I spent most of the night in the New York, New York garage, by choice. I was talking to Roger from day shift last week and he said he spent all his time in the garage, the whole week, and he enjoyed it so I turned the situation around and committed myself to enjoying it too.
Which wasn’t hard to do cause it’s not as if the other outside posts are all that glamorous and at the New York, New York garage you get a better chair to sit on.
My plan to spend all night in the garage, though, was foiled by – of all people – Guy! Guy, who has avoided garage duty like the plague, was up there when Schempp and I came on at 2300 and he was in a pissy mood (he and Redneck Randy had words, according to Redneck Randy, though Guy said it was because a buddy of his died last week) and said he’d take it till midnight.
The time passed more or less quickly because there are few people better at killing time than me, though I wish the goddamn valet drivers would turn off the car’s lights when they pulled up.
Outside officers on all three shifts are starting to grumble though. If you’re an outside unit you are, usually, a relatively senior officer. We’re not some elite fighting force or even International Henry Units, but not everyone works outside and the grumbling has to do with the fact that sitting outside and doing basically nothing really is a waste of our few and assorted talents.
The EDR was mostly closed for cleaning and the buffet line was in the hallway but for symbolism’s sake it should’ve been in the can. It was pretty bad tonight. Not as bad as Gulag Night a couple of months back when Ted asked for the medical bag to be sent up, but the best I could do was two hot dogs, which is lousy nutrition.
I ended up dining with Bi-Bob and Princess Emma, and if you think eating a hot dog in front of a guy who has the hots for you is bad, you’re right. It’s even worse if you happen to like mayo on your hot dogs, as I do.
“I can’t wait to watch you eat them,” Bi-Bob said, giggling and sporting that not-completely-unadorable cake-eating grin.
“Pretend I’m eating an omelet, Bob.”
“Watch,” said Princess Emma, opening her yap. “He’s going to put mayonnaise on his wiener, Bob.”
Bi-Bob shudders in ecstasy; I look at Princess Emma.
“Thanks, princess,” I said. “That was a big help.”