A memory:
Struggling through the second of three night shifts.
Coming to work near midnight, I'm tired. The night darkens while I catch up on everything that has happened since this morning (was I really here this morning too, wearily updating the morning shift girl before heading home to sleep?). I also make sure to fetch the biggest knife in the kitchen and hide it within arm's reach. Although the skies outside stay bright, the shadows in the deserted restaurant are deep and I turn up MTV to drown out all the little noises that make me nervous (Rihanna with "Umbrella" is a constant this summer).
While I am busy counting tills and doing the night audit, I am alert and kind of enjoying the quiet. A late customer checks in. A bit later, one of the regulars staying in the hotel wanders in and asks for a sandwich, which he makes with his own two hands in the kitchen while we chat about weekend plans.
Within an hour or two, the sun rises again and I can hear the birds singing madly outside. Two more customers arrive, these two dodgy-looking and without a reservation. I hesitate, but decide to give them a room after making sure they pay in advance.
In the middle of the night I venture out on one of the required "security rounds", meaning a nervous walk along the long, deserted corridors and through a part of the overgrown, wild garden where anything and everything might be lurking. Fortunately, nothing attacks a young receptionist this night either - in fact, the only creature awake is a frog sitting on the front steps.
For a couple of hours there is nothing to do except drink more coffee and plant myself at the reception computer to get some translation work done - might as well earn two wages at the same time, plus night differential. Around 5 a.m. the hotel is quiet and I struggle to muster some energy as I head to the kitchen to start the endless breakfast preparations - including the evil porridge that always sticks to the pot.
When the "evening" papers are delivered at 7 a.m. it's finally time to go home.
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