I’ve wasted too many nights worrying about what happened that day.
Some of the Strangeness of working 12:00 to 8:00.
Working midnights is its own kind of strange. I’ve worked mostly days in my near thirty years of various jobs, with quite a few evenings and second shifts thrown in. So my midnights experience is limited to a little over a year out of those thirty (but it was one long and strange year). One of the strangest things I noticed working midnights was how my life began to run sort of parallel to those who work days. Here are a few strange and parallel things I noticed working midnights.
One of the first things I noticed was the commute to and from work (check out the 4.19.19 post if you want to see what my nightly commute was like). The lack of traffic on the way to work and the traffic seemingly going in the opposite direction during the drive home reinforced the idea that my life was in some way the parallel of most of the working world. It felt odd eating any sort of breakfast food before I went to work during midnights (I usually don’t eat eggs and bacon after dark unless alcohol is involved). Drinking my first cup of coffee at 11:15 at night was also something that I never quite got used to. The actual work I performed didn’t feel any different considering I also worked days at the same job, but it did feel as if everything just moved at a slower pace. Maybe it was the nighttime or some sort of internal clock but I always felt like I put in a couple more hours when I worked midnights. The strangest difference was when I got off work. It just always felt odd grabbing a beer after work when after work at 8:15 in the morning, and I never got over the odd feeling of cracking my second beer at 9 o’clock on the morning.
Working midnights was an odd experience. Maybe I already worked days for too many years to fully adjust, but that odd feeling of being out of sorts never went away during my time working midnights. I will say that my admiration for those who do work midnights is much greater now. For those of you who do work the graveyard, what are you stories?
A Black Cat, Evil Doings, and Neil Gaiman
I’ve always been fascinated with feral cats. I spent a good portion of my childhood on a cattle farm watching a varied collection of Tom and Molly cats prowling about. To be clear these were not indoor cats we put out at night, and they didn’t have proper names (some did acquire nicknames if they hung around long enough). These felines were wild animals. They may not have been lions on the African planes, but they were feral hunters and that is what fascinated me. I used to wonder what kind of lives these wild and free animals led. That question brings us to Neil Gaiman’s “The Price,” eight pages of well crafted, evenly paced fantasy.
The first person narrator of “The Price” is an author who relays a series of events that occur over a period of a few weeks after his family takes in and cares for feral cat known simply as Black Cat. During the brief time Black Cat stays with the narrator’s family it receives several wounds from fighting with some unknown animal. The narrator is determined to capture this animal in an attempt to protect Black Cat from any further harm. It is during the climactic moment of the story that we learn what the unknown animal is and the importance of this Black Cat to the narrator and his family. Gaiman’s resolution is a punch in the gut, which is what makes it great short story. But a closer look at a couple of points of this story shows Gaiman inverting some common conventions of fantasy literature and folklore.
The first convention Gaiman inverts is that of the black cat as a familiar of witches and others disposed to evil at night. Black Cat is described as, “patch of night.” This a common description of the witch’s familiar, but in this story Black Cat is portrayed as protector, willing to stand against a stronger foe to defend others it doesn’t know. The other convention is that of the black cat as an omen of bad luck and ill tidings. Quite the opposite plays out in this story. Black Cat not only defends this family but it appears to somehow carry the burdens of the family which may explain why it is, “surprisingly heavy.” Black Cat’s presence is a stroke of luck for this family. Gaiman’s inversions of these common conventions help establish depth for both the story as a whole and the Black Cat in particular.
Gaiman’s story “The Price” took me back to a time when I would wonder what the feral Tom and Molly cats were doing when I wasn’t watching. Of course there was no Black Cat on the farm, and I never did see anything like what the narrator of this story sees. But maybe that’s what makes the story all the better. Just because I didn’t see doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.
“The Price” by Neil Gaiman from Smoke and Mirrors (1998).
Waiting with suitcase.
“I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night.”
The Bell Jar