So, I’m sitting here in the wee hours, a bit of dead time at the office. My driver is off shaking down the doughnut shops for donations, so we have something to give “the boys” for breakfast. My main man Skip is beating on the office coffee pot, which has finally given up the ghost. And John, affectionately referred to as “the Troll beneath the stairs” – is, well, doing whatever the heck he does in the basement all night. Probably reading a book.

Did I mention I supervise at a homeless shelter? The location I work at is an old converted power substation. Two floors, with room for 125 mats.

It’s an interesting job, mostly. Out of a 12 hour shift, I usually only have an hour or two of downtime in the middle of the night. That would be right about… Now. The rest of the time I’m busy, dealing with “the boys”, killing a rainforest worth of trees doing the paperwork that goes along with any large NGO, dealing with the guys, setting the place up at night, dealing with the guys…

Ummm… Most of my time is spent dealing with the guys. Not a bad bunch, really. Just your average mix of drunks, junkies, crack-heads, down-and-outers, the working poor…

It’s been pretty dull lately. I think I’ve only had a half dozen death threats in the past couple of weeks (I don’t really count them anymore), and only one half-assed attempt in the past month.

It’ll get more interesting during the winter, when the cold makes the crowd more desperate, and exponentially ornerier.

Oh, and on Sunday nights. That’ll be tonight’s shift. Sundays are always a bitch in this job. All the guys who were out on the town, blowing what little they have, all come back on Sunday. They have to get a good night’s sleep in so they can go back to day-labour work on Monday, and start saving up for the next Friday-Saturday blowout.

Sunday night they come back hung-over/stoned-over. Coming down and twitchy bitchy. Regretting every bad decision in their lives, and bound and determined to take it out on the staff.

Man, I hate Sundays. It’s the Saturday overnight shift right now, and I’m already getting tense just thinking about it. I had my ribs broken on a Sunday. Got bitten on a Sunday. Most death threats per minute on a Sunday…

And most staff sick calls on a Sunday. Which REALLY sucks for me. It’s a small crew out here. If John or Skip call in sick, they usually end up sending me some wet-behind-the-ears do-gooder from the main building. All eager to change lives and save the world. Usually they just end up causing fights by meddling in the affairs of some hardass who doesn’t trust anyone who works in the sytem.

Oh well. That’s tomorow.

Today it’s quiet.

Something to say?

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