Before I bore you with today's drivel, I invite you to reread yesterday's post. I was working on making it readable and accidentally posted it rather than saving it. The lovely Mrs. Sneed came home from work at that moment and I went out for the evening, leaving it an incomprehensible mess, even by my minimal standards. I hope it makes more sense now.
I have an group of podcasts that I regularly listen to, including a very funny one called Never Not Funny, by comedians Jimmy Pardo and Mike Schmidt and their podcast producer Matt Belknap. The Never Not Funny podcast is a very funny conversation among these three guys and reminds me of the Ricky Gervais podcast, except that it is not based so much on making fun of one of the members. It is mostly a discussion of their experiences, with a strong dose of Jimmy Pardo's eccentricities tossed in.
In this week's show, Jimmy recalls how he embarrassingly wound up as a thirty year-old man at a teenage house party in his drunken days. It reminded me of a similar incident that happened to me years ago.
For about seven years in the mid-eighties through the early-nineties, I had a job as the staff person for a middle-manger I will call Von Tallman. Von was not a nice person. My official duties were to provide Von and the other members of the management team with data and to implement Von's directives. My unofficial duties included being his lackey, proving computer support for his civic activities and accompanying him on out of town trips, when the situation dictated. Since Von was also a serious drunk, I kept him out of trouble when we were away on business.
This was not always easy, because Von refused to ride in cabs, opting instead to rent a luxury automobile, when on the road. Von's attitude was that he lived the high life at home, so going on the road was no excuse to lower his standards. Von's boss was also a drunken lout, so no questions were ever raised about the very high expense account vouchers he submitted.
In exchange for my servitude, I was lavished with bonuses and raises. We had what you might call a symbiotic relationship. He believed I looked up to and admired him and, in exchange for financial reward, I didn't correct him.
One time in the late 1980's I had to go to a three-day accounting seminar in a major American city. Much to my chagrin, Von invited himself along, since he had old school friends in that city. This did not bode well, since I was likely to get sucked into his drunken hijinks. I was often the designated-driver for Von's drunken escapades. You get a couple of drinks in this guy and he became serious pain-in-the-butt.
At lunch of the first day of the seminar, Von dropped the bomb. He said that he had a dinner planned that evening with an old friend and that I was welcome to come along. I politely declined and he spent the rest of the lunch period trying to change my mind. The last thing that I wanted to do was to spend the next day dog-tired sitting through the seminar because I stayed out all night taking care of a 45 year-old toddler with a drinking problem.
We broke for the day at 4 pm and I returned to the hotel, where I flopped on the bed and feel asleep. Around six pm I was awaken by the ringing of the phone. It was Von cajoling me to go with him. I told him no and hung up. A few minutes later he began to pound at my door, saying he wasn't stopping until I changed my mind and went with him. I gave in. Big mistake.
We drove to the restaurant and met Von's old pal at about seven or so. They had a few drinks in the bar before we were seated for dinner. They had a several more drinks with their dinner and then they began to order wine, lots of wine. Around ten pm they got this really good idea to visit the friend's daughter who was bar tending at a club somewhere in the warehouse district. This is the point at which a smarter guy would have taken a cab back to the hotel. Not me, I was too cheap to spend twenty bucks to escape this unholy pair, since Von would not let me voucher it in retaliation for ditching him.
We drove around for an hour or so looking for the club. The friend was having a bit of a problem remembering where it was. Von was driving and was quite drunk. I tried to take the wheel when he stopped and went into a store to ask for directions but he made a scene and wouldn't give me the keys. I gave up and we were off to the club.
When we arrived and went in, I realized that we were at a club that catered to a very young crowd. Von set right in trying his best to impress twenty-0ne year old girls, with his smooth style. I was mortified at the spector of being seen as a creepy old guy trying to hit on young girls,or a pathetic loser and told him that I was waiting in the car. Of course he wouldn't hand over the keys out of fear that I might leave them stranded. I was relegated to standing outside in the cold talking to the bouncer.
Eventually, around two am or so the two drunken baboons staggered out and climbed into the car. Von still wouldn't give me his keys and sat in the driver's seat honking the horn until I agreed to get in. I was very foolish, but it was late, dark and I didn't know where I was.
We drove around the downtown area for maybe an hour, because Von's loutish pal couldn't remember what lot he parked in. When we found his car and Von got out so that they could hug and slobber over one another and tearfully promise to stay in touch, I jumped behind the wheel. Von had left the car running. When he returned to the car, we had a scene but since I had the keys and told him that I was willing to drive away and leave him, he staggered to the passenger door and flopped into the seat. In a nanosecond, he passed out. I had the pleasure of dragging him to his room and shoving him through the door at about 4 am.
The next morning, operating on two hours of sleep, I arrived at the seminar site. Von was no where to be found. He came in at noon, stinking to high heaven of booze breath. The jackass asked me how we got back to the hotel. When I told him, he said, "Thanks for not letting me drive." Total A-hole.
I really don't like drunks.
Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky
Tag: Daily Life
Personal Finance
Humor
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