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    1. The Angry Truck Driver and the Soda Warehouse

      by , 10-06-2012 at 08:31 AM
      10-05-2012 -- I seem to be standing on a vacant lot at the side of a road in a very empty section of town. I am here with a cute lady who seems to be very depressed, and we are talking about ways to deal with depression, and I seem to be trying to encourage her to just keep going.

      Soon I seem to find myself at some sort of diner, and there are some large thugs who seem to be trying to rile themselves up enough to cause trouble. There are vague hints of possible super hero involvement, but nothing concrete that I can actually remember, just a feeling that there was a lot more that somehow vanished from my mind.

      I next find myself arriving for a work shift at a security place that seems to be a cross between an OPC plant and some sort of warehouse. I am working my usual security shift, and make a patrol to the back of the property, where I find a truck that is preparing to leave with a load of something. The driver is just about to jump down and unhook some kind of connection between the truck and the dock, and I decide to be kind and help him.

      He seems upset, and in convinced that I wouldn't do it right, but all I find myself doing is loosening two very loose knots of string, which don't seem tough enough to hold the truck in any way, regardless. Though he is on the end of the truck talking with me, his truck starts to drive off, and he is yelling at me about the lock. Oddly enough, I feel my pocket, and I do have a pad lock in there. But the truck keeps moving, and the lock is heavy enough that I can't just throw it at the guy.

      The truck keeps moving, and I'm overweight and slow, so I can't catch up quickly, but I keep moving toward the gate, sure I can catch up there and give the guy the lock. Problem is, when I get there, I can't recognize him, he doesn't approach me, and Wally calls to me from his forklift, and explains I am in trouble. Turns out the guy was so mad about me 'stealing' his lock that he refused to carry the cargo and just drove off, and now there are going to be all kinds of reports, and I am in big trouble.

      I start muttering about how I simply tried to help the guy out, and I certainly won't ever bother doing anything like that again. From now on, anything they want done that isn't security, they can take a flying leap!

      I start to patrol the other side of the property, and as I reach the back, I find myself almost in a sort of dance with a small hand-push pallet jack that seems to be operated by remote control, or perhaps self-motivated. Me and a couple of the employees are trying to get out of the way, but it just isn't working.

      I finally manage to escape the crazy thing, and am wandering back toward the front of the property when one of the supervisors calls me over to an office in a trailer. They have a form about the incident that they want me to sign. I try to tell them what happened, but they don't even want to hear it. They just want me to sign on what the driver reported before he left, regardless of what actually happened. And the form that they want me to sign, the carbon paper doesn't line up, so it is only going to show up on one copy, anyway. I try to read the form, but none of it seems to make any sense.

      I almost leave the form book, but remember it at the last moment and pull it out of the hands of another worker who had picked it up, and return it to the office. By this time I am quite late getting off shift, and just head to the front gate, ready to go home. About this time, one of the female owners starts to make an announcement about how people should let the drivers untie their own trucks, and I realize I am finished at this company. Idiots!

      As I walk out the gates, I find I am around the area of Holden and Texas, at the same property I dreamed I was working at in the plague dream a little over a month ago, Here. I walk down the street, passing by a nightclub, and for some reason I find myself having to kind of hop from dumpster to dumpster, and even on a couple of cars to manage to pass by the nightclub's parking lot. The owner of the place seems very impressed, and is demanding to know why his employee (who he seems to be bawling out for not breathing properly) can't be more like me. Weird.

      The next property down is a warehouse, where I stop to ask about a job. I know they had nothing the last time I was here, and I am just going through the motions, but even when I explain I am looking for either something clerical or something driving that doesn't need a DOT license, they actually seem interested. They hand me an application to fill out, but like the last form, it is all weird, and hard to read. Soon I find myself trying to write my employment history on a pair of A & W Rootbeer cans, which makes at least a slight bit of sense, since it is a soda warehouse.

      Updated 10-06-2012 at 08:34 AM by 57040

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