"Sleep is for the weak."

So said my former roommate as he stumbled home at 5 a.m. three years back.  An assistant to the regional manager of the fondue restaurant my friend ran fancied himself an American Gordon Ramsay, so he decided to spring a kitchen inspection fifteen minutes after closing.  If you've ever worked in a restaurant—even one where the customers cook for themselves—you know what kitchens look like when service ends.  Even the most conscientious chef clips what must be tackled tonight and finishes honest the next morning. 

But the assistant to the regional manager to whom my roommate reported had seen an episode of The F-Word and demanded the tiles in the employee bathroom be regrouted before the illegal immigrants his boss had hired under the table began chopping the raw vegetables customers would cook for themselves tomorrow night.

"Urine is bad enough," he seemed to be saying.  "But Mexican urine?  For fuck sake, we employ white women here."

And so the great cleaning commenced.

My friend stumbled home high on Comet and Camels that night, but he didn't complain.  The resignation in his eyes brought tears to mine, but he is a proud worker.  Work means everything to him.  When he tripped forward and folded like a lawn-chair across the arm of the couch, I placed a blanket over him and waited to make sure he could breathe while jack-knifed over furniture like a drunk yogi.  The second his foghorns announced unconsciousness, I congratulated myself yet again for being awake so early and did something unmemorable for a few hours. 

I have no idea what I did that morning because I immediately fell asleep at the desk.

However, I distinctly remember pretending to be fully awake as he peeled himself off the arm of the couch to greet me good morning.  I muttered something about him getting in awful late last night. 

"Sleep is for the weak," he replied.

Apropos of absolutely nothing whatsoever, I want it on the record that I can't express in words how much I agree with said assessment about sleepers.  If you've had more than three hours of sleep in the past four days, your flouncy constitution needs manly emboldening. 

Because sleep is for the weak. 

Don't believe me?  Maybe these photos (NSFW) will convince you:

And one final shot which, despite depicting nothing sleeping, oozes odious weakness:

All photos via.

Comments

[todd.]

Scott you've obviously spent too much time on the blogonets, reading things like "Nazis were big on evolution, therefore people big on evolution are into Nazism."

Meanwhile, the spyware post was amazing.

[Sisyphus]

OMG, you are my new kitten pr0n dealer. I way prefer it over the tentacle porn from a while back.

And that big paragraph ---- the fifth one? ---- is pretty good. Sharp phrasing. Of course, then the post just went all over the place, but whatever, I hear you.

I dunno about the last _three_ days but I'm trying to grade finals on very little sleep and a hangover up here before heading out tonight to do it all over again. Awww yeah. I'm going to be just one big dark eye circle for my grad pics. Whoo!