece, damon. one of your best!)
Thank you, Tabby. I'm happy that the story talked to you, reminded you of other days and nights and of the people who were there.
I labored many years while the world slept. Working those night hours added a heaviness and depth to the job. Sometimes that depth actually provided a relaxed contentment, but more often the strange stillness induced a melancholy that I could only soothe with the background static of an all night AM sports radio/talk show and then a post-shift six-pack of Miller High Life.
There is a moment when something (the soul? the body?) settles, but it's a moment only. And what is it about those all night sports radio/talk shows? I worked a security job years ago--all night shifts--and I appreciated those shows. I anticipated them, got excited for them, like waiting on a call from a friend.
What a glorious, poignant slice of life. You captured something so lovely here, Damon. (Hearing "Stuck With You" in this fashion would reduce me to tears as well. What a specific musical time capsule!)
Isn't the music strange? Lately, I've been wondering if I had worked this job in the 90's would I be hearing The Righteous Brothers or The Beatles or Doris Day? Today I heard Mr. Mister's "Broken Wings" and thought, of course I am hearing "Broken Wings." By the tenth cantaloupe, Huey Lewis is a friend.
Gorgeous, Damon!
Thank you, Mr. John Julius Reel. It remains a pleasure to watch and hear your Book Rants.
Hilarious Beat America!