George Angus, Tumblemoose Writer

I’m a night stocker.  Not exactly what I had in mind for myself when I was growing up.  I guess I ended up here because the usual career goals didn’t fit.  Fireman?  Heh.  Yeah, I’m all about running into burning buildings.  Doctor?  Eight-plus years of college – no-thank-you-very-much.  Lawyer?  Ditto.

You could ask if I’m happy with my lot in life.  My response would be, “Well, it could be worse.”  I get to work alone, just me and my iPod doing what I’ve grown to love.  I should also say that I think I’m very good at what I do.  It’s not for everyone, you know.  A certain flair for keeping things tidy and in order is required.  It helps to be a bit of a loner as well because truly, it’s not the most social gig in the world.

There’s also something about working at night that is appealing.  Of course this work has to be done at night because there’s not so many bothersome people around.  Since I’ve decided that I don’t care too much for people, this works out just fine for me.  There are sounds, smells and sights that are only visible to those dwelling about after the sun has set and those things have become my friends, my source of comfort.

At first, I was nervous about doing this kind of work.  One careless moment or seemingly innocent mistake could set the wheels in motion for a lot of trouble.  It’s important work and at the end of the day, er night what I do impacts folks.  Sometimes in ever widening circles.  Those are my favorite, by the way.

Tonight, I’m anticipating a heavy workload.  I’ve know for a while that it’s been on its way and I think I’m prepared and up for the task.  I even double checked the tools for the job.  Box cutter with a new blade, sturdy gloves and comfy shoes are all ready to go.  About one more hour until the sun sets and I’ll be ready to head on in.  I sit in my easy chair, eyes closed and silent walls echoing the chants of my “Ahhh” meditations.  Meditating helps me to clear my mind of any insecurities while I visualize exactly how I’d like tonight’s events to go.

It’s time.  I gather the tools and head for the bus station.  My car works just fine, but I almost always take the bus to my job.  Not having to worry about driving and parking lets me keep my focus.  Not only that, but taking the bus is safer.

I ring for the stop at 76th and Carlson.  Squeaky brakes and a hiss of the door opening tell me we’re there.  The bus trundles away, leaving me with a cloud of black diesel smoke and a single streetlight overhead.  I only need to go a block or so up Carlson and I’m a few minutes early so I take a moment to have a smoke while waiting across the street from my job.  It being a weeknight, traffic is already thinning out.  All the better, me thinks.

In another minute or so, I’ll be in the thick of the work I love so much.

Jenny slips on her coat and grabs her purse as she walks out of the diner.  “Thank God that shift’s over.  How many non-tipping creeps could there be in this town and what are the odds they all would have shown up in one night?”  She turns the corner and starts walking to her car parked in the free lot two blocks away.  She doesn’t see or sense the dark shape as it crosses the street, comfy shoes making for nary a sound.

She drops her keys as she reaches her car.  Kneeling, she picks up her keys just as the first slash of the box cutter sweeps across her throat.  Instinctively, her hands rise to her neck and the second slash takes off her left thumb.  She lies next to her rusted Volvo, eyes open but vacant, a crimson river slowly heading towards the curb.

Wow.  That was a lot easier than the last couple.

I’m getting so good at this.

I am truly proud to be a night stocker.

Author’s Note:  A bit on the predictable side, I know.  But it was a lot of fun to write!