I'm back

Anyone still out there?  Its been a while but life goes on and here I am.  Sober, surprisingly.   Single too, which is a little less thrilling.  I plan to take this up again once I think of some funny shit to write about.  Nothing comes to mind right now.  Cheers!

The Beginning.

I woke up facing a white brick wall, covered with a paper-thin gray blanket, shivering.  Well, I thought, there's more to this than I can figure out right now, and there didn't seem to be anyone around, so I decided to lay there.  I stared at the ceiling for a moment while I tried to remember how I ended up on this cot, but drew a blank.  It'll come back, I thought, just don't force it.  I pulled the blanket over my head, but my shoe-less feet were exposed.  Jail, I decided.  At least I had put on socks that night, or day.  Turning my head, I saw the stainless steel toilet an arm's length away. My face felt heavy with flesh.  I wondered how long I had been here?  I could see a time clock through the little window in the door.  Maybe when I heard the sounds of the shift change, I could put something together.  In the meantime, I curled up so the blanket would just about cover me, faced the wall, and closed my eyes.  Gotta wait these things out..

I sat up...didn't feel too bad, took an inventory of myself, no major injuries.  I still couldn't put a thought together - I stared at the wall and noticed some kind of stain.  Old blood?  Maybe someone had hacked up some phlegm, but it was the wrong color.  I moved down the cot a bit, and put my head in my hands, listening.  What the hell? I thought.  I haven't been inside a cell for a few years, and had only been drinking for a week or so.  The usual thoughts of self preservation ran through my head...about my job, relationship, etc., then I realized I didn't know what day or time it was, so why waste energy on that.  Shit.  I hit the floor and did about twenty-five push-ups, just to take some of the edge off, then crawled back onto the cot.  The brown stain was about six inches from my nose, so I curled the blanket over my head, feeling my heart beat.

What a feeling...

So, after I heard the clanging of a few doors and some yelling, I began to get pissed off.  I felt sober, really had no idea how much or when my last drink had been, but I was angry.  And stuff was coming back to me.  And I believe I had been PC'ed.  By my girlfriend.  Son of a bitch.  You know, it always amazed me whenever I was PC'ed because I knew that when I was drinking , I was a gentle soul.  Kind andfriendly.  Really a good time to be around. What could I have possibly done to be relegated to this dirty cell like a common bag man?  But I still wasn't sure, so I didn't want to jump to any hasty conclusions.  Not that I've ever done that before.  Perhaps there had merely been some misunderstanding, sure to be ironed out later.  Apologies would be forthcoming.

After a while, someone brought me a tray of food, one of those brown sectionals about 3/4 of an inch thick that weigh about 2 pounds.   Beans.  White bread (of course).  A couple of little plastic tubs of apple juice.  I backed away from the door as he came in, and he set the tray down on the floor in front of me.  We eyed each other for a second and I said, "Hey, thanks."  He glared at me, and walked out, slamming the door behind him.  Shit.  I stared at the beans, then sporked them up, trying to remember when the last time I ate was.   I thought to myself, I wonder what time it is now?

Life can really suck, especially in jail...

Well, after a few shift changes and a little eavesdropping on some cop chatter, I finally figured out that it was about 9AM.  Doing the math backward, I guess I must have arrived a few hours prior to the previous night's 11PM change, so my best guess was that I had been in that cell for about 13 or 14 hours.  Long enough.

I started banging on the door of the cell, yelling all kinds of crap, trying to get someone's attention.  You know, the worst thing to do when you are PC'ed is to become a little violent, because that is the first indication that you are not quite ready to be released.  Unfortunately, I forgot that cardinal rule just long enough to piss someone off, because I was staring at that brown stain and doing push-ups for another 4 hours before the cell door opened.  I tried to look as innocent as possible as I said 'hello' to the CO who entered.  He said, 'you ready to get out of here?'  Before I could say another word, he told me to grab my tray and follow him.  That I did.  Home free...or so I thought.

almost out.

The cop took me into booking and told me to stand next to this vertical, human-sized ruler where he snapped my picture.  At this point, I asked him if there were any charges against me and, much to my surprise, he said 'no'. I said 'I'm free to leave, then?' and he said 'you need to call someone to come and get you.'  OK, here's problem #1.  I'm 40 miles from my girlfriend's house and she's not coming, I could pretty much bet the farm on that.  I asked him to call me a cab, whereupon he asked me how much money I had on me.  Well, he was looking through my wallet as he asked, and he said 'it looks like you've got seven bucks here.   Where do you plan to go?'

Immediately, my addled brain went to work.  I asked him to call me a cab that could take me to an ATM, then I could withdraw the rest of the money needed to take me somewhere to get some medical help for my obvious problem.  He picked up the phone, and I could hear him saying "yes, he needs to get to Manchester.  $85?  Well, he's got $7 here and says he can get the rest if you take him to an ATM.  I don't know.  Well, then you can keep the $7 and leave him there.'  The cop hung up the phone and looked at me.  'You're lucky', he said. 'He's been burned too many times by guys like you, it's a good thing you have the $7 to get to the gas station.  After that, whatever happens, its up to you guys. Get back in the cell, and when the cab gets here, I'll sign you out."

What a relief, I thought.  I'm almost out of here, and sure could use a drink.  The only problem is, is that I'm pretty sure I only have about $40 in my checking account.  But I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

A super nice cabbie...

I heared some muffled noises, and I looked up to see the CO beckoning to me, and I heard a loud CLICK and my cell unlocked.  I sat on a tattered red chair, signed a few things, then was handed what appeared to be an old-style vinyl bank deposit bag.  The cop said 'your wallet and the change that was in your pocket is there.  $7.75.'  I looked into the bag, removed the items, then looked back up at him.  'That's it?  Where's my coat and backpack?'  'That's all you came in with.  Sign here, your ride is outside.'  I scribbled a few lines on a sheet of paper, he gave me an official looking receipt which I crammed in my pocket, and stood up.  I turned and looked at him and briefly thought about commenting on the cleanliness of the place, but instead said 'which way out?'  He pointed down a hallway. 'Two doors then take a right, you'll see where to go.'  I did, and when I made it through that third door, it was pouring rain.  But there was a cab outside.

Normally I try to get in the front seat with a cab driver; I don't know, it makes me feel like a member of the cab brotherhood.  These guys have it rough.  I thought better of it this time, and slid into the back.  I looked at him via the rear-view, and he looked back at me for a second. 'You need money?' he asked. ' How much do you have?'  'Just take me to the nearest ATM and I can pull out as much as I need,' I said.  He stared me down for another second and said,'It's eighty bucks to Manchester.'  I guess my appearance had him a bit worried about the potential profit.  My mind was racing.  I knew I could take out $40, but that was it.  And, I needed a drink, bad.  I said 'Is there a gas station around with an ATM?  Like a mini-mart?'  'That's where we're going,' he said.  'Out by the highway.'  My heart rose a bit as I realized I could grab wine at the store, but still wouldn't have enough money for the cab ride.  Plus it was raining and I was miles from home.  I thought about it for a second.  "Sounds good, no problem.  Let's go.'  I had about 5 minutes to figure this out.

mini-mart

I'm trying to make small talk with the cabbie, and he's actually a pretty nice guy.  I guess I'm not the first fare he's picked up from the jail, because he's asking all the right questions, 'how long were you in there?' (17 hrs) 'did they feed you?' (Yes) sucked, right?' (you got it, boss).  He said, 'The store is just this side of the highway, we'll be there in a couple of minutes.  I'm not sure where the ATM is inside, but I've seen a sign out front that they have one.  If you give me $70 plus the $7 that you have, that'll cover it, tip and all.'  I'm still in a fog, but agree to these terms.  I tell him that I think I have enough in the account, and look at him in the rear-view, and notice he has a look of concern.

So, we pull in, and I get out.  It takes me about 2 full minutes to locate the ATM, one of those stand alone kiosks tucked away in a corner near a stack of Sprite cases.  I also notice that the coolers are filled with beer, and feel an immediate sense of relief.  I just hope there's something a bit stronger I can carry out of there.  Theft briefly crosses my mind, but jail is too fresh; I still reek of misdemeanors. So, I insert my ATM card and punch in my 4 digits, and hit the eighty button.  The 'we charge $2.75 for this transaction in addition to any fees your bank may charge' pops up, and now I'm sweating.  I agree to the terms, and wait while the machine connects to some relay and accesses my account.  Sure as shit, 'this transaction cannot be completed, would you like to try another transaction?'  I go for the $40, which I know is a sure thing, wondering why I tried $80 to begin with.  Maybe out of guilt.  The machine spits out 2 twenties, then I turn and look out at the cab.  The cabbie seems unoccupied, staring blankly out the window.  I quickly move toward the wine section of the store, hatching a plan.  Somehow, I gotta make it out of here with some booze and get a 40 minute cab ride, all for $47.  It's not looking too good.

Why is it never easy?

I make a snap decision.  I'm going to charge some booze an my AMEX card, but the problem is, is that I'm pretty sure that it's maxed out.  Yes, that's possible, because it's a secured card; my credit has been in the crapper for a while and this is one way I decided to try to improve it.  So I promptly maxed the card out, mostly with drinks and extravagant tips.  For some reason, my credit is simply not improving.

I think, 'How can I justify walking back to the cab with $47 cash and carrying a bag of beer and wine, then bargaining the fare down?'  It simply doesn't make sense.  But I decide to give it a try anyway.  I grab one of those nifty "4 little bottles of wine equals one full bottle of wine" 4-packs and a few pounders of high alcohol malt liquor and head to the register, keeping my head down, sneaking peeks at the cab.  Still no interest from his end.  For that I am grateful.  Well, there is a line, and a problem with the credit card reader.  Shit.

Time is moving slowly here.  The guy in front of me obviously knows the cashier, and they are making small talk while the manager unplugs then re-plugs the credit card reader.  Time stands still now, as everyone just stares at the machine waiting for something, I don't know what.  I feel a little sweat pooling at the lower part of my back.  Soon, the guy in front of me pays, leaves, and I am exposed for the reprobate that I am.  I put the wine and beer on the counter, and say 'credit, please'.  Of course, I am told that the system is rebooting, and will be a minute.  At this point, I'm pretty sure the cabbie is wondering where I am.  But I dare not look. 

'That will be $11.79, please' she says.  I hand her the card, and she slides it through the reader.  I'm really sweating now.  'Hmmmm', it doesn't seem to want to take it.'  I say, 'OK, try it without the beer'.  She slowly pulls the 3 cans out of the bag; all eyes in the store are on me. '$8.99', she says.  She runs the card again, and I can tell she is a bit embarrassed as she looks at the reader.  'I'm sorry, sir, but it still won't take it.'  I'm panicking now.  I tell her, 'OK, I'll just pay cash for the wine'.  'You don't want the beer too?' she asks.  'NO' I practically scream as I throw a $20 at her.  She rings me up, I grab the change and my bag, head out through the rain, and jump into the back of the cab.  The cabbie looks at me, 'Everything OK?'  I say, 'sure, let's go.'  Shit.

Negotiating...on the road.

'I got a problem,' I said to the cabbie.  'And I'm just going to flat out tell you.  I thought I had enough money in my account to cover the cab ride, but I didn't.  As a matter of fact, I only have about $37 dollars total.  Listen, I'm a veteran, struggling with alcohol, and I'm just trying to get some help.  I know you can't get me to Manchester, but how close can you get me to Derry?  I can try to hitch or something from there, and maybe my girlfriend will let me back in until I figure out what I need to do next.'  And the amazing part of this is, is that I truly believed everything I said.  It also didn't hurt that I don't think he saw me carry the bag of mini wine bottles into the cab.

He turned and looked at me.  'You a vet?' he said.  "How much money do you have?'  'Thirty seven and change, I think.'  He paused.  'Alright.  I'll take you to Derry for $37.  Thanks for serving, and I'm glad you are getting help.  As a matter of fact, I'll take you to Manchester for $37 if that's where you need to go.'  I couldn't believe it.  But then I started to panic again.  I knew one bottle of wine wasn't going to get me where I needed to be, and I was out of cash.  If I actually went to the Veteran's Hospital in Manchester, the run would be over.  I was losing it again.

'Hey, thanks buddy, but I don't want you to go out of your way and lose even more money.  I appreciate all you are doing, but if you just get me to Derry, I'm sure my girlfriend will take me to Manchester.  I really appreciate it, though.'  'OK, your call', he said as he backed that cab out of the parking lot.

All I could think of was, do I have enough change laying around her house to get something else to drink.  I grabbed one of the little bottles of wine from the bag, unscrewed the top, and looked in the rear-view.  The cabbie's eyes were firmly on the road.  I tilted it up and chugged it down, and as I finished, I looked back at the mirror, only to see him looking at me.  He didn't say a word, and I capped that little bottle and shoved it back into the bag.

And on it goes...

In about a minute, I unscrewed the cap of another one of those little bottles and sucked it down faster than the first one.  I'm not sure the cabbie saw, or even cared.  I guess he felt sorry, or maybe disgusted, with me, so he just drove on.  I decided I needed to strike up some kind of conversation, because isn't that what I was supposed to do?

'Hey, man, I just want to thank you again for cutting me some slack with the fare.  I've been going through some pretty rough times lately, and I'm trying to get some help.'  Then I stopped, and thought for a second.  "If you give me your name and an address, when I get some cash, I'll send it to you.'  And I meant it.  The alcoholic sincerity was kicking in.  'I've never been the same since I came back and I gotta get some help.  I'm just stuck real bad right now, I don't know.'  I leaned back in the seat, opened another mini bottle, drank it down, and waited.

After a minute, he said, 'Thanks, but don't worry about it.  I own this company.  I'm making plenty of money.  I'm just glad I can help you out.  Just do me a favor.  When you get back, get in touch with someone who can help you.  And, again, thanks for serving.  You probably don't hear that enough.'   At that point, I felt like I'd been hearing it too much.  But I knew that I would be home shortly, so I killed that last little bottle of wine and stared out the window, wondering what was next.

We pulled into the driveway, I said goodbye, and he said 'take care' and drove away.  I stood in the rain for a second, then opened the shared front door of the duplex I had been living in, only to find all of my stuff bagged and boxed, sitting there in the hallway.  Crap, I thought.  This just keeps getting better and better.