There are some people for whom the night shift is the only way to participate in modern life. Any other strategy would require a complex system of bartering and perhaps inbreeding. Our maintenance/janitor/lot man is one of these. He has a subtle lack of social acuity that isn't obvious to the casual observer. Over time, his shortcomings become painfully apparent. He acts like a few neurons are disconnected in his brain, free floating in his skull and occasionally shorting out vital organic components. The result is a person whose conversational skills and body mannerisms are roughly similar to the Tin Woodsman from the Wizard of Oz. Don't misunderstand me- he's functional, but devoid of any poise. In short, he is the perfect night shift worker.

Another model of third shift ideals is our deli girl. A divorced mother of two in her early twenties, she flirts with every other patron and at times acts like an immature girl in junior high. She seems unable to grasp of the connection between action and responsibility. Rumor has it that she turns tricks on the side. Again, she is a perfect candidate for the graveyard shift. The night provides the ideal cover for running from reality, and creating one's own.