The Wilderness Years- One Small Step for the Man's Kind (pt. 2)

A few hours of fuzzy sleep in an absolute blinding stupor... i didn't feel as if i'd slept at all and when the alarm went off it felt as if someone had hit me in the side of the head with a monkey wrench, then said wrench swinger took a good look at me and decided one right between the eyes would do as well, i stumbled to the bathroom and attempted to brush my teeth, i splashed water on my face, dry heaved, and then went to my room and carefully sipped some water, then i packed up a bong and blasted a couple few bingers to the head, at which point i almost passed out, then i dry heaved again, sipped some more water, made my way to the kitchen and attempted to eat a piece of toast and then stumbled down the steps and out the front door... it was at this point i realized i was gonna be about five minutes late, not much but definitely not making a great impression at the new gig..

The great part about being able to walk to work is that you can walk to work, the shitty part is when you're late and only live about 7 minutes away and if you ran you could just make it but on this particular day you are so fucking hungover that even attempting to run would most likely result in projectile vomiting and loss of consciousness, in fact you are so hungover that it takes you 15 minutes instead of seven and by the time you get there the sweat is pouring out of you and you have an intense thirst and fear that anything you do drink will come spurting right back up, the weed had helped with the dull stabbing and thumping pains but what i really needed was to jack off and go back to bed, sleep for a good 10-12 hours and then, maybe eat some solid food and begin to feel vaguely human again, unfortunately this would not be the case, I was also still weaning myself from the hour on/hour off Fry Boy schedule, a schedule that was much more amenable to hangover management, i knew at the Fry Hut that all i had to do was get through each hour before i could go pass out of for the better part of the next one thus with each passing hour feeling a bit better until by the end of my shift i was damn near perfect and ready to go to the bar and do it all over again, this 2-15 minute break shit and a half hour lunch? it was patently uncivilized to my current tastes...

I bumbled down the stairs and bee-lined it towards the time clock, in the hot sticky warehouse heat of mid-September you could see the jet wash i was leaving behind, a trail of fumes heavily laced with alcohol, i apologized to Ron who laughed and  told me no problem just don't make it a habit, understood that i was just back to town and probably having a bit too much fun, i see the faint scowl and nodding of Augie's head and his look of just one more fuck-up in a long line of fuck-ups who've come through the door... and fuck up i did, every task i set to i managed to mangle, fucking up counts and tickets and dumb shit that a trained monkey could do let alone a college graduate and grad school flunky, but alas in my present state i could barely stand erect, Milo told me that i kept swaying, i couldn't tell really, i did know that if i stood still it felt as if i was on the deck of a fishing vessel amidst choppy seas, fucking hell, the bargaining in my head had already started, i needed this gig and it was close to my place and i had no car and it paid shit but really it was just something to show the tax man until the real job started, i told myself to make it until lunch and see how i felt post sandwich, until that point i had had nothing but water and Gatorade, my shirt was soaked in sweat and each five minutes felt like an hour but finally lunch arrived...

Now before the local monster medical conglomerate started gobbling up all the spare land it could get it's hands on Baum Blvd. was loaded with absolute ass burning places to dine, there was Rally's (remember them), Burger King, Taco Bell, KFC and a lovely gas station/mini-mart that served up death dogs and other assorted greasy specialties, of course when coming down off a ripping drunk and smack dab in the middle of the Bataan death march of hangovers one must be all Indy Jones and choose fucking wisely, now looking at the choices one could also quote Dr. Falken's computer and robotically say "the only-way-to win- is- not to- play", but i needed food, at least i thought i did and so i rolled the dice and ran for the border...

Now what i should have done was walk back to my place and eat a bowl or two of cereal but i was so fucked that though Taco Bell was roughly the same distance from my place of employment (in the opposite direction) as my apartment i opted for the Bell, perhaps the subconscious knew that if i went home i wouldn't go back to work and i figured soft tacos would slide down easy and any sane and rational person is laughing heartily and calling me an idiot... and i would concur... and so i slowly ate a taco and a few tortilla chips, sucked down some sugary soda to appease my detoxing cells and then sat back and breathed very slowly in and out, in and out, hoping to keep down what i had just ingested, in and out in and out, i could tell that my co-workers were giving me sidelong glances, occasional smirks would pass quickly over their faces, then my stomach made a horrible gurgling noise and i sprinted to the bathroom where a hot liquid jet of what felt like battery acid and Tabasco sauce came hurtling out of my ass at such force that i stifled a scream, the sweat beading on my forehead, i cursed the gods of liquor and fast food, my ass felt baboon raw and red, i'll never do this again i told myself, and you know at the time i was young enough to really believe that i'd meant it though even then i could recall myself promising myself the same thing a good half dozen times before, but there was still a half day left to get through and after cupping water in my hands and splashing my face repeatedly for five minutes or so i walked back toward some pallets getting ready to be loaded on a van and delivered...

Luckily i hadn't been cleared to drive the vans yet, though i don't think Ron would have let me drive one if i had, to drive one i would have either had to quit or risk a DUI because judging that it'd been about 12 hours since i had quit drinking and the amount of alcohol consumed was easily more than the recommended amount per hour, in fact quite likely 4 or 5 times that much, i was still very much the definition of fucked... it was at this point that while standing near a large pallet stacked with shit that i nearly fell over, as if suddenly the room just tilted i went stumbling sideways, the sweats started and the mouth watered and as i righted myself Ron came walking over and suggested that maybe i should take the rest of the day off, he smiled and said it was no big deal, i'd had a good first week and then he looked at Augie and started laughing, Augie looked at me and barked, surprised you made it this long you fuck-up and then starting making kissing noises and gyrating his 78yr. old hips and warning me to stop chasing the pussy until the weekends, i stood there sweating and shaking and told Ron i was sorry about today but for some reason did not add it wouldn't happen again, talk about the subconscious huh? and i shuffled over to the time clock and punched out and then headed towards the steps, have a good weekend you fuck-up, i looked up to see Augie in the aisle next to the door, i sheepishly smiled and said you too Sir, see ya Monday... the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly and he winked...