Hardly working, always.
That is, when I have the night shift.
It gets completely and utterly slow after 11:00 pm. And by slow I mean by this time I have already read my horoscope in three different magazines (my love life is going to start picking up apparently, I’m so excited.)
My downfall when it hits this time is definitely food. I want it, I need it, I must have it. And by this time my brain and my stomach are not on the same page at all. Therefore, I stuff my face. Usually a chocolate bar and a bag of chips will suffice, because quite honestly, what could be a better combination than that?
On one particularly memorable occasion, I pocketed my already purchased delight of honey barbecue chips into my red smock, which is satisfyingly big enough for the edges of the bag to fold over the edges of my pocket so my chips are safely in the exact spot they should be in. I grabbed a larger handful than necessary of the crunchy goodness and stuffed them all directly into my mouth, just as one of my fellow co-workers was walking by.
“That was a pretty large bite,” he said to me with a look of either disgust or one of envy.
“Yehmnoch,” I replied with a crunch.
He kept walking.
Now, not only do I stuff my face in public at my workplace, but I also can’t speak English.