I sold my soul to the devil

And its name was Coles..

So this morning was my first dawn shift at work. A few things immediately became apparent:

* I need more work pants. Nothing conveys this need quite so clearly as that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when, at 4:30am, you realise that the taxi is meant to be picking you up in 10 minutes and you still have not the slightest clue where your pants are.

* The sun has still not risen at 5am in the morning. It's time like this I'm glad my mum won the battle over whether I would get a taxi or not.

* The shelves at Coles all hate me. I'm tempted to start wearing gloves in future so that I stop getting ****ing static shocks every 5 ****ing minutes

* The Indian accent and the 'whatever-it-is-I-have" accent don't mesh too well. My coworker and I are mutually unintelligible to eachother.

* This is going to sound racist but here I go anyway: Indians have funny sounding names. I now know a Sweta, a Bandana, and someone whose name sounds suspiciously like Sudoku.

* I have a metric buttload of shifts. Like Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday and probably one of the weekend days.

The work was alright overall though, waking up at 5am notwithstanding. the hours go surprisingly fast when you have several aisles to make pretty. And working so early means less irritating customers messing up my oh-so-carefully made up displays and wasting my time with foolish questions. Yes that's right, I've already gained the the-customer-is-an-idiot attitude so common to the service industry.

Will these morning shifts kill me? Will my sleep patterns adapt? And what about uni?

Oh well, at least I'll die with money