I'm sure everyone who has a job can agree that at said job there are always those certain few tasks that they really despise doing. Well, putting away truck is on my list of things I hate doing at my job. It's not at the top, and to be honest really it's less of a hate and more of a mild annoyance, but the point is I do not like truck days. I always seem to get stuck hauling boxes. I can live with that. I have to come in 2 hours before the store actually opens. I can... almost... make it in on time. I have to sit around and let my store manager yell at me for slacking when I've done easily 4 times as much work as him, like enough work to the point where the assistant store manager, the third key, and the other employees will say something and defend me because I won't. That I can't deal with. I put in my two weeks notice with my ASM every week on truck day. She laughs and tells me not to worry about. I go outside after my SM leaves and have a cigarette with my other third key and life is a little less bitter.
This truck day however wasn't so bad because Bruce made a surprise appearance. I happened to be walking into the office to grab an invoice when the girl ringing goes, Luigi go check in the milk. So I was expecting our normal driver, when lo and behold 6'1" walks through the door. For what ever reason it never even crossed my mind that there way come a day when he had to fill in on our route again and he would be back in our store. So my store manager appears while I'm checking the delivery in, and orders me to show 'New Kid' where the milk crates are. He was here 3 das ago I'm fairly confident he remebers. Not that I said, I think what I said was something more along the lines of "I'd love to."
So once again I find myself outside, with the milk man. Before I can even say anything, he shoots me this look with a lopsided grin and a half laugh and says "It might be dangerous for me to be out here with you alone again." I'm like, what? He laughs again and pulls the collar of the vest/jacket he's wearing out of the way and I pretty much shit myself when I see a hickey the size of tangerine sitting on his neck, just below his ear. I start appologising, but he just waves me off, telling me he's not worried about it and he doesn't regret what happened, he just doesn't his boss, who saw it the day I gave it to him, to think he's having too much fun on this route. Then he said something that made me laugh and also start to wonder. He said something to the effect of 'You give hickeys like a wolverine.'
Now yes that is a strange thing to say, but the peculiar thing about it is that he's not the first person to tell me that. Now yes, I do give fantastic hickeys, but if you were to equate hickeys with any animal, why a wolverine? My friend, and former hickey victim, Kristi insisted that she meant my hickeys were vicious when she said I was like a wolverine. I guess that makes sense, considering like I said before, I do give fantastic, and apparently vicious, hickeys.
So I come home and tell one of my friends about it, and she laughed and then started making a list of some of my better hickey victims. There was Kristi who holds the record for fastest hickey ever given in history. She's very very fair skinned, which I'm sure made it alot easier. The person keeping time clocked me in at 4 seconds to give her a gold ball sized hickey on her neck. She wasn't too crazy about having to wear her hair down for the next 3 weeks. There was Rob, who my friends wrestled to the ground and pinned down so I could get my teeth onto him. His girlfriend happened to pull into the driveway as I was doing it to him (we were on our friend's front lawn after all). And then there was Sara, and I laughed and laughed and laughed some more because Sara's is one of my favorite stories ever.
Sara's ex-boyfriend John was a dick and a half. No one liked him. Sara didn't even like him. She got to the point where she felt really trapped in the relationship because she wanted to break up with him, but couldn't seem to find a justifyable reason. So we're at a party one night in our junior year of high school and we're talking about it and I tell her, you want a reason? I'll give you a reason. She was confused, I was 4 beers in and on a mission. John was not only a dick, but he was also a very heavy drinker, so I spent the rest of the night watching him, waiting for him to pass out, which he inevitably would do. He managed to haul himself inside just as the party started to die down and people started passing out around the house it was at. He landed alone in the formal living room. So he's out cold, Sara is still confused, and I'm about to take action. I excuse myself and I join him in the formal living room for the better part of an hour. I finished my job, went back to the family room where Sara and the other friends I was with were sleeping, under a pool table no less, and went to sleep.
The next morning, when he walked out of the formal living room with hickeys all across his chest, his back, and his neck, not to mention bite and scratch marks across his shoulders, she had plenty of reason to dump him. In front of everyone. It was phenomenal.
It's moments like that, that make me think it's good to be a wolverine.