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I hate inventory. The one day out of the year that can screw around with my sleep schedule even more than me working two jobs, the long, early, horrible hours of the morning, when you look at the clock and see the number 2 with the dreaded AM right next to it… No one should be awake and working at that time and yet there we are, doing something that a lot of people do to fall asleep. Counting.

The company that’s hired out to do the inventory count with us seems to exclusively employ meth addicts, tweakers, crazy people, and maybe one vaguely competent person per store. The night drags on and the only constants are the scanners making a beep or two and some counter calling out for a SKU check.

I usually am able to skip out on the whole ordeal but they got me this time. Curse my knowledge of books and operations! I couldn’t hide from it forever, but I really hope that when the next inventory happens I’ll be on paternity leave with a new baby or something. Maybe I’ll just keep growing a family every year to avoid having to count some books for one stupid night.