“I’m getting too old for this,” or so goes the daily ritual at the start of every shift. Since the normal 24-hour cycle is meaningless here, that happens once every 18 hours. I think the 18-hour day was developed by the US Navy for use on submarines. Oh, for the days back on Earth—24-hour days; wake up and get a cup of coffee and go out on the patio and soak in a little sunshine! Things are not that way now. It’s a chemical sponge bath, put on an ill-fitting plastic jumpsuit, and off to the common area for an evil-tasting energy drink. I guess looking at the sun is out too, since viewing it without the proper filters would fry your retinas.
Well, I’ve arrived at the common area. The rest of the groggy crew is streaming in. It’s time to discuss the shift’s activities. When I started my career, that used to amount to toolbox safety talks and work assignments. Now it’s check life support, check inventory, remind everybody that one stupid move results in instant death, and hope that we get something accomplished this shift.