Adrenaline Crash

There are bad nights. Then, there are crash nights.

You're already tired. Don't really feel like working. And you hit the ground running. Non-stop for six hours - half of it in Friday traffic.

Everything is fucked up. The traffic is fucked up. The dispatcher fucks up. The restaurants fuck up. The customers are fucked up and share their fuckupedness by tipping poorly.

The evil of it all means your first three runs take over an hour each. The cruel calculus of delivery means your making minimum wage - maybe less.

You can't stop to eat. You barely have time to grab a Coke. Only the few minutes in a restaurant allows you to deal with the consequences of that Coke.

The next to the last run (the front of a double) is late but you weren't told so when the customer opens the door, you are the target of the fury. The last run (the back of the double, now late because you had to deal with the screaming customer on the front end) is to the edge of your territory, in a neighborhood you've never seen.

Then it all ends. You return to base. You check out. And you return to your car one last time.

That's when the shakes start.

It's the adrenaline crash.

You see, your body has been feeding on raw fight and flight instincts for hours. Pure adrenaline. It has sustained you through the maelstrom and now it is gone. The body no longer needs that ragged edge focus and wants nothing more than to shut down.

When the shakes finally pass, through force of will, you start your car and carefully make your last drive - home.