I work nights.
Not the glamorous kind. I’m not a DJ or a bartender or any of the things people imagine when you say you work nights. I’m a security guard at a warehouse on the edge of town. My shift starts at ten PM and ends at six AM. Eight hours of watching cameras, walking the perimeter, and sitting in a small office with bad fluorescent lighting and a vending machine that only has pretzels.
Most nights are fine. Quiet. Boring. I bring a book. I listen to podcasts. I do my rounds every hour and log everything in a binder that no one has ever looked at. But some nights are harder. The kind where your brain won’t settle. Where the silence gets loud and you start thinking about things you’d rather not think about. Old arguments. Missed opportunities. The general feeling that life is happening somewhere else while you sit in a small office eating stale pretzels.
Last Thursday was one of those nights.
I’d done my first two rounds. Nothing. The warehouse was empty. The parking lot was empty. The whole industrial park was empty. I sat back down at my desk, coffee in hand, and tried to focus on my book. Couldn’t do it. My eyes were moving across the page but nothing was sticking. I put the book down. Checked my phone. Nothing. All my friends were asleep. All my usual apps were just recycled content from earlier in the day.
I needed something to do. Something that required just enough attention to shut down the noise in my head but not so much that I couldn’t do my job. I was at work, after all. I couldn’t get lost in something. I needed to stay alert enough to hear the radio if something came up.
I remembered a conversation I’d had with a coworker on the day shift. He’d mentioned that he plays games during his downtime. Not video games. Casino games. He said it helped him stay awake during the slow hours. I’d nodded and moved on, but now I was sitting in the same building, on the same slow shift, and I understood exactly what he meant.
I pulled out my phone. I found the site. The screen was dim because I didn’t want the light to be obvious. I went through the steps to Vavada sign in. It took maybe thirty seconds. I’d already made an account a few weeks ago on a whim and never used it. Now it was there, waiting.
I deposited fifty dollars. That felt like a reasonable amount for a slow night. I’d spent fifty dollars on dumber things. Concert tickets for a band I didn’t end up liking. A kitchen gadget I used twice.
I chose blackjack because it’s simple. No flashing lights. No loud sounds. Just cards and decisions. I set the volume low. Barely audible. Just enough to hear the cards hit the felt.
I played slow. I was in no rush. I had eight hours to kill. I played one hand, then checked the cameras. Played another, then checked the perimeter log. The rhythm was perfect. Something to do between the things I actually had to do.
The first few hands were nothing. Won a little. Lost a little. My balance hovered around fifty. I wasn’t paying attention to the money. I was paying attention to the pace. The way the game filled the gaps in my night without taking over.
Around midnight, I hit a streak.
I don’t know why. The cards just fell right. Dealer busted three times in a row. I hit blackjack twice. I was playing small bets. Ten dollars a hand. Nothing dramatic. But the wins kept coming. My balance climbed to eighty. Then one hundred. Then one twenty.
I paused. Took a sip of coffee. Did a quick walk around the building. Everything was quiet. The moon was out. The parking lot was empty. I came back to my desk, sat down, and looked at my balance again. One hundred and twenty-eight dollars.
I thought about stopping. That would have been the smart thing. But I wasn’t being dumb. I was just… playing. The night felt different now. The silence wasn’t oppressive anymore. It was just quiet. Calm.
I kept playing. Smaller bets now. Five dollars a hand. I wanted to stretch it ou
Not the glamorous kind. I’m not a DJ or a bartender or any of the things people imagine when you say you work nights. I’m a security guard at a warehouse on the edge of town. My shift starts at ten PM and ends at six AM. Eight hours of watching cameras, walking the perimeter, and sitting in a small office with bad fluorescent lighting and a vending machine that only has pretzels.
Most nights are fine. Quiet. Boring. I bring a book. I listen to podcasts. I do my rounds every hour and log everything in a binder that no one has ever looked at. But some nights are harder. The kind where your brain won’t settle. Where the silence gets loud and you start thinking about things you’d rather not think about. Old arguments. Missed opportunities. The general feeling that life is happening somewhere else while you sit in a small office eating stale pretzels.
Last Thursday was one of those nights.
I’d done my first two rounds. Nothing. The warehouse was empty. The parking lot was empty. The whole industrial park was empty. I sat back down at my desk, coffee in hand, and tried to focus on my book. Couldn’t do it. My eyes were moving across the page but nothing was sticking. I put the book down. Checked my phone. Nothing. All my friends were asleep. All my usual apps were just recycled content from earlier in the day.
I needed something to do. Something that required just enough attention to shut down the noise in my head but not so much that I couldn’t do my job. I was at work, after all. I couldn’t get lost in something. I needed to stay alert enough to hear the radio if something came up.
I remembered a conversation I’d had with a coworker on the day shift. He’d mentioned that he plays games during his downtime. Not video games. Casino games. He said it helped him stay awake during the slow hours. I’d nodded and moved on, but now I was sitting in the same building, on the same slow shift, and I understood exactly what he meant.
I pulled out my phone. I found the site. The screen was dim because I didn’t want the light to be obvious. I went through the steps to Vavada sign in. It took maybe thirty seconds. I’d already made an account a few weeks ago on a whim and never used it. Now it was there, waiting.
I deposited fifty dollars. That felt like a reasonable amount for a slow night. I’d spent fifty dollars on dumber things. Concert tickets for a band I didn’t end up liking. A kitchen gadget I used twice.
I chose blackjack because it’s simple. No flashing lights. No loud sounds. Just cards and decisions. I set the volume low. Barely audible. Just enough to hear the cards hit the felt.
I played slow. I was in no rush. I had eight hours to kill. I played one hand, then checked the cameras. Played another, then checked the perimeter log. The rhythm was perfect. Something to do between the things I actually had to do.
The first few hands were nothing. Won a little. Lost a little. My balance hovered around fifty. I wasn’t paying attention to the money. I was paying attention to the pace. The way the game filled the gaps in my night without taking over.
Around midnight, I hit a streak.
I don’t know why. The cards just fell right. Dealer busted three times in a row. I hit blackjack twice. I was playing small bets. Ten dollars a hand. Nothing dramatic. But the wins kept coming. My balance climbed to eighty. Then one hundred. Then one twenty.
I paused. Took a sip of coffee. Did a quick walk around the building. Everything was quiet. The moon was out. The parking lot was empty. I came back to my desk, sat down, and looked at my balance again. One hundred and twenty-eight dollars.
I thought about stopping. That would have been the smart thing. But I wasn’t being dumb. I was just… playing. The night felt different now. The silence wasn’t oppressive anymore. It was just quiet. Calm.
I kept playing. Smaller bets now. Five dollars a hand. I wanted to stretch it ou
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