(I think I realized once I started this blog that not every post was going to be completely and totally related to my job, but anything with an oh-so-tenuous thread would be okay. Hence tonight’s post.)
I’ve never worked at night before. Having the library close at 9 and getting home close to 10 has been a new and slightly strange experience for me. And after the first week or so, my whole body adjusted nicely, with one, big, huge, glaring exception.
Now, Mr. Greedy, as my stomach shall henceforth be known, has always tied in coming home from work with food, and why shouldn’t he? That’s the way it’s been since I got my first 9-5 job. Leave work, it’s dinnertime. Period. That’s just the way that it’s always been.
Coming home on late nights, however, Mr. Greedy refuses to change his schedule, even though he’s been fed properly just a few hours before. Once again, I’m coming home from work, so cue the rumblings.
And then he gets really pissed when he doesn’t get fed.
I mean, I’m not actually hungry. But he starts bitching up a storm, and then all of a sudden I’m cramming in handfuls of Cheez-Its, because they’re “a snack.” I’m placating my stomach just to shut him up, when I’m not even hungry.
So, Mr. Greedy, it ends here. You are not getting fed when I get home on late nights. The kitchen is closed, and so is my esophagus. No food. Done.
*wipes Cheez-It crumbs from her desktop and hops in the shower*