Hours of boredom; Minutes of terror.
"Shut up! you don't really work! you played borderlands for eight hours!" He spat. I had complained I was never home. I wanted him to get off his ass and stop playing games and help me clean up after I had worked 48 hours in three days. I had to bite my tongue. He wouldn't get it. He was right in a sense. I had spent a whole 8 hours playing borderlands. Once. The last 24 hours hadn't been like that. Had not been like that at all. The area I cover is fairly quiet most days, most days being a key component in that statement. My favorite saying at work, to the point I would call it a mantra is "No rest for the wicked". Assuming I'm a wicked person, it's about as true as they come. Like some dispatcher somewhere was watching me, as soon as I kicked my boots off the tones dropped for another call. I was running on fumes by the time I got home. I wanted to tell him to go pound sand. I had worked for the la...