the Sweet Smell of Burning Fur (plonq) wrote,
the Sweet Smell of Burning Fur

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Today. It's always today.

Back in the dark ages, when I first started working at the railroad, I was at the very bottom of the union seniority list, so I tended to get stuck with the odd hours and weird days off. One job I worked, for example, covered two two evening shifts, followed by two day shifts, and then a midnight shift, with Tuesday/Wednesday off. The only consistent part of my job was its inconsistency though. I could work that shift for a few weeks, then find myself displaced to a job with Friday and Saturday off for a week, then get displaced just ahead of my weekends and work another three days into a job with Wednesday/Thursday off.

With so much bouncing around, it was not unusual to fall out of touch with the calendar by which people working regular 9-5 jobs regulated their lives. More than once - especially in the winter - I would wake from a nap on the sofa, see the clock reading 6:30 and have no idea if it was morning or evening. It also led to interesting conversations with my friends.

"I should pick up some groceries before work. Uh, what's today?"

"It's the second."

"I know it's the second, I mean what day is it? Is this Tuesday or Sunday?"

" ... it's Saturday."

Fortunately I have a constant reminder now, so I never forget the day of the week.

Since the province put in a ban on most cosmetic herbicides, dandelions have really taken over the city. I don't care that much because I regard the lawn as more of a nuisance than an asset, but I admit that I derive cruel amusement from watching the folks who apparently define their worth by the quality of their lawns. It's over, dudes, the weeds won. Accept your new, fuzzy overlords.
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