The hardcore life of a drug mule.

I got to do some drug-muling this week. Boy was it fun.

Wait, that sounds like an actual adventure, and not a twisted half-mirror image of one. I work for a pharmacy that specializes In supplying long term care facilities. Most facilities are on a 30 day cycle for their medications, meaning that they generally get one large shipment every 30 days. With exceptions being made for emergencies and new prescriptions. But all in all days are spent packing tens of thousands of dollars of medication for one delivery. All your eggs in one basket indeed.

Let me explain something about the facility in question. First, it is a depressing place to visit as they take care of and house car accident victims. I don't mean people who broke an arm in a car crash, I mean the folks who have come away permanently changed. Or just aren't there any more. One of the most depressing set of instructions ever seen on a script is probably "Apply to stumps." Really, when it comes to a place like this, those what die are the lucky ones. The rest are just vegetables and shells. Which is why, that if I get into an accident, I hope to buy the farm immediately.

I think that 16 year old kids, and people on DUI charges should be forced to visit... no, work at a place like the Facility. Videos and brochures and slogans are all nice, but you need to be able to experience in all visceral sensual detail what their decisions could lead to, either for themselves or for others. Let them apply ointments to the stumps of a vegetable for a few weeks. Let them interact with the brain-scrambled denizens that poke and prod and generally go on crazy.

And if they fail to learn the lesson, shoot them, as anyone that thick shouldn't be allowed to breed.

In seven months, this is the third time I've taken cycle to the Facility. The first time was because our driver decided to take a day off right as cycle was due. This was about two weeks after I started. I got to drive across the state and deliver the cycle. Which is for our little company a very big deal. Almost like, oh I don't know, some asshole captain of an oil tanker in say Alaska skiving off to get drunk and handing the job over to the peon who washes dishes. Except that I avoided grounding on any reefs.

This is all just to say, muling isn't my usual job, I just step in when needed.

Our driver promoted himself to the head of the delivery department. This happened when one of our competitors imploded and our business quadrupled in like a week. So they brought in a ton of new people and a half-dozen new drivers. Here's where my confusion begins, they have a load of drivers who are fully capable of taking an object from point a and leaving it at point b and then returning home. They have one woman who is dedicated to this route. Plus the self-styled manager of the delivery department carried cycle to this very Facility at least ten times in the past year, plus near daily visits in between.

When he stepped up, he gave his job to an older woman. One who has yet to win the confidence of some of management in her ability to take an object from point a and point b and then return. She's pissed off the goblin that works at the Facility, who just happens unpleasant creature who doesn't seem to like anyone or anything. So I was asked to go along to make things smoother.

Which brings me back...

It turns out that I wasn't just along as extra muscle, I was the actual driver and delivery monkey. This is a one person job, and I would have preferred to do it alone. Or better have our main driver take over.

If one of his hand picked followers is incapable of doing the job, shouldn't the head of the shipping department be the one who steps in? It's not like the man is busy, his days are spent chatting on the phone and taking two hour lunch breaks at Hooters. Yeah, this is great. I'm doing his job. I hope I get paid extra for it. I would like to be the head driver for a day. Hang out at Hooters. Wreck the company bathroom. Take an hour to fill one car up with gas. Creep out the female members of the staff and get away with it.

The drive over went quietly and smooth. How I like it.

There was yelling when we arrived, or so I heard tell of later. The warthog wasn't too pleased to see my copilot. She came out of the South Building and yelled "Don't you know where South is?" I pointed at the building and responded "Yeah, It's right there!" Had I wanted to see a real explosion, I could have said "Do you need directions?" But I like having my testicles whole and attached to my person, so I kept my mouth shut.

Beyond this, the delivery went rather smoothly. Dropped off meds, saw pretty girls. That's the one reason for a Facility visit for me, they have a lot of pretty girls working there. My company is sadly lacking on that front. Gotta go out and visit other companies to see natural beauties in their wild habitats. With luck, maybe I'll bring one home one day.

During the second to the last stop, one of the more mobile patients approached my copilot and asked a simple question "Did it hurt?" Now there are two possible reasons that I can think of for this question, and sadly he didn't opt for the first and instead finished with one of the classic pick-up lines. Only to immediately dive into a second, followed by a third. My copilot giggled the whole time. We don't think she usually gets that sort of attention.

A second high-point, if it can be considered so, involved an idiot man-child. Now, when you stand in the center of a group of angry women, and then make what can be considered sexist statements to them, you should expect to get a beating. He didn't seem to make that connection as they slapped him. He even asked why I didn't man up and help him. I called him a moron. That got a laugh.

Then the return trip. The trip out was quiet, the one back not so much so. I got to hear about the yelling, and autistic grand children and about a dozen other topics of less interest. I thought about the pretty girls.

My favorite quote from the entire experience was "Animals are alive." This wasn't from a head-paitent or a random crazy hobo, but my copilot just after we narrowly missed turning a living breathing turkey into something that could be squeezed through a feeding tube. I don't know what she meant by it - I think that this was my "If it weren't for my horse" moment. I've tried to dissect the statement, and the best I can come up with was that it was a philosophical observation about the changing of the weather and how animals seem to just re-appear again.

Or maybe she's just dumb.

Meeting Crazy Number 2 - Electric Boogaloo!

So, more in the realm of both driving the manual, and meeting the crazies. I'm an office monkey by trade, I was hired to pick up the slack where needed. That is my job, deliver mail, run to the bank, pick up office supplies, clean the office, data entry. Whatever task doesn't have a specific position to cover it, I get to do it. Fine, it keeps my day a bit varied and a little free. And thus a little more interesting.

Thus, when called, I get to step in for our delivery driver, head across the state and drop off some supplies at a facility that the company services. (or even drop off supplies in town)

All the patients in the facility are victims of car accidents and have, among other things, suffered head trauma and brain damage. Some of the residents are a bit on the crazy side. Most have been rather friendly. The sister says that the most depressing instructions she's ever read involved a cream that stated 'apply to stumps'. That's the kind of place I get to visit. I'm much more careful around cars these days, whether it's driving or just crossing the street. After dealing with people who are no longer what they were, I don't want to end up the same way.

And please don't bring up the one-eyed man who doesn't like to wear his glass eye or eye-patch.

I must say that I am spoiled. My aged Lumina has cruise control. Cruise control is nice on long car trips, you set it and the car stays at a constant speed, going up or down hills. I was rather disappointed and surprised when I hit the cruise button in the company car and nothing happened. Even after I pressed it five more times. Hey, it could have just been a short, we don't exactly have a top of the line luxury car. Nope, no luck there. I discovered the next morning that there's a master switch on the steering-wheel I didn't know about that turns the cruise control on and off. Once again my ignorance has defeated me

I was in for an evening of cramped muscles and watching the odometer. Huzzah!

The night was a little longer, and the drive a bit shorter for the lack of Cruise Control. Usually I try and keep within about five miles of the speed limit either way. For that trip? I tried to keep it under 80. It's a funny psychological glitch that drives people to join the herd. Countless times during those four hours on the road I found myself unconsciously accelerating as another car passed me by, or sped up on my tail. These pressures are a bit easier to ignore when the car runs itself. Instead, I have to confront my sheepish tendencies. Bahh ha ha ha!

Somewhere around 2 or 2.5 hours and one cramped leg later, I made it to the facility. Didn't get lost, or turned around this time. Only took three trips to memorize the path.

On the way back to the car I was accosted by a man taking a smoke break. Judging by the sound of his voice, he probably smokes at least five packs a day, and has done so since he was five. On the odd days, he takes a bottle brush to his throat, just for that little extra touch. Anyhow, he called me Hippie. To which I can only respond "That sounds like me!" The long hair and all you know. Well, what followed was a five minute lecture on the evils of the Johnson and Johnson Corporation. It appears that J&J have started putting all sorts of nasty additives into their products - Battery Acid being one of them - all in order to create "Male Pattern Baldness", since it didn't exist before the J&J company was formed.

Tell that to the bald whore-monger Julius Caesar. (He suffered from Pattern Baldness, for those of you my two readers, who don't get the reference) Et Tu Juilui?

Why would they do this? You ask. This big corporation Well J&J make Rogaine, and they have to pimp it somehow. So if the tobacco industry is focusing on making cigarettes safer and more addictive, then why the hell not? Listed on the ingredients for my bottle of shampoo are several chemicals whose names I can't pronounce - except for the word acid - I ain't a chemist, for all I know they stand for dirt and the life blood of a virgin.

So, I was introduced to a new conspiracy theory. Sweet. I love conspiracy theories, the crazier the better, they're fun. He also told me what kind of shampoo to buy. I didn't catch the name, sorry, but it's expensive and comes in liter bottles. So, go forth and buy random expensive shampoos so that your hair doesn't melt. You heard it here first.

After this encounter, I've decided to wear my kilt more often. That way I don't get called Hippie, or if I happen to grow a beard, Jesus. With a Kilt, long hair, and maybe the beard - I'll be a highlander. I might have to carry a sword too. But the fashion-folks always say to accessorize properly. And maybe the crazies will avoid a dude packing a broadsword(my skinny ass would just look comical hauling about a claymore)

Some 12 hours later, I was called on to make a local delivery. It was to an older gentleman who was hooked up to his oxygen tank. Now - I commend him in choosing freedom and comfort. Pants are confining and uncomfortable. But good sir, since you've gotten rid of pants for those very reasons(so I am assuming, since I didn't bring the topic up in conversation) would it not be better to have switched to boxers. Or maybe a kilt. I'm sure there must be some black folk in Scotland by now, you could swing it.

***(Please don't swing it, at least while I'm around)***

So, am I building up Karma for something really good? Or working off something really bad?