Ungodly hours

My father was a World War II veteran. He served in the Army Air Corps. He didn’t see any action, but he did tell me a couple of stories about his service.

One of them was from his basic training, where he learned the most valuable lesson. The drill sergeant lined up all the new guys and asked them “any of you who want to be a pilot, take two steps forward!” Every single one of them stepped forward.

“OK, then. See that pile of horse manure over there? Go take those shovels and pile it over there.”

Never. Volunteer. For. Anything.

I was reminded of that lesson this week. We’re a bit short-staffed and overwhelmed with work, and I could always use a little more money, so I offered to work an extra day this week. O/T is always a good thing.

Now, I always understood that when you do something like volunteer to work overtime, there’s a tradeoff: you don’t get stuck with the worst shift. It was one of those unspoken rules that I lived by.

It shoulda been spoken.

So, today and tomorrow, I gotta be in to work at zero dark thirty, about the time I usually have my second piece of the day half-done. Normally, I write my three pieces before I go to work, setting them to publish throughout the day. I’ll try to keep up the three pieces a day routine for these two days, but one or two of them might have to wait until after work. (For example, this and my 11:00 piece were written Wednesday night.)

Oh, and Dad? Sorry I didn’t listen.

Exhausting a metaphor
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