Night Shifts and Satan.

Nightshift is hell, no question about it, or rather has been hell, but Nevermore, quothe the Creep. Why is this? I'm glad you asked.

Dan has become something of a lucky charm for me. A few weeks ago, I realized ( quite by accident,) that each time I massaged Dan on his scalp while he made chirpy prophecies about the coming morning, things had a tendency of working out. Now I'm not sure how many others have taken up rubbing an Asshole before bedtime in hopes of better days, but so far, so good. Thursday has seen another day of minor disasters averted.

I've also come to realise that I'm not too fond of one of the new employees. G usually comes in ten minutes before my shift is over. He turns off the cd player, which is usually playing a selection of carefully handpicked tracks, and switches on Golden Hits instead. Golden Hits! It's enough to make your ears bleed, but not before they sprout bushy grey hairs and your varicose veins start bulging like there's no tommorow. Golden Hits play Chubby Checkers, The Beach Boys (but not the good ones) and some song named 'Delilah' over and over and over again.

This coupled with his apparant inability to say 'thank you' and 'please' and his impeccable sense of fashion have conviced me that he is indeed the Devil. Each time a customer has paid I half expect him to hiss "Yesss, you may get your change back, but ONLY IF YOU GIVE ME YOUR SOUUUUL!" Except considering the boogie-woogie playing in the background, I'm sure a couple of them would fish out an Ella Fitzgerald record before realizing exactly who they are dealing with.