Sunday — Day One of Six
Back to Haus Morgenrot.
Six days on.
Two days off.
Six days on again.
This is apparently how we measure time now.
My morning began with an Uber driver who appeared to be having an argument with his wife, life, God, the Department of Veterans Affairs, and possibly the steering wheel.
I tried helping with directions near work.
"This is why I have my GPS."
Okay.
Okay.
Thank you, sir.
I got out, carefully closed the door, wished him a good day, and walked away.
There was a time when I probably would've carried somebody else's anger around with me for the rest of the morning.
Not anymore.
You get your life.
I get mine.
Throw the deuces.
Then I entered Haus Morgenrot and immediately discovered my zipper was open.
Excellent start, Mr. Germin.
Badge: equipped.
Backpack: behind the desk.
Lunch bag: DLC installed inside a trash bag.
Zipper: eventually functioning as intended.
Let's work.
Sunday is mostly recreation, so the first half of the day wasn't particularly exciting.
Free time.
Facility GI.
Lunch.
Football.
Computer Club.
And hallway cats.
Always hallway cats.
Open one door in this building and clients materialize from every direction.
"Is it free time?"
No.
"Can I—"
No.
"Mr. Germin—"
No.
scratching noises intensify
The Cowboys and Bills were playing, and the SOD showed up wearing his favorite jersey. I initially thought the man had come to work on his day off.
Absolutely not.
If I'm off, Haus Morgenrot could send Batman to my house and I'm still not coming in.
Turns out he was actually working.
Statement rescinded.
Computer Club also ran that afternoon. That's one thing I genuinely respect: somebody takes clients in there, helps them look up jobs, resources, licenses and whatever else they need, then comes back later and keeps working.
Meanwhile, the hallway cats discover the Computer Club door.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Eventually 3 PM arrived.
Lunch.
And this time I accomplished something magnificent.
I clocked out at exactly 3:00.
Not 3:01.
Not 3:03.
Three.
O'clock.
Somewhere, an HR system shed a single tear.
While I was eating, something involving Room 203 came across the radio.
I was one of the few male techs around, so I answered:
"Mr. Germin is at lunch, but Mr. Germin will definitely be more than happy to help whatever need be."
The answer came back:
No, sir.
You are at lunch.
You don't have to.
Well.
Don't threaten me with a good time.
I remained at lunch.
Later in the evening, I heard that the SOD had caught somebody doing something. A nearby client suggested smoking.
Interesting.
"Well, people like consequences. You do you."
And that concluded the investigative career of Detective Germin.
I didn't see it.
I didn't investigate it.
I don't know what happened.
Not my circus.
203 can explain 203.
The afternoon eventually became painfully boring.
Not peaceful boring.
The kind of boring where your brain starts chewing on the furniture.
I had a Monster.
Didn't matter.
From roughly 4 PM until after 7, my soul slowly exited my body.
Fortunately, the 6 PM group had a speaker.
Music.
Vibes.
Civilization.
Suddenly everybody could function again.
Eventually evening free time rolled around. Clients wandered. Headcounts happened. The usual machinery continued turning.
One coworker didn't have anything to eat, so I gave him some Church's chicken I'd had sitting around from my days off.
I wasn't going to eat it.
He needed food.
Chicken changed ownership.
Mr. Germin ate turkey stroganoff instead.
Toward the end of the night, I started reading Mogworld because there are only so many beige walls a human being can stare at before Yahtzee Croshaw becomes a medical necessity.
Then 10 PM arrived.
Clock out.
Exactly.
Day One complete.
Five remaining.
Beautiful.
Boring.
Uneventful.
The kind of shift I've been asking for.
Naturally, September saw this and became offended.
Monday — Day Two of Six
Monday began normally enough.
Free time.
Snacks.
Lunch.
New admissions.
Paperwork.
Receipts.
Signatures.
More paperwork.
At one point I thought it was Wednesday.
It was Monday.
This should've been my warning.
I processed two new arrivals, and by the time everything was finished it was already around 2 PM.
Lunch came at 3.
Monster acquired.
Food consumed.
Back before 4.
Then came everybody's favorite recreational activity:
Where's Waldo: Rehabilitation Edition.
Please stop moving.
Headcount is coming.
Please remain where you're supposed to be.
Why are you over there?
Who told you to—
Never mind.
Around 4:20, headcount began and movement finally stopped.
Dinner followed.
Smothered chicken.
The expediter and I started moving people through.
Eat your food.
Keep it moving.
Go to class.
Eat.
Move.
Class.
Please stop turning dinner into a podcast.
By 6 PM, it was time for screening.
Wand.
Next.
Wand.
Next.
Check the jacket.
Check the wallet.
Check the pants.
Next.
Beautiful.
Boring.
Then one client's pants repeatedly set off the wand around the upper-leg/groin area.
Beep.
Again.
Beep.
The client suggested pulling his pants down.
No.
Absolutely not.
Keep your pants on.
During the screening, my hand made contact at the very top of his butt/pants area while I continued trying to determine why the wand kept alerting.
Eventually we finished.
Afterward, he told me he'd always been nice to me and respected me and talked about how he wasn't going to screw things up.
I responded that words didn't mean anything to me without actions.
And then came what may be the most accurate promise I've ever made at this job:
"I'm going to be consistently annoying."
Could I have been nicer?
Absolutely.
I can own that.
But the screening was over and I continued working.
A little later, I noticed the SOD speaking with another tech.
I let them finish.
Eventually I learned an incident report had been written concerning the screening.
The SOD told me the matter had to be reported upward.
"Do what you have to do."
And that was that.
Until HR arrived.
Conference room.
Questions.
I explained what I remembered happening.
Then came the sentence that could only happen to me:
My body had blocked the camera's view of the relevant portion of the screening.
Of course it did.
There could be seventeen cameras, a satellite, three drones and the Hubble Space Telescope pointed directly at Haus Morgenrot, and somehow Mr. Germin's ass would be standing in front of the one angle everybody needs.
So now there's an investigation.
Clock out.
Keep the phone on.
Wait for Ms. Newton.
I clocked out around 7 PM.
Day Two of Six ended about three hours early.
And suddenly I wasn't working the remaining days until somebody tells me otherwise.
August already gave me one investigation.
Apparently September bought the sequel.
I'm tired.
That's really the simplest description.
I'm tired of the constant vigilance.
Watch the hallway.
Watch the rooms.
Watch the clients.
Watch the rules.
Watch yourself.
Document this.
Don't freestyle that.
Don't assume anything.
And now:
Please ensure your physical existence isn't obstructing the camera.
I'm not quitting tonight.
They can conduct their investigation.
I'll keep my phone on.
If they clear me and tell me to come back, I'll decide what happens from there.
But after roughly eight months at Haus Morgenrot, I think I've collected enough information to make another decision too.
It's time to seriously look somewhere else.
Not because I'm going to storm dramatically into the sunset.
Not because I'm going to tell everybody to go hug a bear.
Not because Mr. Germin is declaring war upon the institution.
Nothing that exciting.
Applications.
Interviews.
Another paycheck somewhere else.
Then, when the time is right:
Throw the deuces.
Because when the battlefield changes, change the mission.
Sunday's mission was:
Get through six days.
Monday's mission became:
Figure out whether there should ever be another six.
For now?
Phone on.
Facts preserved.
No unnecessary conversations.
Couch Doog has assumed his position on the couch.
Jerry "The Ankle-Biter" Silverhand is inspecting the trash cans for investment opportunities.
And Mr. Germin?
Mr. Germin is tired.
Day One: complete.
Day Two: technically complete.
Days Three through Six:
Pending further bullshit from September.