Working an Alaskan Night Shift When there is no Night

There are many dangerous jobs in Alaska. Thanks to television, many will automatically think of Bering Sea fishermen, or possibly (albeit geographically inaccurate), long-haul trucking over frozen lakes, but there are more mundane, everyday sources of employment that are almost as hazardous.

Shift workers. Yes, ordinary, run-of-the-mill people who punch in while most of the world is sacking out. Those night crawlers who keep the hospitals, police departments, factories and convenience stores ticking over in the dead of night. Studies have been conducted that attribute shift work to elevated stress levels, sleep deprivation and associated disorders, irritability, increased risk of cancer and heart disease, but I have yet to see one that deals with being a night worker in a place that has no night.

I sit on my front steps, waiting for a ride to work at quarter to midnight, reading the paper. By sunlight. At 2 AM, I wander past the window on my way for a coffee refill and note that the cars passing by have finally had to turn on their headlights. By 4:30 AM, the sun is streaming in through that window, creating a glare on the monitors again. It got dark...ish. As the last pink glows were fading in the West, the first pink glows were appearing in the East. The sky between is an ash gray. A few very bold and arrogant stars manage to make their presence known, sort of like seeing the neighbor's house 3 blocks away with electric candles in the windows. The moon is completely confused, turning bright orange and hanging just above the horizon like the odd child out at a birthday party. 'Tis indeed strange to see such a moon completely surrounded by bright blue sky. And yet, each summer, here in Alaska, this is what night workers view.