Garrett The Goblin

In my home, there lives a goblin with an appetite for Bolle safety glasses.

Many of the more interesting cultures in the world, past and present, feature household spirits. Spirits, minor deities or fairies, if treated right, offer protection to the household, good fortune, or help with domestic duties. Typically, one placates such creatures by offerings of food and drink, sometimes incense, and sometimes a small, symbolic house for them to live in. Then your household spirit will help you keep a happy home. If you neglect the needs of your spirit, you might suffer from mischief, such as a disloyal spouse, soured milk, or your car keys going missing moments before you leave the house for work. To many, household spirits seem odd, but keeping them happy is considered serious business in Spain, Scotland, much of Asia, and one modest apartment in Albany, WA.

Garrett the Goblin lives between the brick and plasterboard in the wall facing my driveway. He is squat, unbelievably ugly, has bad posture, and smells of Lynx Africa.

Garrett has no interest in the food and drink I leave out, and the smelly candles I burn make him sneeze. Garrett can only be placated by offerings of safety glasses. He is not impressed by my Oakleys or my prescription glasses. The safety glasses from Bunnings barely satisfy him for a few hours, and then he will be making my taps leak and unlocking doors. Only Bolles will do.

The safety glasses are supplied by my work, I wear them for a few days then leave them on my desk. When I next run to the kitchen for a drink I hear him scarper over to the desk, snatch the Bolles, then squeeze himself back into the wall cavity via the hole I have never gotten around to fixing behind the TV.

The gatekeepers of PPE at my work are three ladies. How do I explain to these modern, rational, and sophisticated women that I live with a goblin whose mischief can only be mitigated by safety glasses? Audrey thinks I am touched in the head. Carissa believes I am unhealthily fond of the smell of newly minted plastic. Talia suspects I am selling them on the black market in former Soviet Bloc countries to feed my iced coffee habit, but can prove nothing.

In the end, the disdain is an uncomfortable, but small price to pay. Usually, Garrett’s ugliness is hidden from view, nothing has needed repairing for ages, the cost of living crisis has not forced me to get a housemate, and goblins are excellent deterrents to porch-pirates.