What the Last Hour Costs

The thing about supervisor shifts in October is that they end later than your body expects them to. Not dramatically later, twenty minutes, half an hour, but your feet have already done the math and filed a formal complaint by six o'clock.

I took that photo because I needed a record. Not of looking good. Just of: this was the night. The lanyard was in my pocket, the coffee was somewhere between hot and gone, and I was doing that thing where you lean against a wall and let the building hold you for a second before the commute. I've been in this role long enough that the logistics feel routine, I know where the coverage gaps are before the schedule posts, I know which questions to answer first, but there's a kind of tiredness that routine doesn't prevent. It just makes it familiar.

The bench outside the break room. Temporarily.

I found the bench in the back hallway. I'm not sure I've ever actually sat on it before. It's one of those pieces of furniture that exists for emergencies, and apparently this qualified. The lanyard slipped out of my pocket and I let it stay where it landed. Nobody needed anything for four whole minutes and I used them.

Then the cold coffee question.

The cold coffee dilemma. A classic.

I finished it. Of course I did. It was a long walk to the bus stop and I've made worse decisions for less reason. The commute home had that particular October stillness to it, the city doing that thing where it gets quieter before it gets cold. I got back, put the lanyard on the hook by the door, and stood in the kitchen for a while before I remembered I was standing in the kitchen for a reason. October hours. They're their own thing.