As the pub was winding down, right after last call and I’m walking home, I’d sometimes feel a buzz from my phone. I’d think to myself, “I knew it was my lucky night, and I have a feeling it’s from a lovely lass rather than one of my mates.” As I fumble through my pockets to answer before she changes her mind, I rub my eyes so I can read the blurry screen. That’s when I see that familiar plaid hashtag. It’s a Slack. I think to myself I can handle this in the morning, but I’m barely going to remember what happened last night. Plus I’m going to have hangxiety from the 12 girls I texted 5 minutes ago, and I’m going to dread looking at my phone the next morning because some of them might respond and it’s already too late.
It’s from Rose. There’s new copy text and a blog video to go along with it. I sit down and happily respond that I’ll take care of it. I wonder to myself what time it is across the pond when she’s sending in this request. Did she just wake up for coffee? Does she even drink coffee? I snap back into it. Closing one eye so the screen stays still, I copy that video URL, encode it to the latest standards, and paste it into our latest post. I cheerfully reply “done” and she’s ever grateful. This is my melatonin. I can pass out now knowing I’ve satisfied the request of the coworker that only messages me at 2am my time. Because we’re probably about 12 hours apart. And we did this for 12 years. Cheers, Rose 🍻