I Think I’ll Become an Alcoholic

by Chug-a-lugging Philly…

I think I’ll become an alcoholic. Why not? Sounds easy enough. I already lost my job, I’m about to lose my house, what else have I got to lose?

A good friend of mine is an alcoholic. He’s got a job, in fact, just because he’s an alcoholic. He met his new boss at an AA meeting and it seems that everyone who works there is an alcoholic, too. Every time my friend wants to take some time off, he just goes and gets drunk for a couple weeks. The boss understands, and the last thing he’d ever do is fire him for it. Sounds like the good life. I would soon find out, it is not.

So I went to see my good friend TJ Max. TJ has been an alcoholic most all his life. He’s a real alcoholic, not just some weekend warrior.

TJ is a drinker. And when I say he’s a drinker, I mean he’s a real drinker, which is not to be confused with being a drunk. A real drinker drinks in the morning. A real drinker doesn’t get hangovers. A real drinker doesn’t have a job, because as TJ puts it, being a real drinker is a full-time job all itself. Amen to that, brother.

So I told TJ of my plan to become an alcoholic. “You don’t have it in you,” said TJ. “Besides, being an alcohol is not something you choose. It chooses you.” I was determined to prove him wrong.

“Well, okay,” said TJ, “if you’ve got your mind set on it, then come on. The first thing we’re gonna do is break you in. You’re gonna have to hit the ground running. There’s no training program here.”

Sounded good to me. What could be so difficult about it, anyway?

The first rule, it seems, was that every time TJ took a drink, I had to also. Okay. Twist my arm.

TJ drinks Pabst Blue Ribbon. It’s not a very strong beer, but he drinks a lot of them, and he drinks them fast. I have to say, after the first six pack, I was starting to feel like slowing down. One six pack may not sound like much, but he drank it in just under fifteen minutes, and showed no signs of slowing down.

Another thing: as an alcoholic, you have to drink the whole thing. You are not allowed to leave a drop NOT ONE DROP. And you’re not allowed to stop. Ever. No matter how queasy your stomach might feel. Believe it or not, there are rules. Alcoholics play so hard, they often lose their fun.

That whole day was just a blur. I have to admit, however, I was having a ball. Just like an endless buffet, it was all I could drink, all day long. I can’t even begin to tell you how many bars we hit. That’s another thing about alcoholics. Alcoholics are not hermits. They’re social creatures like none you’ve seen before. A good alcoholic can hit as many as a dozen bars in any given day, starting as early as 9AM and winding up at closing time.

An alcoholic knows which bars open early and which stay open late like a taxi driver knows streets. They know where parties are like they’ve got some kind of booze radar going. It’s an amazing site to see.

But being an alcoholic comes with a lot of drama. TJ has this dog named Sinbad. He’s named Sinbad because he has a birthmark that looks like an eye patch. I hadn’t even thought of Sinbad when TJ announced we were on a mission to bring him home. Bring him home? Bring him home from where?

It seems his friend Chris “Crawdaddy” Crawford went over to TJ’s house the other day when he wasn’t home and “borrowed” the dog. Borrowed the dog? TJ said he had a line on where they where: at the Sherwood Forest Country Club. Crawdaddy? Sherwood Forest? What was next, the Robin Hood himself?

When we got there, TJ found Crawdaddy and Sinbad. Crawdaddy was hitting golf balls on the driving range, and Sinbad was chasing them. When those ran out, Sinbad started harassing the other golfers.

All I can say is, a real brew-ha-ha soon broke out. Next thing I knew, TJ and Crawdaddy were rolling all over the lawn. Sinbad was biting his leg. Not Cradaddy’s leg, mind you, but TJ’s. When we left, TJ was cursing out loud. “You can go to hell!” Not at Crawdaddy, but at his dog.

Well, it goes without saying, that was followed by a new round of drinking. Not that the drinking had ever really stopped. TJ carried cans of beer in his shirt pocket and his trousers wherever he went, just in case. No kidding, in the middle of the fight with Crawdaddy, the both of them stopped for a cold one. Honest, Injun.

This was all followed by a long night of drinking, then back to it again in the morning. It was by that time I knew, this was not something I could maintain. I knew TJ would understand when I told him I had to bow out. He was my friend, after all. But all TJ did was belittle me. He was, after all, an alcoholic, and alcoholics don’t take kindly to desertion.

I guess I could get my old job back. I thought being an alcoholic would be like being on holiday. My advise to you: forget about it before you even try. Go on vacation instead. Keep your job. Why? Because being an alcoholic isn’t easy. In fact, it’s a helluva lot of work.

I Think I’ll Become an Alcoholic is the latest in the Flashbytes series from worst-selling author Philip Loyd. With all the alcoholics Loyd knows, both dead and alive, it’s not much of a stretch to see where he came up with the inspiration for this one. And anyway, who actually decides to become an alcoholic?

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T Philly Loyd loves fat chicks and cheap beer, though not necessarily in that order. Loyd has worked for Forbes and McGraw Hill, each time running for his life as if waking up from a nightmare. He dreams of one day moving to Hollywood and winning a Razzie. Loyd lives in Dumbass, Texas.