IT'S NOT THAT I DON'T LIKE PEOPLE. IT'S JUST THAT I FEEL A WHOLE LOT BETTER WHEN THEY'RE NOT AROUND.

February 28, 2007

I wrote this one after a long, bitter night shift where the weight of humanity—raw, ridiculous, and unfiltered—finally boiled over. Not every call is dramatic or tragic. Some are just exhausting, because you’re not dealing with emergencies—you’re dealing with personalities. Entitlement, indecision, delusion, dysfunction—it all bleeds together at 3 a.m. when your uniform smells like diesel and your patience is barely hanging on. This wasn’t a night that broke me. It was one that wore me down in increments—one rambling monologue, one soggy backseat french fry, one sideways hat at a time. Writing this wasn’t about judgment. It was about survival. Because in this job, sometimes the only way to cope is to step back, laugh at the absurdity, and remind yourself that it’s okay to feel better when the rig doors finally close and the world is just a little bit quieter.