You'll notice that many (actually, almost all) of my blogs currently revolve around instances happening in apartment complexes. That is because, lately, most of my best material occurs in such an environment. Sad, I know. Lucky for you, I'm planning a shopping excursion and some gym time for myself tomorrow so hopefully you'll get some different observances in the next few blogs. Maybe.
I recently spent a weekend at a friend's apartment while she was out of town. I got in some much needed pool time (and believe it or not, some tan lines) and relaxation. Well, to an extent. It wasn't just all play time for me-I was actually there child sitting (hate to call them babies when they're not), and of course, I had my overly needy dog with me, as well.
Her children and I had a great time at the pool, bowling, chowing down, and doing what kids get to do when their mom is out of town. Oh, don't worry, I think they asked at least ten times daily when their mom was coming home. I may be fun, but I'm no mommy.
On my last night sitting, we had just gotten home from eating at one of our favorite Mexican restaurants with my boyfriend. He had followed us home to return a cooler and help me get the kids into bed and ready for school the next morning. I quickly took the dog for a walk while he helped the kids get everything out of my car and into the house. When I returned to the apartment, I was told by one of the children that they had just received a lesson about strangers.
Apparently, an Hispanic male, who we'll call Miguel, approached my boyfriend while he emptied water out of the cooler. He begged for a drink. My boyfriend, being the nice, Southern guy that he is, asked Miguel, "Whatcha want? We got water, and we got beer...". Miguel chose beer, offered to pay for the two he was given, and when my boyfriend declined, continued on his way. No less than three minutes after having this story relayed to me, I was sitting outside on the curb with one of the children I was sitting for and my dog. We were just sitting around talking, waiting for the dog to do his business, when an Hispanic man, dressed in a uniform from a local Mexican restaurant approached us.
"Where he go?" He asked me with a thick accent, pointing to my boyfriend's truck.
"Mas cerveza?" I asked. I wasn't really sure why he else he would be looking for my boyfriend.
"No," he shook his head. "I need.....(this indicates drunken rambling)...friend. Whas his name?"
I told him my boyfriend's name and also explained that he was busy. The man sat down. I sent the child I was sitting for inside and told him to ask my boyfriend to come out and to stay inside with the door locked. The man began to ramble again. "I need a friend, pleeaase...".
Out comes my boyfriend, looking from me to the man. "Miguel," he says, "Why are you here?"
At this point, it's apparent that I am not needed. Miguel begins to tell my boyfriend that he is an alcoholic and that his wife will not let him into their apartment. He cries as he speaks about his 15 year old daughter, he talks and talks at length in a language that is not quite understandable. How the two communicate is beyond me. My boyfriend's accent is so Southern, that sometimes I can't even understand it (and I'm not joking either...it's like a whole different version of English!). Miguel is speaking Spanish, but it is so garbled, that it's difficult to make out what he's saying. Some words come out in English, but most of what he says is lost in the night, to which it has now turned.
Somehow, I'm volunteered to provide AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) information to Miguel in Spanish. I am also asked to knock on his apartment door, because for some reason in his drunken state it seems like a good idea. I would never open my door to a stranger, so it's beyond me why he thinks his wife or child will. Finally, after about three minutes of this ridiculousness, I leave. I help the kids finish up their homework and tuck them in. My boyfriend apparently calls Miguel's daughter and she helps him in the house. He gives her the AA information I had written down.
My boyfriend, wanting to see the perpetual goodness in people, believes he's broken through and that Miguel will be alright and get the help he needs. Miguel is 50 years old. He has been drinking most of his life. Not wanting to be a pessimist, I say nothing. I come from a long line of alcoholics, so I know that it is a disease. One beer, or one drink, often leads to too many to count.
Approximately two days later as I am driving to meet two of my best friends (and of course, my mother) for a yoga class, I see a familiar form walking along a busy highway. He is walking north with a black bag in hand. You know, the kind of black bag that you can only get from a liquor store. The bag, no doubt, holds a six-pack at the least. I turn to see the man's face, and undoubtedly, it's our "friend" Miguel. I call my boyfriend, laugh a little bit at the irony and then continue on to yoga. I know my boyfriend's disappointed, but he too laughs and says, "Well, at least we tried".
It was offered to us that we could come into the Mexican restaurant where Miguel works anytime and ask for him and receive any drink we wanted if we would just give him one more beer that night. I'm glad that we said no. His breath smelled strongly of tequila that night, and although he denied drinking it, he did admit to having, "one or two margaritas"...as if we didn't know that a margarita contained tequila. I'm interested to see if Miguel is there should we consider dining, or if he's still locked outside of his wife's apartment soliciting beers from those who are going to bed this Sunday evening after a weekend of partying.
Social Drinker Only (on Special Occasions),
Freeway Fairington
PS-While this blog is light-hearted in nature, I do take alcoholism and drug-addiction very seriously. If you or someone you know is an alcoholic, I urge you to find a support group or doctor to help you (or your loved one) with your condition.
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