August 15, 2023, Tuesday—
I started the warehouse nightshift. I asked my trainer Ed last week if nights were really different—if everyone had mohawks, and fought in Thunderdomes on breaks.
“Yes!” he said.
It turned out to be more ghosty, half the people, and tasks that tie up loose ends at the end of day. The room with AC and six microwaves has blinds, and there’s only one window I’ve noticed in the ceiling, Aisle 25, maybe, so it was hard to tell it was night.
Except at 9 pm, when I wanted to sleep. We could hear the rain, though. No Thunderdomes, but definitely thunderstorms.
I told Ed that “I rule the night, now,” but a slight lady in her 60s with a maroon crewcut and pink sweatsuit has seniority (one year). She’s super kind, and introduced me to every other human there. A fellow list-picker named Peyton surprised me with all the break times.
I had to load 80 items at Dock 2 before I could leave early, so she helped. I set the items on the floor, and a dude put them on the pallet. She walked powerfully, twirling the crudely welded “chopper” we use to reach boxes. “We don’t leave anyone behind on night shift.”
I’d like to doodle on break every day. The area is on the edge of the interesting things to see.
When it was time to sleep—Rachel had outfitted the guest room with blackout curtains. Ugh, her dedication to to wellness (Huberman video on jetlag and shift work) and her care for me is boundless. She’ll use the room too when she gets odd shifts.
I napped there this afternoon, and dreamed I was flying through a canyon. Also, that my mom wanted me to draw Frank Sinatra for a mural (a la Al Hirschfeld). Last night, I dreamed kitty was replicating in an elevator, but I could easily scoop all of him up.
Everything’s weird right now.