Monday, November 14, 2005
Pin the drunk on the map
Father God, sonny Jesus. I just got a call from Joe, Sam's trusting, kind, benevolant, and extremely worried father. Joe wanted to tell me that he hadn't heard fro Sam in over two weeks. So? No big shock there. If he has a responsibility as heavy as making a phone call to his parents to let them know he's still alive, he stands a one in fifty shot of success.
So why is Joe suddenly so worried? Sam once went months and months on end making absolutely no contact with anyone in his twenties holed up in his apartmetn drunk and passed out. Well Joe managed to contact Sam's employer. Sidenote... I can't stand the effort to hold the shift key down for this asshat. From now on he's just sam. Anyway, sam's boss said that sam had called in over a week ago claiming that his tools had been stolen. What did the boss do? He offered him a loan of some of his personal tools while sam worked. sam's response was that he was too upset to come to work. And that is the last time he showed up to work.
Rock bottom? God I fucking hope so.
So now Joe is absolutely apeshit. He begged me to please please please go to anyplace that I thinkg sam might be. All I could think of was the motel he crashed at for over a week when I kicked him out the first time. I drove twenty miles to the motel and spoke with the owner. No car, no registration, no recognition of my description. Oh well. I called Joe back and told him this, and assured him that it is far more likely that he's just found someone else to mooch off of and that he's probably at some other cheap joint sucking back rotgut whiskey and drowning in his own misery.
Joe still sounded terrible. He was checking airfare for a flight out here... tomorrow! He wants to come out here, track sam down like some bloodhound, throw him in the back of the van and drive him back to Evansville. The very thought of this pisses me off for so many reasons. First, sam's fine. He's drunk and wallowing in self-pity. But he's fine. Second, sam doesn't have it in him to kill himself. He just doesn't. Don't ask me why. There's too much whiskey to drink, ad maybe a friedn or two that he hasn't fucked over left. And third, even if sam found was sober enough to figure out how to tie the noose, he would have been discovered by now.
I hope Joe finds him before I do, because I'm gonna give him a fucking High Ten enema.
*UPDATE*
Joe called the police who found him at some motel nearby the other one he had stayed at. He was piss drunk of course. Joe has decided to drive out, pick Sam up, and drive him home to force him into recovery in his home. Yeah... that should work out just fine. Good call, Joe! Whatever, he's out of my life. All except the random curly Sam hair that I find on horizontal surfaces all over the house.
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So why is Joe suddenly so worried? Sam once went months and months on end making absolutely no contact with anyone in his twenties holed up in his apartmetn drunk and passed out. Well Joe managed to contact Sam's employer. Sidenote... I can't stand the effort to hold the shift key down for this asshat. From now on he's just sam. Anyway, sam's boss said that sam had called in over a week ago claiming that his tools had been stolen. What did the boss do? He offered him a loan of some of his personal tools while sam worked. sam's response was that he was too upset to come to work. And that is the last time he showed up to work.
Rock bottom? God I fucking hope so.
So now Joe is absolutely apeshit. He begged me to please please please go to anyplace that I thinkg sam might be. All I could think of was the motel he crashed at for over a week when I kicked him out the first time. I drove twenty miles to the motel and spoke with the owner. No car, no registration, no recognition of my description. Oh well. I called Joe back and told him this, and assured him that it is far more likely that he's just found someone else to mooch off of and that he's probably at some other cheap joint sucking back rotgut whiskey and drowning in his own misery.
Joe still sounded terrible. He was checking airfare for a flight out here... tomorrow! He wants to come out here, track sam down like some bloodhound, throw him in the back of the van and drive him back to Evansville. The very thought of this pisses me off for so many reasons. First, sam's fine. He's drunk and wallowing in self-pity. But he's fine. Second, sam doesn't have it in him to kill himself. He just doesn't. Don't ask me why. There's too much whiskey to drink, ad maybe a friedn or two that he hasn't fucked over left. And third, even if sam found was sober enough to figure out how to tie the noose, he would have been discovered by now.
I hope Joe finds him before I do, because I'm gonna give him a fucking High Ten enema.
*UPDATE*
Joe called the police who found him at some motel nearby the other one he had stayed at. He was piss drunk of course. Joe has decided to drive out, pick Sam up, and drive him home to force him into recovery in his home. Yeah... that should work out just fine. Good call, Joe! Whatever, he's out of my life. All except the random curly Sam hair that I find on horizontal surfaces all over the house.
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