HERE’S TO YOUR HEALTH
Bud’s Story…I woke up Sunday morning more sick than usual, Monday is fast approaching and before I get out of bed I can feel my boss’s hot breath on my neck. My standard excuse is spastic colitis, but it’s wearing thin because it always happens on Monday. I need a new excuse, but my mind is blank. I say to myself, “I need this job to support my family and my alcohol addiction.” It’s about crunch time; even before I get out of bed, my exceptionally keen intellectual mind and magnificent imagination are at work. I need a plan. Number one. Recover. That’s easy. Come home early Sunday and sleep-off the recovery process. Two. Stay home. Sunday night, get in the sack early and get eight hours of sleep. Monday I will arise and hit the ball; this is the plan for Sunday.
Finally, I arise and execute Point One brilliantly but by 2 PM I’m boiled as an owl and back in the sack. Sunday afternoon I’m again unconscious. By 6 PM I’m awake and suffering a thousand miseries. Fully aware of my Sunday plan and even more acutely aware of how close Monday is, I start pacing from room to room like a caged tiger, the perspiration flows, the nerves tremble and a small evil voice says, “Who the hell am I kidding. If I lay my head on a pillow it will explode. I need a few more beers so I can sleep. And once again, walk two blocks to the gin mill and again all things the same and almost immediately it’s 2 AM Monday morning. It’s the same people, same arguments and the same bartender wants to close, it’s one more for the road and six to go. And again, back two blocks, in the sack and the very-next-second it is Monday morning.
I awaken, but I’m near death. I sit on the edge of the bed with my head between my hands, perspiration cascading down my face; I lift my eyes to the heavens and cry out, “OH GOD!” (This is the only time I communicate with deity). “So Help Me God, if you can get me through this day, I’ll never do it again.”
The little woman stands over me looking down at her pathetic, sweating, husband and shakes her head in complete bewilderment. And I tell her, “Please, not this morning.”
I stagger to my feet and stumble towards my place of employment. Every step is purgatory and after an eternity of suffering, I arrive at my place of business. I walk through the entrance and I’m greeted by several sober people who arrive early, stay late, and seldom drink alcohol. “Good Morning” they say in an upbeat, serendipitous voice! I want to kill them with my bare hands. I stagger to my desk, pick up a piece of paper and make the appearance of going from one office to the next carrying that paper, not knowing what’s written on it and silently praying, “OH God, please let it be 4:30 before I die,” and “OH, please God, don’t let my boss ask me any questions that require a sober answer.” Finally, the blessed hour of 4:30 PM arrives and the wounded warrior returns home. I collapse into bed and kick off the sheets because I’m bathed in perspiration.
It’s Tuesday morning, I’m not much better and so, I cheat, chisel, and avoid the boss until 4:30 PM. Back home, collapses into bed and lick the wound some more. Then it’s Wednesday and the first manifestations of health return and I begin to notice all sorts of defects in company policy and in the people around me, loudly voicing my complaints to anybody willing to listen. I walk home Wednesday, the spring has returned to my step. At home I announce to the little woman that tonight is my night out and not to expect me home early. Forget about dinner; give me a boullion cube and a cup of hot water. This is the first food since last Friday and four hours later, I’m back at the bar, loudly proclaiming, “With the exception of one genius, my company is filled with idiots, especially my boss the professional rat.”
To be continued.
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