It’s been my experience since starting to work a graveyard shift job that it’s not the nights when you know you’re walking into Hell that leave you contemplating curling into the fetal position and crying, it’s the nights when you come in thinking “This will be a cinch” that see the fecal matter hit the rotary impeller again and again. Why? Because it’s those nights when the lack of a manager on duty becomes the most obvious, as nothing you can do within the powers of your job title will satisfy the assholes who decide at 2am to make a federal case out of not being able to find a parking spot.