Late-night hours wearing thin these days

Mark J. Yates

I USED TO THINK I had the coolest job in the world. Now, maybe not so much.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a pretty damn cool job. I’ve never gotten a blank stare when I’ve told someone I’m a sportswriter. Not like some might get when they say they’re an accountant, or a banker, or a data analyst.

It’s just that the hours are getting to me. When I was single, working until midnight or 1 a.m. made it somewhat difficult to have a social life. But not really. Not in my instance, anyway. You see, I lived in a town (Greenville, NC) that believed in staying up late. I had a corps of friends that would always still be out when I got off work. Sure, I’d show up around midnight-30 a few drinks and a few laughs behind — but I’d always catch up. Then there were the (numerous) times when nearly the entire work crew would head out for some late-night wings and beer. Undoubtedly, I would always get text messages throughout the last hour or so of my shift asking when I was done with work, what I was doing and telling me to meet someone at some place.

Now, that’s all changed.

One reason I don’t have those friends or that lifestyle anymore is because I moved 3,000 miles from that town and those people. The hours of the job that seemed like they encouraged social encounters now completely destroy them. My social life is changed, now, too.

You see, happy hour for me used to be midnight to 3 a.m. (OK, I know that’s three hours). Now, it’s 7 to 10 p.m. (See, still three hours). The only problem, I’m working those hours.

Since hanging up the bachelor persona, I’ve entered a world of early-to-bed’ers. That’s not a bad thing. You see, most of my friends here (with the exception of a few that I work with) get off work sometime between 5 and 7 o’clock in the evening. This is the first time my work has actually gotten in the way of the things I wanted to do.

Something’s gotta give.

Take my wife — the person with whom I’d most like to be with. Her schedule is usually Monday-Friday, 9 a.m. – 6 p.m. If I’m 4 p.m. – 1 a.m. (working every Saturday and several Sundays a month), you can see how that’s not going to work out. I’m asleep when she leaves for work; she’s asleep when I get back from work. Shitty, eh?

There are several sets of friends we’d love to see more. And there are several more people we could become closer friends with if we could see them more. Hell, there’s a old college friend of my wife’s that now lives in our county. Haven’t seen her yet, because somebody works ’til 1 in the morning five days a week.

There have already been two family birthday’s I’ve only been able to make a cameo appearance at because of working on Sundays.

I suppose I should have seen it coming. That which worked so well for the bachelor life I led became so imperfect once “I” became a “we.”

I haven’t dusted off the resume yet, and don’t plan to in the very near future to be honest. I mean, let’s face it. I am a sportswriter.

But for how long?

I’m also a husband. Maybe someday I’ll be a dad. It’s inevitable that there will come a day when one (or both) of those titles outweighs the title on my business card.