Garlic Patch

So as some of you know, I had to go into work early last night to do inventory. Now, for those of you who have never worked in a retail environment, some companies hire an independent inventory company to count all their shit. Sam’s club is one of those companies. Anyhow, the usual routine is they bus in these earthy inventory folk (there really is no other fitting term), hook their hand scanners up to our system, and set them free. Sam’s doesn’t just set them free. They hand the night shift hooker/vampire crowd the reigns of these big earthy Clydesdale bastards. So at midnight I got paired up with one of these short bus fucks. The first dude was ok, he knew how to count, had opposable thumbs to use the computer terminal, and a beard made me expect the car from the ZZ Top videos to come rolling down the pharmacy aisle where we were counting, and 2 other guys with beards to do that rolling arm pointing shit as some aqua net sprayed 80’s babe in a miniskirt came out of nowhere. I would have totally shat my pants if that would have happened. But then break came and the audit manager switched me to a middle aged guy who smelled like garlic. Not terribly like garlic, to the point where you get the dry heaves, but enough like garlic that after 4 or so hours of counting, I started to get a mild stomach ache. You know, when you get kicked in the daddy spot and like half an hour later you get a warm pinchy pain in the bottom of your stomach? It was like that, but only with a mild garlic waft to the air. Oh, and you know how older people can usually do math really fast in their heads, since they’re all old and didn’t have computers or calculators? Yeah, not Garlicface McGee. I’m saying maybe a quarter of his tallies were wrong. Not dead wrong where I would have made him cry with my harsh words and midnight crime fighter voice, but wrong enough to be irritating. Kind of like the faint smell of garlic in the air. But all in all, it wasn’t a bad night. Except the old guy forgetting his abacus and drinking a hot glass of garlic butter right before work.

On a completely different note, I am 3 days totally smoke free now. I went out and bought the patch. I don’t mention this as though bragging; I merely bring it up because those things give you really messed up dreams. This time I didn’t forget to take it off, I left it on on purpose so I’d have messed up dreams. I never remember what the hell happens in my dreams, but when I used the patch before I remembered all of them in all their completely fucked up glory. Like today when I went to sleep I had a dream that I was Spiderman. No, I wasn’t swinging around New York saving saucy redheads in the rain, but I was hanging out at the Louisville library. If you’ve ever been there, you know how it has the upstairs part where you were never allowed to go as a child? Yeah, I was up there. Shooting webbing out of my pimp ass wrists. Only I wasn’t wearing the usual Spiderman costume, or even the schuper schweet Venom variant. No, I was just wearing my normal everyday clothes. With a super cool hat I think. I really don’t remember. All I know is there was some girl I knew from somewhere that owed some money to some hospital for her grandma or something and wanted me to pay for it. Just cause I can do whatever a spider can. Can you believe that shit? Trying to bum money off Spidey while I’m wearing a cool fedora and shooting webs all over the forbidden zone of the library. I don’t think anyone else was in the library, but it looked closed. And there was some battle damage and I had to jump over a pit of some sort. So if anyone knows anything about dreams and/or nicotine induced hallucinations, please drop me a line and tell me what the hell that dream meant.

You know what? Drop me a line if you fucking read this. I’ve posted like half a dozen “big boy blogs” and gotten like 3 comments. Otherwise I’m going back to doing nothing but surveys and I’m going to keep all these fucking golden stories to myself until they develop into some form of mental illness.

Thanks for reading, but that’s it for now, kids.

Dr. Robinson