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The ringing phone woke me from a dead sleep--something I rarely achieve, making it that much more painful. It was two PM on Wednesday, and, I know what you are probably thinking--out all night partying, wasting a day hung over, the typical existence of a 23 year old that isn't sure exactly what he wants to do with his life. You are partially correct. I had no idea where life was taking me, but I wasn't exactly coasting along waiting for someone to throw success in my lap. I slept late because I worked on a third shift help desk. I knew I was capable of more, but it paid the rent, and there just weren't a lot of jobs available. I did enjoy working third shift, it made it a lot easier for me on the weekends--I was conditioned to work all night, which led to making it easier to party all night. I could work the schedule of my days around however I needed to cover appointments and other chores, so that was nice. Maybe best of all was the 15% shift differential. There was of course, a downside. Mainly that when you work nights, the world doesn't respect the fact that you work nights.

I assumed it was likely a telemarketer, or my mother. Either way, I knew I wasn't going to fall back asleep, so I prepared to answer just as the ringing ceased. It was the mid 1990's, I didn't yet have caller-id, or an answering machine, or anyway to tell who felt themselves worthy to call and wake me, for that matter. "Fuckkkkkkkk!" I moaned loudly, even though no one was home to hear me. I had been working a lot of overtime, and knew I was destined for another long night on too little sleep. The phone rang again, restoring some ...

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