Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are based on the authors' lives and experiences and may be changed to protect personal information. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Dear, Grocery Shoppers - 3. Your Breakfast is My Dinner
Ooof, he's throwing private education shade, now? Y'all see what I put up with? I'm kidding! He's alright…
But as I sit here in this barber shop while Noah gets himself together, I wanted to chat about my overnight life. Everyone in my life finds it...different. Been on the third shift for almost a year now, and my mom still struggles with it for a variety of reasons.
The big one that I combat on a regular is the stereotyping. A lot of people see overnight workers as the denizens of the world: misfits, druggies, felons, and other lowlifes. I totally get where they're getting this idea. I've seen some scary motherfuckers working this shift. Big dudes covered in tats, scrawny men with scraggly ZZ-Top beards and bandanas...you get the picture.
But, listen here! Those are the realest people I've ever met! They got problems in life, just like you. They have families just like you. They get pissed in the long drive-thru lines just...like...you! And I refuse to let these stereotypes infect the minds of shoppers and other thinkers.
Just highlighting a couple of my coworkers on the stock crew I work with. My boss...is that bitch! She's a legit bawss!!! She isn't afraid to tell you off and get in a knock-down-drag-out. She's also a mother. I've met her kids. They're forkin' adorable! Her family loves going out to eat, going to the bowling alley, and just having a damn good time. Just. Like. You.
Not to put her business out there, but her youngest kiddo...is a fighter. At a very young age, he had to battle cancer. There was a damn good chance he wasn't going to make it. But both he, and his mother fought. They fought like a pack of dogs: scratching and clawing for every shred of hope they could find. And they won. They won that war. Not the battle...the war!
I've seen this kid in a video for his birthday, asked by his mom to say thank you for all his birthday wishes...and starts singing the Golden Girls theme song! And this little guy is like.. six years old! I'd be so proud to call this kid my son!
My best friend on the stock crew is just as evil as me, if not, worse! He is a meme master! His phone has nothing but memes, tens for every occasion and scenario. Whenever I'm having a slow and sluggish day, he pops up a surefire picture that gets me rolling!
There's a guy that I've been getting to know more on the crew. He's one of the most politically aware people I've ever met. He's a bajillion feet tall, skinny and lanky, sports a bowl cut, and looks like a 1970's lesbian in his baggy Wrangler jeans and burgundy sweatshirts. Now...he does recreational drugs, and is very open about doing them, but he offers his help anytime I need it. Whether to lift a pallet onto the stack, push a heavy cart, pick up backstock. You name it, he's there for me just like I’m there for him.
I also work with a lesbian with pumpkin orange hair who just got engaged and is fit to be married soon. She's been battling some serious-ass depression for years! But she's pushing through it. After working with us for several months, she reached her weight goal and lost a couple pant sizes, and hasn't been sad since! Yes, that is right! An overnight stocking job turned this lady's life around!
I can go on and on about my coworkers, but do those sound like people who have been to jail and served their nickel? No, sir! These people are my family. We went out for breakfast once a week before the pandemic struck. We ate together. We laughed together. And we bust ass together! And I will be damned...DAMNED if anyone badmouths them before getting to know them! Unless that person is me, and I'm making a joke...
Overnight workers are people too. We're just smarter...because we work when the store is closed and deal a significantly less amount of shoppers! Oh, boy is this the life! On average, I deal with ten shoppers a week. Ten! When I was a cashier, I would deal with thirty an hour minimum. I can handle that!
And I get paid an extra dollar on the hour for working the overnight shift? Hell yeah! Less people and more money. I signed that dotted line in a heartbeat.
What I didn't anticipate was the sleep schedule issues. Getting changed over to sleeping during the day wasn't bad. But trying to get all my friends and family to understand that...Oh, Lord Jesus help me.
My work schedule is a strict 9:30pm to 6:00am. I sleep roughly from noon to 8:00pm. This gives me opportunities to have breakfast with my baby, get things done at government offices and banks, and anything else that may come at me in life. Unless it involves my mom.
My mother...likes to call me...at all times of the day. At...ALL...times of the day. Noon. Three in the afternoon. Seven in the evening. Four in the morning. What in the Hell?
Now. I am the only child. I have been getting daily texts from Momma Stone ever since I moved out for my college adventure. I've always been the baby bird that left the nest...and momma bird's been unhappy ever since. But she got over it.
Until I went to overnights. Oh no. Bad decision on my part. Mom has not been a fan of it! She’s been pushing for me to get put back on dayshift. Hell! She sends me texts of other jobs in my area. Well...I’m sorry, Mom, but I actually like this job!
I get to go at my own pace, I have a sense of calm as I stock these groceries, and I get paid fairly well for my position’s job title. That’s everything I need! I practically have a set schedule. My days off may be different, but I know when I clock in every day. Nine-thirty every night. Every stinkin’ night! I can get as much overtime as I desire, and then some! My job now is, honestly, the best job I’ve ever had! And I...am an overnight grocery stocker. I’ve been a manager. I’ve been a premium-level mattress salesman. Those jobs sucked compared to mine now.
So, time for a fun fact to break the overnight monotony! I used to work in the same store as Noah! As in just a couple short years ago! I was the front-end manager, and Noah was a department lead, so there wasn’t any sort of conflict of interest when we were working together. I would do my job and played the role of cheerleader while he played in his little shoe department. I was canned for abusing company policy on price-overrides to appease angry shoppers.
And the next day, the store manager offered Noah my job! Did you get ticked at that? Personally, I only thought that the scenario was hilarious. I didn’t see a problem with it at all! By the time Noah told me, I already had a job lined up and ready to go. So I told him to go for it if he wanted it. It was a small pay raise for him and slapped some more managerial experience on his resume. He thought it was sort of a dick move on the store management team to offer him his husband’s job, and he’s correct. It is a dick move! Completely unprofessional. But, we worked in an unprofessional store. A respectable company wouldn’t have hired us together at all. Even in my current store, we can’t work in the same department with a person either related to, or romantically involved with us. And that is a good policy! It prevents a lapse in work production or just overall drama.
But going back to the overnight life. A lot of people view it as some crazy lifestyle to get used to. I get where they’re coming from, but until the concept is normalized, it will remain deemed as a scene for miscreants. Another thing I can mention about working overnights is that your diet...will never be the same!
Your breakfast is my dinner. Literally. You wake up, and I’m getting off work. You and I, we’re going to a 24/7 breakfast joint for different reasons. You want pancakes. I settle for pancakes. I want...a big freakin’ juicy burger! But fast food doesn’t operate on my schedule, they operate on yours. I wake up at 8pm and cook me some breakfast. I get off work at 6am, and I want a food item that correlates to dinnertime, and there is nothing for me in the food industry. Put that in perspective for yourselves.
If you get off work at five in the evening, and you want a burger, or a chicken sandwich, how would you feel if every fast food eatery, every restaurant, and every gas station only had breakfast options? Not a french fry in sight! You would be upset. Well, welcome to my everyday life. Even on my nights off, I keep my sleep schedule. And I’ll be up at three in the morning, and I’ll want food. I will either need to raid my pantry and cook something that won’t wake Noah up, or I’m going to one of two places that has a drive-thru open. It can get exhausting sometimes when living in a dietary repetition that is opposite of standard human expectation.
So when I’m hanging out with friends, and there are both breakfast and lunch/dinner options available, I’ll get the opposite of what everyone else is getting. They get big burgers, and I’ll get a fat stack of pancakes. And there is always a fuss!
“Aaron...it’s two in the afternoon. What are you doing?”
“Whatcha mean? It’s two in the morning for me, ya dinks! It’s been this way for almost a year now. We just had lunch the other day, and we had this conversation then. Why are we having it again?”
I have this conversation at least once a month with someone in my life. This shit gets old, and fast!
I will say with this whole breakfast versus dinner concept, I have lost my sense of what I should be having at what time. There’ll be times when Noah orders pizza for his dinner, and he’ll save me some because he’s a sweetheart. I’ll wake up and eat pizza for breakfast. No big deal, right? Every person who has gone to college has done this. But when I order ice cream for breakfast to go with my steak, that’s just crossing the line, apparently. Would you just leave me alone and let me be a true American vampire? I want a caramelized chicken leg to go with my applesauce. A few strips of bacon with my spaghetti. How about some cake with my salad? My stomach has officially given up and is just taking it one meal at a time.
I wanted to dip the readers in the life of an overnight worker because I truly believe that not enough people understand the concept. A lot of people just ignore us, but even though some recognize us as a subspecies of humanity, they sometimes don’t picture us actually sleeping. We sleep, but we just do it at a different time. We eat, but we just eat different things. We...are human. Period. That overnight kitchen cook with three nose piercings? The skinny young thing with purple bags under her eyes at the grocery? They have a life too!
The last thing I’ll say that I love about the overnight life...is the peace. I’ll go outside when I’m on break at work, or writing on my night off. And I’ll just hear the silence. The quiet is intoxicating. A car passing by tells a more vivid story to me versus seeing multiple cars during the daytime. Watching someone walk the streets, a lost dog in a parking lot, a car broken down. In the night sky with nothing to distract yourself, these small sights have hit my mind in a way I’ve never encountered before.
So the next time you’re out late, whether it be the grocery, or at an overnight diner, I want you to read the person helping you, and appreciate the life they’re living right now. I’m not asking you to introduce yourself, but just admire their way of life. I can only hope this entry has been enlightening for some, and I’ll see y’all later!
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Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are based on the authors' lives and experiences and may be changed to protect personal information. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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