Step 1 and the Hand Grenade with the Pin Pulled – Don H.

Chapter 4 I know you are, but what am I? Upon removal from his natural habitat, Shimmy settled down considerably. Lots of guys would have gone ballistic during and after the arrest, but he was ready to leave the morning's escapade behind him. Throughout the trip to the precinct and the subsequent booking, he was very quiet and somewhat contemplative. Officer Funchess was familiar with Shimmy's surprising decency while in captivity. They had danced this tango before. As such, he was more than willing to reciprocate the respect he was being shown. When Shimmy went nuts and did stupid things, he was always under the influence of alcohol. He never got up in the morning and said to himself, I'm going to go and piss off the whole street until somebody steps up to challenge my manhood. Then I'm gonna punch him out and get arrested. Nobody does that. He was far more likely to start the day with his favorites, this time it's going to be different, speech. Today I'm not going to drink. I won't get shit-faced by noon. I'm going to get a lot of stuff done around here and make Rosie happy when she gets home from work. I'm Not Going Down to the Watering Hole to Wet My Beak Before Dinner I'm Going to Cook Something So Rosie Can Relax for Once I swear to it now, as God is my witness, I will not pass out in the chair tonight before the 11 o'clock news. Today is the first day of my new life. This time it's going to be different. Just as certain as the sun rising in the east, one fact of life upon which you could always rely on was that today was absolutely not going to do anything. He rarely made it past breakfast before starting in. If by some miracle he made it to lunchtime, he would drink twice as hard in the afternoon to close the sobriety gap created by a morning's worth of abstention. This is one of those seeming contradictions that people who have never experienced addiction first half have trouble understanding. Being a drunk is not the same as being amoral or weak-willed. Alcoholics are not necessarily bad people, even though in the throes of addiction they may do some bad things. Alcoholism is rightly described in the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous as a mental obsession combined with a physical compulsion. As much as Shimmy sincerely meant, with all his heart, that this time he would not drink, the behavioral and genetic decks were already stacked against him. He was a sitting duck every morning, and his disease was destined to win out over abstinence every time. Truth be told, as soon as he took that first drink, the outcome was already a giant question mark. His future became unpredictable the moment that first ounce of alcohol entered his system. By about 8 p.m. that evening, an officer stopped by his cell. O'Malley, you have a visitor. Wow, he thought. It's not like Rose to forgive and forget so fast. Oh shit, she's probably come to tell me she wants a divorce. Oh my God, I have completely fucked up this time. God please, I pray to you that she didn't bring Tommy. I can't face him right now. Jimmy left his cell and headed down to the room where visitors were allowed to meet with the inmates. The officer ushered him in and closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath and looked up from the floor, preparing for the inevitable stink eye and the torrent of abuse he so rightly deserved. But such was not the case. What the fuck are you doing here, dirt farmer? Come to gloat some more, you asshole. As polite as he was to the officer who held him there, he was utterly insubordinate toward Rob. In typical alcoholic fashion, Shimmy was incapable of the self-awareness needed to recognize that it was his own actions that put him in jail. Instead, he focused the blame for his predicaments on the most convenient target. That would be Rob in this case. Hi, Shimmy, Bob replied. I'm not here to gloat or in any way hold your behavior over your head. I'm just here to talk. Shimmy was exhausted, embarrassed and defeated. He no longer had the kind of energy required to muster any more measurable indignation at this point. Furthermore, he was beginning to feel the first pangs of a hangover. He hadn't had a taste since before leaving the house this morning. with a belly full of belligerence and what remained of last night's stash. Like a drunken fool, he had tossed the bottle at Romano and wasted it on the ground. Shimmy, whether you believe it or not, I suspect you don't yet. You're almost certainly an alcoholic. I'm not saying this to belittle you or put you down. I'm saying it because it takes one to know one, and I'm one. Well, la-dee-fuckin'-da, good for you, Shimmy replied. Rob pressed on. It might seem odd to you that you could wreck my fence and both physically and verbally assault me, and I'd still want the best for you. But I'm indeed here to help you. Think back to everything you did this morning in front of God and everybody. Would you have done that if you didn't have a belly full of booze? Think of every single time you've ended up here under arrest. Have you ever once been handcuffed and brought to the station when drugs and alcohol were not involved? Rob paused, patiently awaiting the blowback. But the angry stream of vitriol was not forthcoming. Shimmy had actually paused to reflect. This was one of the symptoms of the reduced levels of alcohol in his system. He began to think rationally and give careful consideration to the question at hand. After about 30 seconds, he knew there was no good answer. He could not think of a single embarrassing episode in his adult life that did not include drugs, alcohol, or both. But he decided the game was rigged against him. Rather than answer the question and fail the test, he leaned in and inquired, What's your fucking point? There was a good reason for Rob to inquire about Shimmy's unhealthy relationship with drugs and alcohol. Rob was in recovery himself and an active member of Alcoholics Anonymous. It was therefore no coincidence that he came to see Shimmy in jail just a few hours after his drunken rampage had concluded. They both understood one thing about the disease, the absence of alcohol in one's system after a prolonged binge took just a Few Hours to start to manifest the symptoms of withdrawal. They both Understood what was coming for Shimmy, but Rob also understood how to use it to his advantage. to steal a quote from the Murray McLaughlin song, Honky Red. When I need a drink, I'm stains on the sink. I'm pleased and thank you, ma'am. But when I got a head full of honky red, I don't give a good goddamn. Rob's motive in coming to visit Shimmy was to introduce him to the concept of long-term sobriety and the possibility of rewriting his future. But just like Murray Mclaughlin, Rob knew talking about sobriity to Shimmy when he was drunk and stupid was a complete waste of time. On the other hand, if you can catch an alcoholic when he is coming off the bench and feeling the full weight of guilt and remorse for whatever idiotic behavior got him into his current jackpot, then you had a chance to reach him. Jimmy was showing the first signs of withdrawal. His skin was pasty and he had begun to sweat profusely. He shifted in his chair in agitation, frequently rubbed his face with his hands and licked his lips as if he was totally parched. In other words, it looked like he was just about ready. You want to know my point? Rob asked. My point is this. I'm here to talk to you about changing your life for the better. Shimmy immediately cut him off. Get the fuck out of here, you Bible-banging Jesus freak! No, I haven't been saved and you're not going to baptize me in the Jordan River and wash all my sins away? Go fuck yourself, asshole! Rob took a deep breath and calmly pressed on. Shimmy, I'm neither a Bible-banger nor a particularly religious person. So why don't you cool your jets for a minute and let me state my case? After today's performance, you should realize a good word from me to the judge would definitely work to your advantage. Oh, I get it, Shimmy responded. You said when I came in here that you weren't here to hold this morning over my head. Then not five minutes later, you're trying to bend me over the sink and threatening to tell the judge on me if I don't take it like an altar boy. Well, you can just kiss my shiny white ass, dirt farmer. My God, Shimmy, you really are a huge pain in the backside. You'd bellyache if they offered to hang you with a new rope. That line caught Shimmy off guard. It was not so much that it was true. It was more that he couldn't figure out if it was an insult or if Bob knew something he didn't know about the justice system. Sensing that he had Shimmy fighting off his back foot for a moment, Rob pressed on. Just for a minute, Shimmy. Try to pretend that I'm not here to belittle you or do you dirt in any way. Try to act as if I actually do have your best interest in mind. I'm going to share some things with you and all I ask is that you keep an open mind. Unfortunately, a lot of that was lost on Shimmy as he was beginning to feel sick. He was sweating so hard he felt like he was swimming in his own clothes. His head had really begun banging during the last few minutes of arguing with Rob and his stomach was in knots. Listen, Tony Robbins, I don't think I have time for your little sob story about how you pulled yourself up by your bootstraps and now you're the pride of the neighborhood. I got a concussion from your fucking cherry tree and I think I've picked up a case of the flu in here. So maybe you should just swish your little candy ass out of here and share the story of your salvation with the rest of the class down at the public library. Even Rob had his limits and Shimmy was really beginning to push all the right buttons. He had a brief image in his head of throttling the life out of this jerk before returning to the task at hand. You don't have a concussion, Rob began. They've checked you out and you're fine in that regard. Neither do you have the flu and you know it. The cells of your body, as you well know, are screaming out for more alcohol. We're both aware that this is going to get a lot worse before it gets any better. Pretty soon it's going to feel like your big guts are trying to eat your little guts. You'll vomit until you have nothing left in your system, and then you'll dry-heave until you think you're going to barf up a lung. You're sweating now, but this is nothing. Pretty soon the hot flashes will come and go, and your body won't be able to cope with them. I know I'm not sharing any novel information with you. You've been through all this before, haven't you? This guy was totally pissing him off because he was absolutely right. He spoke with the conviction of one who had been there before. He knew his stuff. Shimmy had to grant him that. Employing his typical twisted logic, Shimmy assumed Rob would wait until he was so sick he would do anything for a drink, and only then would his real motivation for this visit be exposed. He probably had booze in his bag, and once he had Shimmy where he wanted him, he would pull it out and start ringing concessions out of him. Well, he was half right. Rob did have something in the bag for him. Rob made him an offer. I knew you were going to be feeling like crap when I got here, so I brought you something. Rob opened his bag and pulled out a thermos. Sliding it across the table, he told Shimmy, Drink this. It might help a little. Shimmy wasted no time cracking the seal of the thermos He tossed the cup aside, opened the stopper, and sucked back the first ice-cold mouthful of what he had hoped would be alcohol. It happened so fast that Rob didn't have time to warn him. The outcome was predictable and swift. The moment the taste of the liquid registered a sensation in his brain, he did a spit-take to rival the greatest vaudeville comedians in history, covering the table in orange goo. What the fuck is that, you son of a bitch? I bet you thought that was just fucking hilarious. Took every ounce of moral fiber into his bean, but Rob managed not to even crack a smile. It was killing him not to laugh. It was such a fitting payback after all the abuse Shemi had heaped upon him from the moment he had walked into the room. But revenge was not the point of the mission. Look, you're going through alcohol withdrawal. The only thing I know that will ease that considerably is either more alcohol or a shot of phenobarbital, since I have neither of those in my possession and I wouldn't give them to you if I did. I had to improvise. This is an old-timey remedy for the DTs. I have no idea how well it'll work, but I figure it was going to be better than nothing. What the hell is it? Shimmy shot back. Tastes like corn syrup mixed with ass. Close, Rob thought cheerily. It's orange tang. I've added some additional sugar, Rob told him. What the hill for? You should have added some rum. That would have done me a lot more good, said Shimmy. No, Rob said. That would set you back on the treadmill. Sure, it would have a marginal impact on how lousy you feel at the moment. But you might as well get off the hamster wheel now while you still can. The flaw in Rob's logic was obvious. Why on earth would he ever want to stop drinking? Everybody was always preaching at Shimmy about how his problem was alcohol. And if he just stopped drinking, everything would be fine. What he had ceased trying to explain to them years ago was that alcohol was not the problem he said it was. Alcohol was the solution to the problem. In fact, it was the only solution he had for the real problem. As he saw it, the real trouble was not his drinking. It was all the self-righteous Pollyannas in his life who wouldn't shut up about his drinking." Get the whiners and complainers off his back, and he would be fine. Rob gestured to the tang. Alcohol wreaks havoc with your blood sugar levels. First they shoot up, and then they tank. and I figure right about now your blood sugar levels are through the floor. I whipped up the tang and added a bunch of sugar to simulate for your body the impact of consuming alcohol, in a manner of speaking. To Shimmy it sounded stupid but he decided not to complain and just gagged the stuff down which he did in a few gulps. He slid the thermos back to Rob. If this is the dishwater they give the astronauts to drink no wonder none of them ever goes into space more than once. Whether the impact of the tang was physiological, psychological or straight-up placebo Rob didn't care It seemed to settle Shimmy down enough to keep him focused on the reason for Rob's visit As I said before, I'm not here by accident You aren't in jail solely because of stupidity or lack of moral fiber, Shimmy You're here for the same reason you got into every single hole you've ever dug for yourself It always begins with your unhealthy association to drugs and alcohol. And I'm a recovering alcoholic. I retain a daily reprieve from the sort of debilitating lunacy that brought you here through the grace of God and the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. Rob paused, awaiting the backlash that the reference to God in AA would probably elicit. However, Shimmy was surprisingly introspective at the moment and noticeably less belligerent than he had been pre-Tang. In the absence of the anticipated outburst, Rob kept going. Guys like you and I don't end up in jail or worse every time we drink. We get away with it most of the time, but there's a part of us that realizes each time we successfully navigate a binge without proving to be a danger to ourselves or others, we've dodged a bullet. We know deep down inside that once we start drinking, all bets are off. The outcome is absolutely unpredictable. With that first drink, we're pulling the pin on the hand grenade. After that, whether it goes off and blows the whole day to hell or turns out to be a dud is completely beyond our control. That's part of what makes us alcoholics. I know you've had people telling you your whole life that if you would just stop drinking, you could pull yourself up out of the gutter and get on with your life. But we both know if it were that simple, you obviously would have done it by now. Like you, I didn't get up in the morning and say to myself, I'm going to get stinking drunk, piss my pants, and pass out on the front lawn to embarrass my wife and my family. But that is exactly what I did, and I did it more than once. If you're anything like I was, you've gone through your whole life wondering what the heck is wrong with you. I would ask myself, why can I never seem to get it together? Why does everything go to hell in a handbasket just when I think I'm about to put a W on the scoreboard. I can tell you why. It's because I could handle failure. It was like a warm blanket that wrapped me in a loving embrace of self-pity, but I could never handle success. Every time I was about to do something good, I went out and drank ostensibly to celebrate, but i really did it to undermine myself because i was terrified on how i might handle the success that could be coming my way. I knew deep down inside that I really didn't deserve it. Once people got to know me as a success, they would realize that too and shut me down. I had more terror for success than I had hatred for failure. Truth be told, I drank when I was about to succeed, and I drank when Iwas about to fail. I drank no matter what. As I saw it, drinking was not my problem. It was my salvation. People have always known the answer to your problem and they've told you as much but we both know that they don't really understand what motivates you to drink. Having sat where you are now and having been taught how to overcome my addiction I'm going to make you an offer that no one has ever made to you before. I know you can't stop drinking on your own neither could I it's just too big for us to get our arms around at first. I'm not going to naively wag my finger at you and tell you how to pull yourself out of the gutter. But if you can be open-minded enough to work with me on this, I'll crawl down into that gutter with you, and we'll walk out together. Shimmy, overcoming addiction is an inside job, but it takes a lot of outside help. It's my duty to myself and to you to ensure that whenever you reach out for help, the hand of AA is always there. For that, I am responsible. Shimmy absorbed all this quietly. Mostly he decided it was a big pile of horseshit. This asshole had probably talked to his wife Rose before he came riding in here on his white horse of sobriety. How else could he know so much about him? It was like the dirt farmer had been reading his mail, for Christ's sakes. He didn't trust Rob. He didn'T even think he liked him. But God damn it, there was just something about the guy that somehow made him feel it was going to work out. It made no sense whatsoever. He was sitting in a jail cell, awaiting his day in court. He should be frightened and miserable about this. The shitheel who put him here came in and offered him a shot at a better life, and he almost believed him. No one had ever done anything like that for him before. Reflecting on his past, Shimmy also had to admit that Rob had been right about booze always being involved whenever something bad happened. He was correct about how everyone looked down their noses at him, drunk or sober. Fuck those bead-rattling, bleeding deacons. But nobody had ever talked to him the way Rob just did. Rob had spoken to him in plain English about the real meaning of his drinking, and he didn't preach. Okay, Father fucking Romano, Shimmy opened. You've come down here to save my soul? Not so much save it, Rob replied. I just want to help you wring it out a little bit. You can do the rest. What now? asked Shimmy humorously. We do a couple of laps around the beads, three Our Fathers and a good act of contrition. Now, Rob said, we focus on getting you out of here with minimal repercussions for your childish outbursts this morning. Then we discuss the first step at length. I have to go now. Some of us don't have the luxury of three hots and a cot as a guest of the village. Shimmy flushed. Fuck you, wiseass. I'll get out of here someday, and I know where you live. Rob smiled. There can be satisfaction in poking the bear. We're going to have to work on your impulse control, but in the meantime, when you do get back, my garden is easy to spot. It's the one with the broken gate. He laughed as he left the room. Shimmy went back to his cell with a lot to think about.