Philosophically speaking, I'm not big
on the concept of free will right now. It's a long story and quite
frankly my knowledge on the philosophical aspects of free will pretty
much hinges on an educational series of You Tube videos and
discussions with my twenty-two year old son who digs the subject like
I do Star Trek. Seriously, my son has read all the big names
in philosophy and can have a coherent conversation on the subject
while I sound like poor white trash talking about the UFO that flew
over the trailer park the night before.
On the other hand, the concepts of
destiny or fate seem like superstitious nonsense to me. If anything,
I tend to liken human existence to water molecules vibrating in a
glass. There is some movement but our choices are limited to the
circumstances we're born. I realized that's just the half-assed
opinion of a middle-aged guy marooned in a pleasantly hellish
suburban landscape filled with proto-facist drones, but everyone has
to have a hobby.
My doubts about destiny or fate
notwithstanding, somehow over the course of my entire work history I
have found a way to end up on third-shift. Yes, a couple of times the
choice was intentional, since the alternative was worse, but more
often than not situations have arisen that seem to seek out my sorry
ass and stick me with a vampire-like existence.
For those who aren't acquainted,
third-shift hours usually run from eleven o'clock at night to seven
o'clock in the morning. Variations abound, including a twelve hour
version that starts at seven o'clock in the evening and runs to the
next morning. What also can vary is the start of the work week, but
over the years mine have always began on Sunday night. The one
consistency though is how badly working nights can screw with your
physical and mental health.
These dangers start with an increased
likelihood of cancer and heart disease when the natural metabolic
cycles of the human body get screwed six ways to Sunday because
third-shift workers are going against millions of years of evolution
by not sleeping at night. Scientists recently found another monkey
wrench banging around in the delicate human mechanisms that's even
more fun. Researchers have discovered that during normal night time sleep
cycles, the brain flushes out harmful wastes that if left in place
can cause all sorts of nifty illnesses like Alzheimer's disease and
several others. So those of us working night are not only wrecking
our physical bodies but the brain as well. This new information does
seem to confirm my wife's assumptions that I have a loose, inert
jello swishing around between my ears and not active brain cells.
What I've found fascinating though is
the number of people who can't fathom the concept of working
third-shift, nor the hassles involved. This includes numerous
coworkers of mine who can't understand why I don't want to hang out
with them until their nine o'clock morning meetings. Well, to be
honest not staying for the morning meeting goes beyond just wanting
to go home at the end of my shift to sleep. Despite the fact that my
daytime coworkers all think highly of themselves, I'll be kind and
say they aren't the most enlightened or cosmopolitan people. So I
don't enjoy hearing about their views on the “proper” treatment
of illegal aliens nor how every school in America needs to a heavily
armed encampment. You can call me a snob if you want or a snowflake
elitist, I'm just not keen on turning the country into a continent-wide weapons free zone dotted with fortress-like concentration camps.
Sleeping through the day, while most
other humans are living normal lives is a whole other order of
magnitude of difficulty. That is unless you develop certain
strategies and methods. The first item is installing shades and
blackout curtains to limit sunlight into the bedroom. These methods
do not block all light but it reduces it down to the point to a dark
twilight. That your bedroom takes on the atmosphere and mood of a
tomb is something you learn to ignore.
Sounds from the outside world is the
biggest obstacle to sleeping during the day. So much that I have
developed an intense hate for the person who invented the motorized
leaf blower. The sound of the average lawn mower has a white noise
quality and in my experience, the noise of a motorized weed whackers
quickly fades into the background. But leaf blowers, those insidious
creations makes a persistent nightmarish noise at just the right
frequency to make sleep impossible. The smaller leaf blowers used by
home owners are bad enough sounding like a swarm of mutant bees. But
the big commercial version used by lawn care services remind me of a
shrieking demon set loose on earth and wanting to party.
Then of course, you have the usual
disturbances which includes phone calls, trucks and cars driving
through the neighborhood sharing their music, and people who knock on
your door for some reason. Phone calls can be ignored, except when two or three hit close together. That's when the little voice
whispers in my head as I try to sleep it might have been something
important like my wife with a flat tire or one of the kids getting
sick. So I jump up, fumble for the phone, only to discover it's some
fool offering a great deal on life insurance.
Trucks and cars are a unique obstacle
to sleeping during the day in that civility and human decency has
decayed to the point that far too many people do not realize no one
really wants to hear their musical playlist. That goes for every genre
including heavy metal, country music, electronic dance, experimental
jazz, besides the usual rap and hip hop. Now I wouldn't mind someone
playing a selection of soft classical music as they drove by, but if
that every happened my new concern would be that I suddenly died.
The absolute worst hurdle to sleeping
during the day is the knock at the door. Most of my neighbors don't
think much of me, or I them, but I do have good relations with a
meager few with strict instructions from my wife to do nothing that
might alienate them. So when there is someone knocking at the door
who will not go away, I've got to answer it. Luckily this situation
is rare but there was an occasion when one of the good neighbors was
irate over the fact that she was convinced one of my two dogs
was loose and had taken a shit in her yard. It took me gathering up
my two fur balls and showing them to her to defuse the situation. Even
then, I could tell from the tone in her voice that she didn't totally
believe me. The other occasion involved the old lady living next
door who desperately wanted me to know one of my lawn sprinkler heads
was stuck. The issue for her was that the stuck sprinkler head was
watering a portion of her yard and driveway. Self righteous
justification is a dangerous thing, but I honestly feel at times my
hate for suburbia and the people who inhabit is based in fact.
The question you might be wondering
about is if third-shift is such a pain why don't I find another job?
A good damn question and my best answer revolves around the fact that
despite it all I actually like where I work. Most of previous work
experience was doing maintenance in the manufacturing industries
where it's always obvious you're just helping the rich elites and
that they will massively screw the workers the minute the economic
winds change direction for the worse. As a mechanical specialist in a
hospital, I feel like that I am helping people, however indirectly.
At times third-shift sucks beyond human
comprehension, its strains on the human body and social
inconveniences causes me to buy a lotto ticket every once and a while
so I can daydream about winning and then telling the world to kiss
my ass. On the other hand, given that I'm such an antisocial
curmudgeon whose disdain for the locals is so extreme, I have to
admit working third-shift is sort of a sanctuary for me. To me that
is a totally messed up and maybe an ironic state of affairs.