The ecology of the copy editor
[Editor's note: I wrote this essay in Summer 2003. Since its writing, my knish supplier has gone belly up, and it is sorely missed.]
Midnights present a different paradigm. The contrast to daytime is vivid for a reformed morning person.
Six-a.m. mornings were my norm. Taking a copy editor’s job meant a 180-degree shift. I have worked the Star-Banner’s night copy desk for just over four months – long enough to adapt to the schedule. Now, I wake up to a world that day people create beginning right after my head hit the pillow that morning.
When I hunger for breakfast, the morning stable of knishes has usually fled my local bagel shop. Favorite morning NPR programs cannot broadcast into dreams. Television slips in importance: There’s simply not a soap opera or daytime talk show worth attention. Reading grows more vital in the hours before I work at 5 p.m., and finally there’s time to tackle The Lord of the Rings trilogy for the first time since my teens.
After work, my commute home winds through empty streets – eyes open to a quiet, unassuming city. Late-night hunger is a sad tale, a doughnut or fast food taco being the best options outside of the ubiquitous Waffle House. The 2 a.m. recast of Washington Week and a video rental membership offer the best after work entertainment.
Then, when the credits wind down the screen, it’s time to relax into the futon, and dream of hot knishes with mustard.