10:39 PM: Once again this year I’m working the overnight security shift at the St. Mark’s Catholic Church community festival in St. Paul, Minnesota. My task: to remain awake and alert for the next 8.5 hours, and to make sure no one fiddles with anything they’re not supposed to be fiddling with. I’ve been instructed to take particular care to ensure that no copper wiring is stripped from the ferris wheel and that the deep fryers aren’t rolled away.

I’ve set up a base camp in the Country Store, where I’m sheltered by a tarpaulin and illuminated by a string of festive lights. Though the tarp blocks my view to the west, I have a clear view to the south where I can keep the Fabulous Raffle, the Cow Pie stand, the big tent, the ticket stand, and the ferris wheel under constant visual surveillance. I’ll have to step out of the Country Store occasionally to establish a perimeter around the grounds. Those walks will also be opportunities for me to discreetly relieve myself.

My provisions are 12 Roundy’s brand crunchy peanut butter granola bars, 16 ounces of Monster Energy Zero Ultra, 16 ounces of sugar free Rock Star, 16 ounces of sugar free Red Bull, 24 ounces of Diet Mountain Dew, and 24 ounces of water. My survival equipment: a jacket (with hood) and my dad’s golf umbrella. I’ve been instructed to use the umbrella to push on the tarps covering Father’s Fries, the Hungry Lions’ Den, and Marker’s Sweets to ensure that water doesn’t pool atop them when it rains.

Yes, it is supposed to rain. After midnight. Heavily.

12:01 AM: Only two hours in, and I’ve already had my first incident requiring confrontation. Don’t worry, I’m okay.

Shortly after eleven hundred hours, I became aware of a sports utility vehicle—within the blocked-off section of Dayton Avenue—with its lights on. I approached the vehicle, and the driver rolled his window down. “My parents live here,” he said, “and when I came to check the mail, I saw the note about having to move the car.” I nodded and waved him through, moving a traffic cone out of the way to accommodate his egress. “Have a good night!” he said cheerily.

Having been roused from my station at the Country Store, I decided to take a look-see around the grounds. The deep fryers are still in position, and none of the rides seem to have been tampered with. I’m realizing, however, that I haven’t been properly trained to distinguish between the wind-blown clanking of a giant party tent and the—perhaps very similar—sound of copper wire being violently thieved from an Octopus ride. Hopefully that won’t be an issue.

I also nervously peed behind the CHURCH OF SAINT MARK PARKING & PLAYGROUND sign. Nervously, because I just participated in a storytelling event where one of my fellow presenters told a story about the emotional pain and suffering—not to mention the inconvenient stigma—of being convicted as a sex offender due to some seemingly minor offense that was vaguely enough described that it could well have been public urination.

Fortunately, I had everything tucked away when a St. Paul Public Works truck rolled up to deliver the six barricades that have apparently been ordered for traffic control purposes. Who knew the City of St. Paul has a guy who drives around at midnight delivering traffic barricades? I mean, couldn’t that be done during the day? The mysteries of public works.

I’m now ensconced back in the base camp. Connectivity is stable, though I’ve discovered that St. Mark’s School does not permit visitors to read posts about Star Trek—at least, when those posts feature space biologists in bikinis.

Supplies are down a few sips of water and one can of Monster Energy Zero Ultra. With 7.5 hours remaining in my shift, I think I can afford to crack a Red Bull. In fact, maybe I’d better—it’s starting to rain.

2:33 AM: The rain came, and the rain went. It never became what you’d call “heavy”—maybe “moderate.” I dutifully went out with the umbrella and poked at the tarps covering the Fabulous Raffle and Father’s Fries booths, but there was no water accumulation, so we’re good. Now it’s just getting cold, and I don’t have any layers left to add.

Okay, according to the Internet it’s 63 degrees here right now. Not exactly cold, I guess, but…I mean, if it was that temperature in your house you’d probably turn on the heat, right?

While it was raining, Public Works came by again—this time, cleaning the street. In the rain. You would think the streets near the University of St. Thomas would be filled with stumbling bros at 2 AM, but actually, they’re filled with Public Works employees engaged in absurd tasks.

There have been a few bros—walking in pairs, as bros are wont to do. There’s also one woman in sweats (UST class of ’15) who’s walked by twice, once on the phone and once with a bro, both times barefoot. I remember this from last year—St. Thomas students walking down the street in pajamas, like the whole neighborhood is just one big dorm, with Public Works employees as RAs.

I’m on my third energy drink, which is a little excessive given that I went to bed later than this last night. Can taurine kill you? I’m afraid to Google it. Who knows if that would even work…the list of sites I’m being blocked from is growing, and it now includes my own Tumblr.

I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.

2:55 AM: They’ve taken the logical next step. Is there a secretary in the school office monitoring all this?

3:35 AM: I just want to point out what this otherwise puritanical network is letting me get away with. (For work, thank you very much.)

4:28 AM: An hour or so ago, the stumbling bros finally made their appearance. I heard them coming a block away. “This girl…this girl…she’s just…real country, you know? She’s the real deal. I dunno, man…I might have to get down on that!” They then debated directions for a few minutes (“Dude! The library’s that way!”), and finally, inevitably, spotted me. “Hey. Hey! Get out of the Country Store! Get drinking! It’s early!” Then they stumbled along, giggling with amusement at themselves.

The rain has just come back, lightly—but before it did, I ventured out to snap a couple shots of the delightful attractions local children will be encountering here at the parish festival.

That thing, above, is approximately the size of the Apollo landing module. You get in it. In its belly.

Then you can relax on the merry-go-round.

It’s still dark out—the sun won’t rise for another hour, says the Internet—but the birds are chirping, intensely. How am I supposed to work in these conditions?

6:19 AM: Let’s wrap this up with the acknowledgement that I would do very poorly in any kind of serious torture situation. Four hours in 60 degrees, and I’d give ’em all the nuclear codes plus my Netflix password.

So I guess it wasn’t actually the “Cow Pie Stand,” but the “Council of Catholic Women Blue Ribbon Pie Stand.”

In a scene familiar from last year, Mom brought coffee…because, moms.

– Jay Gabler