Still Warm
I'm writing this at the tail end of a rotation, which is probably the only honest time to write about one. There's a particular kind of tired that comes from being paged at odd hours: not the clean exhaustion of a long day, but something stranger, because the hours are never quite yours. Our on-call is twelve hours at a stretch, 8 to 8, seven days in a row when it's your turn. And the team lives on opposite sides of the planet, one half in PST, the other in IST. So the pager is really a baton, and by the time it reaches you it's always some odd hour, and it's always still warm from someone else's hands. That handoff is where things go to die. Someone in IST spends an hour chasing an alert: checks a dashboard, tries a restart, rules a thing out, finds the real cause just as their day ends. Then PST wakes up to the same alert firing again, and almost none of that hour survives the crossing. Maybe a one-line note. Maybe nothing. So PST starts over: same dashboard, ...