This is just a simple little bitch about days off and how they can be so easily interrupted. As I may have mentioned before, I work overnights. The way I am conned into doing this is with pure scheduling magic. I work seven nights in a row, then I am (theoretically) off for seven days - a whole week!
I have been a part of this great scheduling scheme for almost four years now. However, I can count on one hand the number of weeks that I have been off work without getting called by the scheduler, or my own store, to cover a shift with little more than an hour's notice.
Today happens to be such a day. Bear in mind that I should be exactly halfway through a wonderful week off today. Unfortunately, I am just getting off work (to cover my counterpart) so I have been up all night. I was looking forward to a small disco nap, followed by a well deserved celebration of St. Patrick's Day - the patron saint of drinking so much that you (or at least you hope it was you) end up shitting your bed sheets.
Case closed? Of course not. I've been home for about 45 minutes. Just long enough to take off my work yukkies and pour myself a stiff glass of chill-the-fuck-out. The phone rings. It's my district supervisor calling everyone she can in a frantic attempt to get overnight coverage for tonight. Being very lazy, and hating my job the way I do, I am extremely tempted to answer with 'no habla ingles'. As much as I hate my job though, I would hate my supervisor's job even more. I felt sorry for her so I helped her put out this small fire by telling her I'd cover it. Besides, I could use the money.
But don't think for a minute that I'm not already having second thoughts about it. If Big N Tasty (a fellow blogger) is foolish enough to call me today, I'm totally conning her into working for me. She needs the money too (and my sheets ain't gonna shit themselves)!